Sukkot: Fragile Dwelling Place

 

“The land of Israel is not rich in water
resources. . . For this reason, a special
prayer for rain was inserted into the
[Sukkot] service. Since the rainy season
starts approximately at Sukkot, it was
the appropriate time to pray for rain.
Jews are realists. One prays for rain
during the rainy season, not during
the dry summers. One walks across
water by stepping on rocks . . .”

-- Rabbi Irving Greenberg, The Jewish Way

 

I saw the full moon of Sukkot, Season of Our Joy, rising over the mesa in the east, into the white and misty clouds of hail that had just fallen over Freedom Ridge Ranch and was now falling out toward the Red Hill and Cimarron Mesa.  On the ground by the roses, on the porch, and over on the cabin and barn roofs, drifts of pellet-sized hail lay, melting slowly into the waters running off of the hills and mesas, downcutting into rills, rapids and even falls, as they sang their way down to Red Hill Draw.

 

There will be no Sukkah at Freedom Ridge Ranch tonight. Rain was still falling intermittently as Tippy and I picked our way across to check the chickens, jumping across a stream and its smaller tributary, both coming down from the dirt tank west of the barn. The other dogs were not the least bit interested in leaving the shelter of the living room. They were shell shocked from lightning, thunder, downpour and then hail. A sudden appearance of the setting sun lit up a rainbow over Freedom Ridge, and then curtains of rains covered it again, until the clouds passed to the east and the moon rose into them.

 

In the pattern of the Holy Days this year, building a Sukkah was called due to rain. The damage to the landscape, the flooding, the car bottoming out in standing water in Red Hill Draw by the shipping pens, all these things together made the typical Sukkot not only difficult, but unimaginable. Sukkot celebrates not only the Ingathering Harvest, the last of the Israeli year, but it also commemorates the years of wandering in the desert. It is a reminder of the fragility and impermanence of life.  

For so many people in New Mexico, Arizona and Colorado, this impermanence is very real, as they realize what the floodwaters took, and clean up what is left, much of the stuff of their lives washed away like the stuff of our hillsides, roads and driveways. Normal life will not come for weeks or even months for friends of ours who live in Coal Creek Canyon. There house is high and soggy, but they will not see a return of drinking water and natural gas for a long while. They know the fragility of their dwelling place on real terms this Sukkot.

For us, the damage is in a bottomed out car, washed out roads and rilling and gullying in our harsh but fragile landscape. We’ve come through lightly, really. But on another level, we are also confronting impermanence without the need to build a Sukkah this year. Although this is now our permanent dwelling here at Freedom Ridge Ranch, we are in the midst of completing repairs requested by the buyers of the house up in Sedillo, the beautiful house we both thought would be our last. And we are buying a casita, a small and comparatively inexpensive house on a hill north of the Sedillo house a good ten miles by road.

The casita will be a place for the Cowboy to live while he finishes his degree and certifications in welding and metal technology. It will be a place for me to stay this fall and next spring, as I focus intensively on finishing my coursework so I can take my comprehensive exams. It will be a place for the Engineering Geek to land when he comes up to Albuquerque and Sandia Labs on business, for he has contracts that require his intermittent presence. It will not be home. But we will be back and forth between home and not-home a lot, all of us. And while this is the case, we hope to be completing the additions and renovations that will make the ranch house uniquely ours.

Our dwelling place will be most fragile and impermanent this year. Like our ancestors, who had to wander in the wilderness until they understood what freedom really requires. 

“As Jews moved into exile, they understood
what the Sukkah had always taught them: G-d
is not fixed; G-d is everywhere. After the
Exodus, Israel went into the desert to meet
its lord. Later, the favor was returned by
G-d, who went with them into exile, into
the travail of history. Jews learned that the
Shekhinah (Indwelling Presence) was with them
in times of exile and wandering.”

