RABBI PHIL

The High Holy Days place us in the shadow of eternity. On Rosh Hashanah we confront the majesty of creation while contemplating weight of our lives. On Yom Kippur we enter the drama of repentance and forgiveness, standing bare before God, stripped of food and comfort, asking for another year of life, a stronger spiritual life. These Days of Awe are sober, demanding, and deeply introspective. They remind us of our fragility and of our moral responsibilities.

 And then, with the conclusion of the Neilah service of Yom Kippur, the tone changes. We construct our sukkah and before you know it, Sukkot arrives. The liturgy even calls it z’man simhateinu, the season of our joy and the Torah tells us v’samahta b’hageha, be joyful in your festival. We eat festive meals. We step into the sukkah, a fragile temporary shelter of wood and branches open to the sky and stars. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur teach us how small and vulnerable we are. Sukkot teaches us how to live with that knowledge, with gratitude, openness, and, above all, celebration.

 The sukkah is deliberately impermanent, reminding us of our ancestors’ journey in the wilderness and, by extension, of our own journeys through uncertainty. We don’t know what tomorrow brings, despite our pretensions to do so. Yet in that frailty we encounter joy in the company of our community. The walls will shake in the wind; the roof may let in the rain. But it is precisely in that insecurity that we learn we need to trust one another, to rely on one another. Joy does not come from being sealed from the elements; it comes from discovering God’s presence when the walls are thin and the night is cool, cold, even. (Imagine Sukkot in, say, Alaska). To sit in the sukkah is to learn the spirituality of life outside the comfort and security of home and synagogue.

 During Sukkot we also wave the four species, the lulav, etrog, myrtle, and willow –collectively what we call the Lulav. They are bound together, each distinct, yet united in our brachah that concludes: al netilav lulav, on the waving of the Lulav. The Jewish tradition teaches that each one symbolizes a different kind of Jews, or of different human qualities.

 The festival season culminates in Simhat Torah, Simchas Torah, when we complete the annual reading of the Torah and immediately begin again from Bereshit. the atmosphere is exuberant: dancing, singing, Torah scrolls carried joyfully around the sanctuary.

 Together, these holidays trace a full spiritual arc. We begin with judgment and repentance, move into fragility and gratitude, and end with dancing and delight. May this season open our hearts to that rhythm: awe that leads to joy, repentance that blossoms into gratitude, and Torah that always calls us to begin again.

Hag Sameah and Shanah Tovah!

Phil

Rabbi Phil Cohen

PS: Beginning on October 3rd, we will begin a new program. Well, for me, it’s an old program, as I’ve carried it with me from my days in Columbia, MO.First Shabbos — on the first Shabbat of each month we will welcome Shabbat with a full, old style Shabbat dinner: chicken soup made by me, chicken, and the fixings, all for $5 a person. We will begin the festivities at 5:30 pm, which will feed (ahem!) into the service. Please see page 13 of this edition of Shalom News for more details.