Spirit and Story Archive

Welcome to Spirit and Story, where you will find the latest thoughts and reflections by CLAL faculty and associates on the contours of our contemporary spiritual journeys. Every other week you will find something new and (hopefully) engaging here!

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Strap-hangers on Sukkot

Jennifer E. Krause

It's a typical night on the New York City subway. The train barrels forward at top speeds, while passengers read, talk, sleep, or just stare to pass the time. Those without the benefit of a much-coveted seat wrap themselves around tall metal poles, or, in some cases, each other, to keep from falling due to sudden lurches or unexpected stops. And then there are those of us who dangle from the triangular-shaped, traction-style bars that hang from the ceiling just above the rows of identical seats. Our bodies move to the train's hiccupy rhythm; occasionally someone will attempt to switch hands when it seems that the course is steady. In a way, we must look like the fruit that hangs from the roof of the sukkah, rocking and swaying with the elements, yet somehow managing to stay attached.

The sukkah itself is a temporary structure built specifically not to last. It is made to be open to weather and intruders, with temporary walls and a roof that is supposed to have holes to let in the moon and the stars. The schach, the leafy branches, used to make the roof cannot even be nailed to the top. This makeshift home has no security system, no metal detector, and no insurance policies. It's just a shack in the shadow of the brick, stucco, and concrete of our lives.

It seems redundant, though, to have to build and live in these shacks. The fact of the matter is that we dwell in sukkot each and every day of our lives. Are we not just as exposed to the elements? The events of recent weeks alone amplify how vulnerable we are to weather troubles and to troubled people. These feelings of vulnerability and fragility can fill us with sorrow and fear. Yet Sukkot, a holiday that underscores the realities of vulnerability and fragility, is the one time of year when we are actually commanded to be joyous. In fact, it is called zeman simchateinu - the time of our rejoicing.

Whenever I reach a point where I feel the most vulnerable, the most afraid to move forward, I call my friend Deborah. We've known each other practically all of our lives, and I guess you could say we are still growing up together. By now I know exactly what she's going to say when I call, but actually hearing her say it makes all the difference. First she takes a breath, and usually I can hear her one-year-old son laughing or playing in the background. And then she says something like, "There's no way to live life without fear, but there is a way to make choices against it, despite it. So feel the fear, acknowledge it, and then let it go. Free up all the space and let other possibilities move in."

The sukkah reminds us not to live the whole of our lives locked up, shut down, and ever more frightened of what lies beyond the door. It dares us to celebrate and to be joyous, and to do so within a structure that stands for the inevitable vulnerability of any edifice or human life. That is why the fruit that dangles from the roof of the sukkah is more than just last-minute decoration. It is the fruit of the harvest - the fruit that has survived its own vulnerability, faced with the challenges of drought, flooding, and even neglect. It is so easy to feel that our very lives hang just as tentatively as that fruit, but God forbid we should ever forget how sweet the fruit of the harvest can taste when eaten outside, with family and friends, under the stars, before the winter and its rains come again.

A homeless woman walks through the subway car. She's making her way through each part of the train, trying to talk to people who have learned to ignore the sounds of screaming, sirens, and even gunshots. As she moves through the obstacle course of legs, bags, umbrellas, and strollers, she half-sings, half-shouts, "Takes strength to be a woman. Takes strength to be a man." The little metal triangles hang down for us to grab. And we keep hanging on.

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