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By Mara Cobe
Just five days after Yom Kippur, Judaism asks us to do something that seems almost startling. Following weeks of introspection, repentance, prayer, and solemnity, we pick up hammers and branches and head outside to build a hut.
For seven days, Jews are invited to leave the security of our homes and spend time in a
sukkah, a temporary shelter with walls that are hardly permanent and a roof open enough that we remain aware of the sky above us. The holiday recalls both the autumn harvest and the temporary dwellings of the Israelites during their journey through the wilderness.
Temple Solel congregants gather beneath the sukkah to share food and fellowship during last year’ s Sukkot celebration.
It is one of Judaism’ s most joyful holidays, and perhaps one of its most challenging. Sukkot is
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called z’ man simchateinu,“ the season of our rejoicing.” Its joy does not come from pretending that life is permanent or predictable. Instead, we celebrate while knowing that it is not.
At Temple Solel, where so much of our Jewish life is built around creating community together, Sukkot offers a particularly meaningful question: What really makes us feel secure and who among us is still searching for that security?
The sukkah is intentionally fragile. We sit beneath its branches knowing that wind can blow through, rain may enter, and the stars might be visible overhead. For one week, we are reminded the walls we depend upon are not as permanent as we sometimes imagine.
That lesson feels especially relevant today.“ Home” can mean many things: a physical shelter, a community where we belong, people who welcome us, or simply the assurance that there is somewhere we are expected and wanted. Sukkot reminds us not to take any of those things for granted.
But Judaism rarely allows gratitude to stop with ourselves. The holiday also carries a powerful tradition of hospitality. The Jewish value of hachnasat orchim, welcoming guests, is
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considered so important that, according to the Babylonian Talmud, hospitality to wayfarers is greater than welcoming the Divine Presence.
During Sukkot, that idea becomes tangible. The sukkah is not designed as a private retreat. Its very nature invites us to open the door, add another chair, share a meal, and make room.
There is even a Sukkot tradition called ushpizin, Aramaic for“ guests,” in which we symbolically invite our ancestors into the sukkah. Over time, many communities have expanded that tradition to recognize women of Jewish history and other voices whose stories deserve a place at our tables. Perhaps we can expand the invitation still further. Who would feel welcome at our sukkah? More importantly, who might assume that the invitation was not meant for them?
The person who has never entered a synagogue. The interfaith family wondering whether they belong. Someone new to Charlotte or Fort Mill who has not yet found community. A neighbor who is lonely. Someone who cannot afford a home of their own. Someone whose Jewish practice looks different from ours or who is still figuring out what Jewish practice means to them.
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A sukkah cannot protect us from every storm. Maybe that is precisely the point. It reminds us that none of us is entirely self-sufficient and that security is strengthened when it is shared. This Sukkot, we can do more than admire a beautifully decorated sukkah or shake the lulav and etrog. We can invite someone new to sit beside us. Share food with someone who needs it. Support organizations that help families find shelter and stability. Reach out to someone who may be standing just outside the circle of community.
And we can ask ourselves one simple question: Who still needs an invitation? Under a roof made of branches, perhaps we can remember that the strongest shelter we build is not made of wood at all. It is made of belonging.
Temple Solel is a small, inclusive Reform congregation in Fort Mill, SC. For more information, visit our website, templesolelsc. org, email info @ templesolelsc. org, or call( 803) 610-1707.
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