Sukkot: Joy as Resistance
How do we hold on to joy when the world around us trembles? As we enter Sukkot, we stand at the intersection of memory and reality. Last year, we entered this holiday completely unaware of the darkness that was about to unfold — an unspeakable tragedy that has reshaped the entire Jewish world and our hearts. And yet, here we are, commanded to embrace joy. How do we do it?
In the face of pain, in the shadow of suffering, Sukkot asks us to rejoice. Not because the pain disappears, but because the act of finding joy in such times is an act of resilience, an act of faith, an act of survival. Rabbi Yehuda teaches that even if our lulav and etrog are withered, they are still fit for use, but that storing withered lulavim and etrogim for future generations in case times get tough is not acceptable (Tosefta, Zera’im). This isn’t about perfect conditions. It’s about showing up, doing the mitzvot, and living forward, even with the weight of history and trauma in our hands.
So what does that mean for us now, a year after such devastation? It means that the act of building a sukkah — fragile, open, temporary — becomes a declaration of hope. It means gathering the four species, even if they are not pristine, and waving them with intention. It means allowing ourselves to experience joy, not as a dismissal of our pain, but as a powerful, spiritual response to it.
There is a mystical teaching that the sukkah is an embrace, its walls wrapping around us like arms, holding us in our vulnerability. In this moment of heightened uncertainty, we are invited to be held by our sukkot, to let the rain fall on us, to gaze at the stars through its open roof, and to invite others to share in that space with us. This is a mitzvah not only of physical shelter but of spiritual courage.
We cannot live a Judaism of scarcity, of withered walls and dried traditions. We will not pass down a faith that only survives through fear. We are called to do more than just fulfill the mitzvot — we are called to live them, to feel them, to infuse them with life. Ours is not a “just in case” Judaism. This is a Judaism of resilience, of profound joy even and especially in the face of hardship, of holding on to the possibility of light even in the darkest times.
Generations from now, people will ask how we managed to celebrate Sukkot the year after the unspeakable losses of October 7. They will not judge us for finding joy — they will marvel at how we found it at all. And we will tell them, “We didn’t know how to do it. But we knew we had to. We knew that the story of our people is not one of defeat but of hope. We built the sukkah, we waved the lulav, we sang songs of joy, because we believed — despite everything — that joy is not just a feeling. It is a mitzvah.”
This Sukkot, may we all find the courage to sit in our fragile sukkah, to let the wind and rain touch us, and to hold on to the gift of joy. It is not easy. It is not simple. But it is our sacred task. Simcha is our inheritance, just as the lulav and etrog are. May we find joy, and may that joy be the seed of our continued strength.
Chag Sameach!