    --Rabbi Irving Greenberg, The Jewish Way

I miss the Sukkah already. The fragrant fall odors of Etrog and s’chach; the moonlit nights in the Sukkah, and the warm Shabbat afternoons. All the delights for the senses, the celebration of the harvest. But this year, with all of our life so impermanent, with our family scattered hither and yon, the reminder of the fragility of life, the shaky nature of shelter in the autumn wind is being delivered another way. Like so many of our friends and neighbors, undone by the Great Southwest Flood of 2013, we don’t need the Sukkah to remind us of these things. Our life is fragile enough. As Rabbi Greenberg reminds us:

“Until the world is redeemed from slavery,
Jews are on an Exodus journey; perforce
they are in, but not really of,the society
and culture they inhabit. Jews can con-
tribute without really accepting the
system. The tremendous effort to parti-
cipate led to Jewish integration into the 
host culture. Then the Sukkah reminded
them to push on. There were miles to go,
on the Exodus way . . .”

-- The Jewish Way

Mother Nature has completed the traditional Water-Pouring, Tevillah, that used to take place on the first night of Sukkot during the days of the Second Temple. She even through in some ice to go with the fiery lighting. And now life itself, and the way it works, is bringing us to a new understanding of impermanence.

Life is a fragile thing, and we shake like a Sukkah in the autumn winds. Yet like the Sukkah, we generally manage to remain standing. Through fire. And water. And ice.
There is a toughness to us as well. It gets us through hard times and makes us too stiff-necked to bow down to what our hands have made.

That is the point of the Exodus journey. Freedom isn’t free. It takes time and an understanding that idolatry is not compatible with our liberty. The adventure has been worth the cost, as we are reminded again each Sukkot what is important and what is not.

Our spirits have a fragile dwelling place, a body that bends and sometimes breaks. But we also have Shekhinah, reminding us that beyond all the fragility, something of us is strong and mighty.

Chag Sameach. Happy harvest!

 

Technorati Tags: Flood,Rain,Sukkot,Times and Seasons

Sukkot: The Liberating Insecurity of Freedom

The most important part of the Sukkah . . . is the s'khakh,
materials of vegetative origin such as evergreen branches
or marsh rushes that form the roof. . . Though completely
covering the top, the s'khakh should be loosely spread so as
to be open to the heavens, with the stars visible through it.
Thus, the s'khakh is the perfect expression of Divine Protection.
G-d is not a mechanical shield that protects from all evil; G-d
is the Presence who gives strength to persevere, to overcome."
--Rabbi Irving Greenberg, The Jewish Way

As surely as the harvest moon waxes from new to first quarter to full, so too does the month of Tishrei grow from celebrating the Birthday of the World on Rosh Hashannah, to returning again from the death of idolatry to life renewed at Yom Kippur, and growing full at Sukkot, the Ingathering Harvest, the Season of our Joy.

Picture: The CIT and friend throw hay from the trailer into the hayloft at Freedom Ridge Ranch, Catron County, NM; October 2011. EHL

At this season, we recount the harvest of the previous spring and summer, gathering the hay into barns, animal feed for the winter; the cans and jars and bottles into the pantry, food for our bodies; and we bask in the sweet and fleeting warmth of Indian Summer, taking rest and pleasure, experiencing joy to fuel our spirits through the dark and cold of winter.

Although the Sukkah--the harvest booth--that we are commanded to dwell in for the seven days of the Festival originated in agricultural practices of the ancient Near East, it has come to mean far more than that. It symbolizes the temporary shelters that our ancestors used on the long and arduous journey in the wilderness that marked their transition from slavery to freedom.

If at Pesach we celebrate the high of the liberating moment, at Sukkot we remember the first uncertain steps made in freedom. At Pesach we remember that our ancestors served idols, and at Sukkot we recognize the shaky sense of vulnerability that accompanies the refusal to worship that which was made by our own hands. The Sukkah itself is designed to be a symbol of that shakiness, of the impermanent nature of much of what we believe or fervently hope is permanent.

