Sukkot: A time to unplug and tune in

By Rabbi Ben Kamin

Rabbi Ben Kamin
Rabbi Ben Kamin

ENCINITAS, California –No cyber connections.  No roar of television commercials in the background.  No numbing news cycle of repeated bad developments.  No usernames or passwords; just loving faces and star shine.  And the moon smiling down through a thatched roof.

Wednesday night, Oct. 8, when many Jews, from Pittsburgh to Paris, from Toronto to Tel Aviv, will settle into their little huts for the holiday of Sukkot, they will naturally bring along some wine, challah bread, and various simple victuals that don’t require elaborate preparation.  Meals will be shared under a purple sky; the fall harvest of transition, memory, and renewal will be celebrated in the deliberately unadorned setting once-removed from the zone of mortgages, automatic garage door openers, and electronic walls.

Some folks will even sleep in the sukkah for the week—a kind of return to the wilderness and a visit with desert ancestors.

The wine shared has nothing to do with blood or any sacrament.  Jews drink wine because it tastes good, because it recalls the earth and our origins as it warms the body and gladdens the heart (in moderation).  Judaism is a culture of festivals that plants a vineyard for joy and we turn God’s grapes into liturgy.  Maybe that is why Christians actively believe that when Jesus returns, he will return on Sukkot.

And what better place to visit than a simple yard tabernacle?   The prophet Micah, beloved by all, promised that we’d all know the great peace when God will again “tabernacle” with his people.

The sukkah, with frail walls that welcome fresh air, and that shuts no one out with locks, bolts, and security systems, is the only dwelling place suitable for any Redeemer.   Here we gather together, transparent and happy, visible to our neighbors, and we bless the grains and the produce of the earth and the warmth of sunshine. If it rains upon us, we are only grateful that the soils are replenished and the seeds of future blossoms are nourished.

In the little hut, there is no coaxial connection, no television, no Internet, no wires of any kind that import the noise and indoctrinations of the outside world into the sanctity of our quiet conversations and our gentle songs. At night, the patchy roof lets in not only the galaxies and the invigorating fall air, but also the visiting souls of our common ancestors, Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob, Leah, and Rachel.

For eight days that both the Old and New Testaments anoint as worthy of a messiah, there are, thankfully, no political polls, no Dow Jones, no Nielsen ratings, or theological manipulation. Just apples, lentils, repasts, spices, hanging artwork by kids, study, and psalms of praise.  No wonder Jesus regards this old Jewish holiday as his natural landing place.

I love it when Jews and Christians are tripping all over one another with the same texts and dreams.  Enjoy your little hut, or, if you don’t have one, go and create it with someone.  God knows that America needs this kind of spirit.

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Rabbi Kamin is an author and freelance writer based in the San Diego suburb of Encinitas, California.  He may be contacted via ben.kamin@sdjewishworld.com