There is a strange phenomenon surrounding Sukkos. In many ways, it is a hidden Jewish holiday. It is not only unfamiliar to non-Jews; many secular and modern Jews have almost no idea what Sukkos is really about.
Pesach is much easier for the outside world to understand. There is matzah, the Seder, wine, family gathering around the table, and the story of leaving Egypt. Even someone with little Jewish education recognizes these symbols. Pesach has entered the general Jewish consciousness.
Sukkos is completely different.
To someone unfamiliar with Torah life, Sukkos can look almost mystical and strange. Jews build temporary booths outside their homes. They eat there and sometimes sleep there. They take a lulav and esrog, together with the hadassim and aravos, and shake them in different directions. Then they speak about being commanded to rejoice.
What exactly is going on?
Perhaps Sukkos is difficult to explain because it represents a completely different kind of relationship with Hashem. It is not merely remembering something that happened thousands of years ago. It is an experience involving the person emotionally, intellectually, and physically.
Sukkos is the celebration of being a Jew. It is learning to be happy with what Hashem has given us and recognizing where our security actually comes from.
Leaving the House
The central mitzvah of Sukkos is extraordinary precisely because of its simplicity.
A person leaves his permanent home and enters a temporary dwelling—the sukkah.
The sukkah may be hot during the day and cold at night. There may be wind, rain, flies, mosquitoes, or other discomforts. Instead of sitting comfortably in the dining room that a person spent years building and furnishing, the Torah tells him to go outside and sit underneath schach.
Eating matzah inside one’s comfortable house is relatively easy.
Leaving the house is something else.
For seven days, the Jew loosens his attachment to the security represented by his walls, roof, possessions, furniture, and permanent dwelling. He enters a structure that by definition is temporary.
The message strikes at one of the deepest human instincts: the feeling that what I possess gives me security.
The sukkah quietly challenges that assumption.
My house is mine—but ultimately it is not mine.
My possessions are mine—but ultimately they are not mine.
My success, comfort, health, and security are things I enjoy, but they are not entirely under my control.
Everything comes from Hashem.
The Holiday of Joy
This is what makes another aspect of Sukkos so remarkable.
After leaving the comfort and apparent security of our homes, the Torah commands us to rejoice.
Sukkos is זמן שמחתנו — Zman Simchaseinu, the time of our joy.
We normally imagine that happiness comes from acquiring greater security: a better house, more money, more possessions, more comfort, and greater control over our surroundings.
Sukkos temporarily removes some of those things and tells us: now be happy.
A Jew sits inside a fragile sukkah and celebrates. His happiness comes from recognizing that his life is ultimately in the hands of Hashem.
The Sukkah and the Future Redemption
But Sukkos does not point only backward to the protection Hashem gave the Jewish people in the wilderness. The sukkah also points forward—to the future of the Jewish people.
During Sukkos we say in Birkat Hamazon:
הרחמן הוא יקים לנו את סוכת דוד הנופלת — “May the Merciful One establish for us the fallen sukkah of David.”
The language comes from the prophecy of Amos:
ביום ההוא אקים את סוכת דוד הנופלת — “On that day I will raise up the fallen sukkah of David.”
(Amos 9:11)
The fallen sukkah of David came to represent the fallen kingdom of David and its future restoration. Thus this temporary structure became connected with one of the most permanent hopes of the Jewish people: Mashiach and redemption.
There is a profound paradox here.
The Jew leaves the house that appears to provide security and enters a structure that barely provides physical protection at all. And it is precisely this structure that carries the name of the restored kingdom of David.
The sukkah therefore teaches both lessons at once.
It tells us where our security does not ultimately come from, and it tells us where Jewish history is ultimately going.
Our walls are temporary. Our possessions are temporary. Political arrangements are temporary. Even exile, however long it lasts, is temporary.
What remains is Hashem, His covenant with the Jewish people, and the promise of redemption.
The sukkah is therefore not merely a remembrance of how Hashem protected us in the past. It is also an expression of confidence in the Jewish future: the restoration of the House of David, the ingathering of the Jewish people, and their return to the land promised to them.
Why the Mystery Remains
Perhaps this also explains why Sukkos remains such a mysterious holiday outside traditional Jewish life.
Many physical symbols of other Jewish holidays have survived even among Jews who no longer fully understand their religious meaning. Matzah survived. The Pesach Seder survived. Chanukah candles survived. The shofar remains widely recognized.
The sukkah is different.
Its central act requires a person to leave his ordinary environment and actually live differently for seven days. Its message cannot easily be separated from the religious idea behind it.
You cannot fully understand Sukkos simply by looking at a sukkah.
You have to enter it.
You have to sit beneath the schach.
You have to eat there.
You have to experience leaving the security of your permanent home while declaring that you are joyful.
Then the apparent strangeness of Sukkos begins to make sense.
The Jew leaves what looks permanent and enters what looks temporary, only to discover the opposite truth: the material world is temporary, while the relationship between Hashem and the Jewish people is permanent.
That may be the deepest mystery of Sukkos—and the reason this seemingly fragile little structure can carry within it the promise:
ביום ההוא אקים את סוכת דוד הנופלת — “On that day I will raise up the fallen sukkah of David.”
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