This year, thanks to my summer spent unpacking the library, we rediscovered an old friend, Rabbi Irving Greenberg and his book on living the Jewish holidays. In the way that the turning of the Torah year by year causes us to reveal and rediscover new meanings, so, too, does the turning of the seasons of the year, year by year, cause us to recognize and see anew the meanings of the Holy times and seasons, and how they relate to our lives in the world as it turns and changes. During the somnolent warmth of an Indian Summer Shabbat afternoon, as the dogs dozed and insects hummed, we read:

"The move into the sukkah is a movement from the certainty of fixed position toward the liberating insecurity of freedom. [Those who dwell in the sukkah] open up to the world, to the unexpected winds, to the surprise setback as well as the planned gain. The joy of Sukkot is a celebration of the privilege of starting on the road to freedom, knowing that to finish the task is not as decisive as the failure to start is."

At the table in the Sukkah, we looked at each other, and smiled over the sweet Sabbath wine in recognition of the reality of those words; the recognition that this entire year has been exactly that for us: a year of unexpected winds (and rain and mud!) and surprises, a year in which we have made the choice to start out on a new road to freedom in our lives, even as the world turns into the saecular winter, a season of uncertainty and crisis.

Moving into the Sukkah, even to celebrate Ha-chag, THE Holiday, the one in which we celebrate the joy of the harvest, is also to move into the recognition that nothing much in life is permanent, and that to attach our hearts too securely to the idea that what is now is what will always be is dangerous idolatry, bound to fail us. That is why the Sukkah is constructed to shake in the wind--it is to remind us that most of what we believe protects us is in fact, ephemeral. As Rabbi Greenberg writes:

"The sukkah . . . instructs Jews not to become overly rooted, particularly not in the exile. For thousands of years, Jews built homes in the Diaspora. Civilizations of extraordinary richness--culturally, religiously, economically and socially-- we created. But all such Jewish homes and civilizations have proven thus far to be temporary ones, blown away when the turn of the wheel brought new forces to power. Often, self-deception and the desire to claim permanent roots led Jews to deny what was happening until it was too late to escape."

Picture: The Engineering Geek in the Sukkah after Havdalah ended Shabbat Chol-ha Moed Sukkot 5772, Freedom Ridge Ranch, Catron County, NM; October 2011 EHL

Indeed. One need only to think of those Jews who believed that they were too assimilated, too German; that the high civilization of Germany would protect them, and that they had acquired too much to give it up , to flee with nothing, leaving everything, in the middle of the night. I remember wondering--as I studied the early days of the Shoah and the fall European civilization into darkness; as I read Hersey's The Wall, and as I watched Defiance--I remember asking myself, could I do it? Would I be able to leave everything for the sake of my life and those of my children? I would look around at my beautiful home, at the wealth bound up in fine furniture, at the Polish tea set passed down from oldest daughter to oldest daughter, at my mother-in-law's Passover china, and I would know how hard that choice would be.

But during the past year and a half, as we watched the world teeter once again on the brink of financial ruin and moral darkness, as we listened to the rising voices of antisemitism, and heard the voices of collectivism blaming the Jews, and talking of "eating the rich", we made a decision. We recognized that all of the things we value can be built again by those who place the highest value not the things themselves, but on the lives of those who made them. And so we chose to plan prudently, to remove our work from those who believe they own us, to "go Galt" and preserve ourselves and our values for a new turning of the wheel. And I left the home I loved for a new and more rugged place; and we left the retirement we planned for new challenges in self-sufficiency, in order to provide for ourselves and those we value a shelter in case of trouble. We cannot know the whole of what is coming, and we cannot guarantee for ourselves and those we love perfect protection from all evil. But we can find for ourselves and offer to others, a place to stand; one rooted not in a place and possessions, but one rooted in a Presence identified by the spirit of freedom and adventure, that One who gives us the "courage and strength to persevere."

Thinking of all of this, recognizing who we are are and why we are here, we held hands as we made Havdalah in the Sukkah, tasting the sweet wine, smelling the spices, and holding our hands out to the light of the twisted candle, we sang of our longing for redemption and of the sweetness of joy in the coming week, knowing that whatever may come, we will face it as free individuals who have chosen this path. This ability to choose and to act in the face of the uncertainties of life is the very thing by which we find happiness and fulfillment. In this way, freedom and openness to the world of unexpected winds and surprise setbacks still brings joy. At Sukkot we are commanded to enjoy ourselves, to take pleasure in the fruits of our action and in the harvest of our choices.

