Rabbi Freedman’s Shabbat Message

I smiled the other day while reading an article in The Australian.  Written by journalist Deirdre Macken, it suggested that once we reach ‘a certain age’, conversations with friends depart from the traditional subjects of holidays, interest rates, restaurants, rounds of golf and politics and instead focus on just one particular topic – our health.

We, of that age, come to shul – wish each other Good Shabbos – and then before we have even opened a siddur, we find ourselves discussing how many medical appointments we have had in the last seven days, how many blood tests and scans are coming up, what new medications we have been advised to take and how our knees and hips are holding up.

Almost overnight we become experts in every branch of medicine, there is no illness that we cannot speak about with some authority – and then there is our encyclopedic knowledge of specialists, some of whom we are eager to recommend, even if our friend doesn’t have that particular ailment – you should still go and see him or her.

If you are listening to this and you are under 65 – I can hear you right now mumbling under your breath – that’s never going to happen to me.  Well sorry to tell you it will – just give it time!

Why do we do it – one answer – because paradoxically it makes us happy – we may be old, we may, at times, be unwell – but we are alive and we are determined to stay young at heart even as our body ages.

This should not surprise us for Sukkot is a festival of paradoxes.

My early memories of Sukkot for example, in the northern hemisphere are of wintry, wet evenings.  What an irony to construct a sukkah, whose symbolic meaning was the antithesis of our own experience.  It was meant to be a structure protecting our ancestors against the burning heat of the desert, and instead we needed to wrap ourselves up in coats and scarves to ward off the cold.

Another example – this is the festival that reminds us of the Israelites wandering through the wilderness – a place that is utterly inhospitable.  Yet, paradoxically, Sukkot is the festival of hospitality, when we not only invite friends and family to join us in the Sukkah, but we even extend invitations to those long departed – the spirits of Avraham, Yitzchak, Yaakov, Yosef, Moshe, Aharon and David Hamelech.

Then there is the contradiction between the Arba’ah Minim and the Sukkah.  The Arba’ah Minim represent productivity, prosperity and plenty, the Sukkah, by contrast, represents dispossession, destitution and deprivation.

One final paradox – we call this Yom Tov – Chag Ha-Sukkot (The Festival of Tabernacles), but it is also known as Chag Ha’asif (The Festival of Ingathering).  Chag Ha-Sukkot involves the act of moving from inside to outside, from somewhere safe and secure, to somewhere precarious and exposed.  But paradoxically, Chag Ha’asif involves bringing that which is outside, the recently harvested crops, to the safety of the inside. 

What then do all these paradoxes teach us? 

I believe they prepare us not just for the vagaries of old-age and our inevitable decline in strength and vigor, but on a much deeper, philosophical level the unpredictable nature of the human condition, the all-too-often contradictory nature of human existence.

Think of life, just when we seem to be riding on the crest of a wave, celebrating success, at the height of our powers, our accomplishment is disturbed, fate intervenes and some unexpected misfortune pushes us off balance and forces us into a change of direction. 

Judaism acknowledges this reality but reminds us that the converse may also apply – that on occasions, with a little mazal, no sooner have we experienced setbacks and sorrows, instead of wallowing in our despair, we turn the tide, partly through self-belief, partly through Divine intervention – but, either way, we find ourselves transported to a place of hope, a position of renewed optimism, a situation where we once again have the prospect of real success.

With all this in mind, we can now understand the greatest paradox of this Yom Tov – the paradox at the root of the Biblical book that accompanies this festival, the book of Kohelet, a chronicle of musings written by King Solomon, a man, born into power and privilege, who enjoyed all the luxuries of life and should not have had a care in the world, and yet is beset with mental anguish and depression about the inconsistencies inherent in life, about the inability of man to find true fulfillment, about the ephemeral nature of fame and power, about the blurring of boundaries between folly and wisdom, about the conundrum of the frequent suffering of the righteous as set against the prosperity of the wicked.  The author, Kohelet, is preoccupied and weighed down with the anomalies and inconsistencies of life.

In the light of this, the late Rabbi Emanuel Rackman, former rabbi of 5^th Avenue Synagogue in Manhattan and President of Bar-Ilan University posed a great question.  Were our sages capricious or sadistic to prescribe a holiday dedicated to happiness only to pinpoint its pointlessness?  Said Rabbi Rackman, rather controversially in my opinion, that King Solomon wrote as pessimistically as he did because he completely failed to realize the three principal sources of meaningful happiness.

1. The love of family,
2. The capacity for genuine friendship, and
3. The ability to perform good deeds and bring happiness to others. 

What Sukkot is therefore trying to teach us is a simple lesson to seek these three blessings in spite of the inconsistency, unpredictability and fragility of life.

So when it happens that we are cast in the role of life’s victim, when our health fails, when our marriage fails, when our business fails, to give but three examples, remember that tomorrow we may become life’s victor.

Even as we struggle with our failures, we should be planning how to celebrate our triumphs.   

This is the meaning of the Talmudic expression: 

כשם שמברכים על הטוב כך מברכים על הרע

Just as one blesses God for the good, so must one bless Him for the bad. 

Sukkot teaches that there is neither good nor bad.  There is only life. 

This why Sukkot is called זמן שמחתנו the time of our joy – for Sukkot decodes for us the secret of life, enjoying the good and surviving the bad and in spite of every hardship maintaining a sense of equilibrium at simply being alive – and most especially as Rabbi Rackman taught – finding love, friendship and the opportunity to do good for others. 

And I do believe that the older we become, the better we understand that joy does not come from the obvious, it is not a result of great houses of brick or stone; it doesn’t come from what we shut out, but from what we let in. 

Joy comes from a roof open to heaven, a door open to guests, and a heart open to thanksgiving. 

It was the great sage, Ben Zoma who asked – Who is rich? 

His answer stands the test of time – not one who has everything he wants, but one who can celebrate everything he has. 

Chag Sameach

Rabbi David Freedman