“They’re incredible.” “So uplifting!” “What a unique experience.” These were the comments that drew me and my friends to Meah Shearim to partake in the many Simchas Beis Hashoeva celebrations taking place there. We were eighteen-year-old yeshiva bochurim searching for an exciting and meaningful way to spend Chol HaMoed Sukkos.
However, after spending hours participating in numerous Simchas Bais Hashoevas, we realized something was amiss. Everyone around us was joyful, but me and my small group of friends were just not feeling it. We weren’t connecting to the simcha of the evening in any way.
We decided to try one last place. We entered a yeshiva that was very festive, and we tried to be swept up in their joy. At one point I was standing near the band that was playing, standing right under the trumpet player, when all of a sudden I felt a huge glob of wetness on my face. I was later told by a professional trumpet player that this is not spit, it is condensed water. Call it whatever you want, it was time to leave.
It was midnight. Everywhere we went people were laughing and dancing and joyous, and we weren’t. It was an exceptionally lonely feeling to be surrounded by such joy and to feel so distant from it. To go through an experience which is supposed to be spiritually uplifting and not feel uplifted at all is crushing.
I imagine some of you may have felt this way on Rosh Hashana or Yom Kippur, maybe this year, maybe in years past. People around you are into the davening and you’re not. You know you’re supposed to be feeling something, but you don’t feel anything at all. It’s lonely and demoralizing.
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There is a debate in the beginning of Meseches Sukkah as to what we are commemorating on this holiday. Rav Eliezer says that we are commemorating the clouds of glory that surrounded the Jewish people as they journeyed through the desert. Rabbi Akiva argues and says that we are commemorating actual booths that the Jewish people built for themselves in the desert.
Rabbi Akiva’s approach is troubling. How can he deny the fact that the Jewish people were surrounded by clouds of glory when the Torah tells us so explicitly? Even more puzzling, there is no mention of the Jewish people building booths, and why would they? They had miraculous clouds that protected them from the elements.
Suggests the Chasam Sofer, Rabbi Akiva agrees that there were clouds of glory that protected the Jewish people in the desert. But that is not what Sukkos is celebrating. There were times that certain individuals had to leave those clouds of glory and live outside the Jewish camp. People like the metzora who had sinned and became tamei were forced to leave the clouds of glory and live away from everyone else. Those people did not have clouds of glory to protect them from the beasts of the desert or the extreme elements. What did they do? They built huts. “Sukkos mamesh.”
What Rabbi Akiva is suggesting is that on Sukkos, we are not commemorating the nation of Israel being surrounded by clouds of glory – as great as a miracle as that was. We are commemorating the individual Jew, the lonely Jew, who was not connected to the nation in that moment, who felt alone, who felt broken, who felt lost, but who nonetheless was protected by G-d even though he or she was not surrounded by the clouds of glory. That is what, or rather, who, we are commemorating on this holiday. The Zohar writes that the sukkah is meant to be an embrace from Hashem. It is a hug to the solitary Jew who is all alone.
And that’s what Sukkos is meant to be. We may feel distant, we may not feel loved by G-d, we may not feel connected to our fellow Jews, and we may not feel inspired by religious experiences. But then we go into our sukkah, with its simple walls and roof. There are no actions or rituals demanded of us; we just sit there surrounded by G-d. A hug from Hashem for those of us who do not feel connected.
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At about midnight that evening on Chol HaMoed Sukkos, my friends and I had given up on having an uplifting evening. We were walking by the central bus station and we were hungry – we were 18; we were always hungry. We bought some danishes and drinks from a convenience store and sat down in the small sukkah outside. One of my friends started singing, and we joined him. A few minutes later, a woman who was carrying a whole bunch of bags with her – she seemed homeless – joined us in the sukkah. A little while later, a young chassid came in the sukkah as well. More and more people joined us in this little sukkah. We bought more food, more drinks. People shared stories and we sang. More stories, more songs. The experience went on for hours. It was the most beautiful Simchas Bais Hashoeiva I have experienced in my life.
Sometimes we need to go off the beaten path to reconnect. Sometimes we need to be a little bold, we need to try something new and different to get that spark of spirituality, of ruchniyus that our souls crave. Sometimes we need to leave our comfort zone, sometimes we need to leave the clouds of glory, because that’s the only place we can really find ourselves. And that’s the only place we can find Hashem.
The sukkah is a reminder to all those who feel disconnected, all those who feel impure, and all those who feel lost and alone, that Hashem is still there with us, encouraging us to find our unique spark and giving us a hug.