Picture: Setting the Table for Kiddush in the Sukkah, Freedom Ridge Ranch, Catron County, NM; October 2011 EHL

"One fundamental criterion of a life well lived is love of life. It is terribly important, therefore, to enjoy life as it goes along. Joy cannot be postponed. Life as it is, is of infinite value . . .The joy of Sukkot represents maturity. It is the happiness of a free person who chooses to live this way, who chooses this mission above all alternatives."

The openness of the Sukkah, the frailty of it before strong winds, the beauty of the sun and the stars shining through the s'khakh, all of these things reminded us again this year that the Journey to Freedom that Sukkot commemorates is long and difficult; that our recognition of the temporary nature of most of our experiences is part of the journey; and that the very insecurity of freedom itself fills our lives and choices with meaning. Happiness comes of our choosing freedom over the enslavement of idolatry, and it is in the choosing to love our lives as they are, with all of their challenges and adventures, that we find joy.

This is what we learned anew this year, in the midst of all the adventures here at Freedom Ridge Ranch, during this Harvest Festival, the Season of Our Joy.

End of Sukkot: It Was All Good

This year, I seem to be talking about the Fall Holidays at the end of each. This has truly been an upside down year. I have been working very hard on New Mexico Patriot Alliance Retreat and the Continental Congress Elections. The Retreat was last weekend and the election took place over the past week for mail-in voting, and the in-person voting yesterday. So Sukkot, the Festival of the Ingathering Harvest, was also the first harvest of the NMPA efforts that began at Passover last March.



This Sukkot has also been cold and windy, foggy and even rainy! We did not get any snow, though, like we did last year. Between the retreat last week and the weather last week, we have not had much chance to enjoy our Sukkah this year.


On the first night of Sukkot, we did have the opportunity to spend time with a newlywed friend and his bride in our Sukkah. Last Sunday and Tuesday evening we had hurried dinners in the Sukkah (due to wind and weather), although the Boychick did not join us on Tuesday because he was sent home with the H1N1 flu.

This morning, the last day of the Festival (Shemini Atzeret/Simchat Torah), dawned foggy and very cool, and the Engineering Geek and I stayed in bed until after 7 AM for the first time in weeks and weeks. We took a long leisurely walk in the meadow and the woods. I took along my camera, and got some pictures: above is upper Sedillo Canyon in fog, and below, the EG with Lily and Shayna. (Shayna thought I wanted to play as she does when I aim the camera in her direction).








Breakfast was inside, as it was still foggy and windy, but later when the fog burned off and the wind died down, we were able to sit in the Sukkah. This year's Sukkah was very plain, but it was beautiful today in the sunshine.


We had a good Sukkot luncheon out there, Turkey Soup (from the Rosh Hashannah bird), fresh-baked French bread and butter, and sweet cider.








Of course we had a Lulov and Etrog (Arba Minim) for the holiday, pictured above on the table. We waved it everyday, as prescribed and sang songs from the Hallel (certain Psalms) as we did so.

But this afternoon, it was finally calm enough to take some pictures of the EG following the actual waving ritual. Today being Simchat Torah, we sang "Adonenu, Hoshianah" as well as about the Torah. We missed dancing with the Torah at the synagogue because of the Boychick's illness. So we made our own rejoicing here.

This afternoon we also went out and picked up my great buy of the year. I have been looking--for three years--for a sideboard that would blend with my Thomasville dining room, but that set is in the Louis Philipe style, which is not real popular right now. Yesterday, the Chem Geek Princess found a piece that would work at American Furniture. She was very excited when she pointed it out to me. And so was I. And I was even more excited about the price. It started at over $1300. But it was part of a set and the set had sold, so it was marked down to $799.99. But it also had some minor damage, and so was marked down further to $399.99. When I said I would buy it as it, the manager took another hundred bucks off, so this was a real steal!

It does not perfectly match my original set, but in the picture you can see it next to a dining room chair. It blends more beautifully than I had even imagined when I saw it at the store.

The Chem Geek Princess has always been good shopping Karma, but this is the best yet. I am really, really glad she is living in town and will still be there when she and her new husband move into their new home in December. I am glad for many reasons greater than the shopping Karma, but as you can see, yesterday was a lucky day for me!

All in all, this was one of the strangest High Holy day seasons I have ever had. But it was good, in a very different way. It's all good, as one of my friends likes to remind me. I need to be reminded. So I'll say it again. It is all good.

Sukkot: Shelter, Snow, and Saecular Winter

In Israel, they say that rain on Sukkot is bad luck. The winter rains should begin after the this autumn pilgrimage festival is over, so that travelers may get home from Jerusalem before the roads become muddy and impassible. In this year of worry and anxiety, all the signs seem pointed towards hard times.

Is snow on Sukkot then a sign of impending Saecular Winter? A time of crisis?
Like the Fourth Turning itself, the signs are in the minds of those who observe them.
At the cusp of a different turning, the snow on Sukkot would be given a different meaning.
For it is we who make the meanings. And this Sukkot feels like the "coming of the winter" in a way that past Sukkots did not.


Sukkot, the festival of the Ingathering Harvest, begins on the full moon six months after the full moon of Pesach.

Here the full moon sets on the first morning of the seven-day festival, and that is snow on the roof of the house!

On the previous evening, we ate in the Sukkah as the sun set. Although the setting sun was warm on our faces, the clouds were gathering. By the time we had waved the lulav, the wind had picked up, and we cleared up as a fine mist began to fall. In the morning, it was snow that fell on our mountain.

On Tuesday afternoon, it was clear that we would eat at the kitchen table, gazing out at the snowy Sukkah.
The commandment is to dwell in the Sukkah over the days of the festival. However, we are also commanded to rejoice in the fruit of our labor. But the Rabbis of the Talmud understood that rejoicing and getting cold and wet are not compatible states of being. Thus one may not dwell in the Sukkah when it rains. Or snows? Do they mention snow on Sukkot in the Talmud?

We have had strong winds and rain when Sukkot comes in mid-October, but this is the first time I have found snow on my Sukkah on the first day! Not to worry! The Chile Lights are outdoor-rated by Underwriters Laboratories.

Wednesday was damp and blustery.
Thursday, it was cold enough that we said the blessings and waved the lulav in the Sukkah, but ate indoors.

Yesterday, though was actually hot in Albuquerque and warm here at Sedillo. It was a calm, clear evening. So I dressed the Sukkah up for Shabbat.
We said the blessings as the sun set.

Ah! Finally, a comfortable, leisurely meal in our own Sukkah.
Sukkot is the festival of joy in the harvest, and in the Sukkah we remember with gratitude the shelter of our home, and the shelter of each other.



It was so fine an evening, that we lingered over the meal, sitting and telling stories well after dark. The Chem Geek Princess closed escrow on her first house Friday, so we talked about our past houses, aware that soon our family dwelling will be reduced from sheltering four humans to three. (The number of canines and felines and amphibians is expected to remain stable for the time being). So this is the last Sukkot with all of us under one roof.



As frustrated and worried as we all are about the state of our country's economy, we have banned political talk in the Sukkah. No discussions of stock markets, bail-outs, the election and (especially) temple politics are allowed under the Chile Lights.

As we helped each other stay within the ban, we found ourselves talking instead about how grateful we are for what we have. Our home is secure. We have food in the pantry, and supplies laid in for the winter (and for hard times, should they come). We are secure with each other.

We finally put on jackets as the Engineering Geek took up the lulav.

We wave it in the four directions, towards the sky, and towards the ground, singing Songs of the Ascents: Hodu l'Adonai ki tov . . . Give thanks to Adonai for G-d is good . . ."
"B'zeit Yisrael mi-Mitzrayim . . . When Israel came forth from slavery . . ." "Esa enai el-he-harim . . . I will lift my eyes up to the mountains . . ." "Ana Adonai, hoshiana . . . deliver us, Adonai . . ."

It is a primitive moment. And yet, modern though we are, and not farmers at all, we understand the sense of joy and satisfaction that comes from work well done, a harvest well brought in, and stores laid in for the winter. This year, we have begun to consider how to prepare for the Saecular Winter that is coming with the beginning of the season of crisis.

On Sukkot, we celebrate the harvest. In the shaky, temporary dwelling of the Sukkah, we remember the years of dwelling in the wilderness, the years of learning to be free. Part of the joy in the midst of uncertainty is the understanding that although life is short, the earth yields up incredible riches that can and will sustain us, and give us reason to celebrate the fruits of our labor, in good economic times as well as in bad.

During Sukkot, we read Megillat Kohelet--the Scroll of the Preacher (Ecclesiastes). The Preacher, it is said, is Solomon the Wise, who in his youth wrote the Song of Songs and in his age wrote this scroll. He laments that all that a human does appears to be vain, chasing after the wind that cannot be caught. That life is short and impending death makes human striving seem futile. But he sees that wisdom lies in rejoicing over what can and is accomplished. That rather than eat one's bread in bitterness because life is not endless, one should appreciate the work of one's hands thus:

"Behold, that which I have seen: it is good, yes, it is beautiful for a man to eat and to drink to enjoy the pleasure for all his labor that he works under the sun, all the days of his life that
G-d has given him, for this is his portion. Everyone also to whom G-d has given riches and wealth, and has given him power to eat thereof, and to take his portion, and to rejoice in his labor. This is the gift of his life. For let him remember that his days are not many; that G-d answers him in the joy of his heart."

In the hard days that are coming what do we have? We have much if we prudently keep the fruits of our labor, and rejoice in what we have made and done. For the Eternal answers us in the joy of our lives, not in meanness and suffering.

Sukkot: Season of Our Joy

After the solemnity of the High Holy Days, comes Sukkot, which is the Jewish Thanksgiving. It is the Festival of the Ingathering Harvest, the last harvest before winter.
Sukkot is one of the shaloshim regalim--the three pilgrimage festivals--seasons in which Israelites were commanded to bring offerings to the temple in Jerusalem. It is commanded in Torah thus:

"On the fifteenth day of the seventh month is the feast of Sukkot (Booths) to Adonai, to last seven days...when you have gathered the produce of your land, you shall observe a festival to Adonai...You shall dwell in sukkot seven days...in that future generations may know that I made the Israelite people dwell in sukkot when I brought them out of the land of Egypt, I, Adonai your G-d." (Leviticus 23: 34, 39, 42-43).

Sukkot started at sunset on Wednesday. So on Wednesday afternoon, N. and I decorated the Sukkah so that we could observe the festival. I strung the chile lights up while N. cut branches from trees that needed trimming on our land. We figure it will take several years of Sukkot building to actually trim down the trees as much as they need it.


A sukkah is essentially a harvest booth. In the days of old Israel, people would build booths near their fields and orchards in order to sleep near where they were working the harvest. The booth should have branches across the roof, called schkach, to shade the interior, but it should be thin enough that one can sit in the sukkah at night and count the stars, as our father Abraham did of old, reminding us that the offspring of Israel will number as the stars.

We beautify the mitzvah (commandment) of the sukkah by decorating it with vegetables and fruits of the harvest. Ours has Indian corn and peppers tied to the roof, and pumpkins and squash to decorate the table. We take our meals in the sukkah throughout the seven days, which is enough to satisfy the commandment to dwell in the sukkah.


Since the first night and day are days of festival, we light candles (or lamps--since we are outside) and make a blessing over a cup of wine (called Kiddush) to usher in the Holy Time. Being that we are the spiritual descendents of wanderers (Ivri--Hebrew--means boundary crosser), we do not, as a rule, sanctify spaces; rather we sanctify time. For example, the synagogue sanctuary is not a sanctified space. But the times we celebrate there are holy, as is the holy kahal--congregation--that prays there.

There is another commandment we observe at Sukkot. It is the commandment of the four species. In Leviticus we are also told:

"...you shall take the product of goodly trees (citron), together with the branches of palm trees, boughs of leafy trees (myrtle), and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before Adonai your G-d seven days." (Leviticus 23:40)

Lulav and Etrog

by N.

During Sukkot we wave the lulav and etrog, in six directions while we are dwelling in the sukkah. The lulav is a bundle that has the palm branch in the middle, two willow branches on one side, and three myrtle branches on the other. The etrog is a citron, which smells really, really good! It looks like a lemon, but it is larger and jucier and smells sweeter. We hold the lulav in the right hand, and the etrog in the left hand, and we face east. We shake the lulav three times east, three times south, three times west, three times north, three times up and three times down. This shows that G-d is everywhere! While we do the shaking, we sing "Hodu l'Adonai ki tov!" That means "Give thanks to Adonai for G-d is good."

There is a story about what the lulav and etrog mean. The willow branches have no smell and no taste, like the Jew who does not study Torah and does not do good deeds. The myrtle branches have a sweet smell, but no taste, like the Jew who studies Torah, but does not do good deeds. The palm branch is from the date palm, and it has no smell, but the dates are sweet to taste, like the Jew who does not study Torah but does good deeds. And the etrog--the citron--has both a good smell and tastes good, like the Jew who both studies Torah and does good deeds. We bring them all together when we thank G-d on Sukkot because the it takes all kinds of Jews to make our people Israel.

Back to you, Mom!

Here is Bruce demonstrating the waving of the Lulav and Etrog in our Sukkah.

Sukkot brings together so many things! All of the senses are involved. We sit in the beautiful Sukkah and feast our eyes on the colors of autumn and the full harvest moon. We wave the lulav, smelling the myrtle leaves and the citron. We taste the sweet wine and eat good food there. We hear the swish of the lulav and the melody of Hodu l'Adonai. We feel the warmth of the sun, the cool breeze of sunset, and the night air on our skin and in our breathing. All of the senses are involved in making a memory. The memory of wandering in the wilderness, fed by manna from the desert. The memory of all of our ancestors, who also sat in their sukkot the same way that we are now.


As we sit in our Sukkot--booths that shake a little in the wind, we also look at our houses with thankfulness, and remind ourselves of the fragility of our lives. Everything we have could be gone in an instant. It is essentially dust in the wind. We are commanded to rejoice in the bounty of earth, given to us freely. We are reminded that life is fragile and fleeting, a gift from the Eternal. And we remember that we are one with our ancestors, who wandered in the wilderness, becoming a people through shared hardship and emunah--reliance on the Eternal.



In the Birkat ha-Mazon--the blessing after food, we sing:
"Poteach et yadecha..."--You open your Hand and satisfy the needs of every living thing.

Essentially, everything we have comes from the Eternal. We did not make it. We do not own it. Our existance is predicated on the gift of life and the gifts of the earth. And therefore we have the obligation to care for and nurture life and the earth that sustains it. It is not ours to destroy. We must be good stewards of creation so that we and our children may live.

During Sukkot we read Kohelet the Preacher, who said:

"What profit it a man of all his labor that he works under the sun? One generation passes and another comes, but earth abides forever...For what has a man from all his labor, all his striving under the sun. For all his days are pains, and occupation a vexation...this also is vanity. There is nothing better than that he should eat and drink, and make his soul enjoy pleasure for his labor. This also I saw, that it is from the hand of G-d...All the days of his life which G-d has given; for that is his portion...Let him remember that the days of his life are not many; for G-d answers him in the joy of his heart." (Ecclesiastes 1:3-4; 2:22-24; 5:17-19).

It is good to take the time to rejoice in the fruits of our labor, for our lives are fragile and fleeting and what remains is memory.

Chag Sameach--Happy Holiday--during the Season of Our Rejoicing!

Preparing for the Harvest Moon

Tonight is the full moon. This moon is called the 'Harvest Moon' by many. The full moon tends to rise very large and very yellow at this time of the year because of it's position in the sky. As the sun appears to move south now, due to the earth's tilt, the moon and the plane of the ecliptic appear to move north.

In the Jewish calendar this is the full moon of the month of Tishrei, which has significance, as we shall see.

This full moon is also coming hard on the heels of the autumnal equinox, which happened overnight between Saturday and Sunday just past. In this part of the world, it happened in the early morning hours of September 23.


Here is the sunrise on Monday morning. I try to take the position of the sunrise on the solstices, exquinoxes and cross-quarter days, but Sunday morning we woke up to much needed rain. So I took the picture on Monday. I also took it from a different position than the front porch. I have the whole apparent movement of the sun through the seasons documented from the front porch now, so I moved to the corner of the house in the side garden.





And here is the sunset on the equinox, taken from the back door. I thought I would add sunsets this year. It has moved a fair distance south, and now setting south of Tijeras canyon. At the summer solstice, it sets above the Sandia mountain front. Maybe next year, I will get really ambitious and capture the annalema!
Now there's a project...



This year, the Jewish festivals have been very close to the solar year quarters and cross-quarters. And we are in the month of Tishrei, the month that has more holidays than any other month. In fact, counting the two days of Rosh Hashanah (Tishrei 1-2), as well as 7 more days of repentance, and then Yom Kippur (Tishrei 10), we have already had 10 days of holiday this month. But we are not done yet. Tomorrow night, on Tishrei 15, we begin the seven day festival of Sukkot, the Ingathering Harvest festival. And then we have one more day to linger--Shemini Atzeret/Simchat Torah, bringing the grand total of holiday days in Tishrei up to 18! So although the days of awe ended at sunset on Yom Kippur, we still have Holy Days to prepare for!


It is the custom to arrive home from synagogue at the end of Yom Kippur and immediately begin to build the Sukkah--Booth--that we will eat in and dwell in during the Ingathering Harvest Festival. The purpose of this is the link the Holy Days and to express confidence that the repentance of Yom Kippur was effective. We are turning from awe to joy.

In our family, we never seem to be able to do that. We could, I suppose, bring out two boards and put them together, but we are tired and very full after the break-the-fast meal, which is a combination that leads us to fall into bed rapidly upon arriving home after a full day at synagogue. So on Sunday morning, after a good breakfast of eggs, bagels and creamed herring (the last left over from breaking the fast), Bruce pulled out the parts of the Sukkah.

Now, being that he is an engineer, there is no sloppy nailing involved. He has the braces already bolted to the uprights so that all he has to do is put the boards in place and bolt them in. I watch with some trepidation as he and N. go about putting up the frame and then they tie on the walls and roof, made of trellis, with pre-cut lengths of rope, that Bruce prepared the first year we were married. Well, actually, Bruce cut them. N., our resident pyromaniac, burned the ends to keep them from fraying. (N., who can start a fire in rain with a bow drill, is also responsible for burning the chametz every year just before Passover starts).

Why do I watch with trepidation? Because the Sukkah--the harvest booth--is a symbol of the transience of all material goods in life, and therefore is supposed to shake in the wind. Being an Engineer and a card-carrying Geek, First Class, my husband has great difficulty with this concept. Nothing he builds should be anything but solid. This year, I fluttered around, as usual, reading aloud the rules for Sukkah building as recorded in the Talmud out of Seasons of Our Joy by Yitz Greenberg, in order to remind Bruce that this is not just some Yiddishe Mama whim, it's THE LAW!

Finally, Bruce stopped, and with an exasperated sigh, announced, "This Sukkah is going to shake in the wind! I put only one carriage bolt in each brace, whereas last year it was two. And I told N. not to tighten it as tight as he did last year!"

"Yeah, Mom," N. agreed. "Just try it! It shakes."

To paraphrase the Mayor Daley of my childhood:
Dey tell me its gonna shake in the wind. I dunno. Looks pretty solid to me.

But then, Bruce insists that there are the legally prescribed two and a half walls there, too. I count only two. Seems like we need another half-wall on the north. When I pointed this out, Bruce rolled his eyes and invoked a legal fiction. Then he put the tools away, humming the tune to Leave a Little Bit Undone all the while. I should have never purchased that CD!

Tomorrow I will put on the strings of Chile lights. This is a New Mexican Sukkah. And we will hang the vegetables and put on the schkach (branches on top). And we will invite in the Ushpizin--the Holy Guests. And we will proceed to dwell in the Sukkah for seven days. Thank goodness "dwelling" can be defined as eating in the Sukkah, because the nights have become frosty here on our mountain ridge.

But tonight, I need to set dough for Challah. Another Holy Day starts tomorrow morning.