Sukkot: Wanderers No More
designed by Blair Prentice
Tent fabrics, tapestries and curtains woven and tailored by Cathy Bolding
Sukkot is almost here. These four days between Yom Kippur and Sukkot, though not given a special name, are filled with deep meaning. My sukkah is up but not yet complete; the walls are standing, but the roof isn’t on. This vulnerable structure, still in progress, mirrors the state of our people. We are strong, yet exposed. The sukkah takes us back to our ancestors’ time in the desert, where our homes were temporary shelters. For 40 years, we lived in these fragile structures, depending on the Divine for protection. Even now, as many of us live in permanent homes, we carry the memory of those who were uprooted, displaced, and vulnerable.
I was reminded of this fragility during my time as a pulpit rabbi in Berkeley, California. Our synagogue was designed by a member of the shul community Blair Prentice, a brilliant architect, who, though not Jewish himself, poured his heart and soul into understanding the sacred dimensions of the space based on Jewish text and tradition. The ark, which housed the Torah, was built in the image of the Mishkan, the portable Tabernacle. It was a beautiful, temporary structure — like the sukkot our ancestors lived in — designed to be deconstructed and reconstructed. It struck me how even the heart of our permanent, sacred space was modeled after something temporary. This was a spiritual/architectural reflection of our complicated history as Jews — a history defined by exile, wandering, and the rebuilding of community again and again.
But here’s what we need to remember, especially these days: we were once wanderers; we are no longer. The sukkah is a symbol, of a reality we are meant to ritualize but never again accept as permanent. The existence of the modern State of Israel is a profound and spiritual answer to the Jewish history of displacement. For 2,000 years, we prayed for a return to Zion, and today, Israel stands as a testament to those prayers. The early Zionists, largely anti-religious Jews, fulfilled an ancient spiritual yearning, turning a dream into a reality. To go home.
As we enter Sukkot, let us remember that while the sukkah is intentionally temporary, it points toward something intentionally permanent. It reminds us that we are no longer wandering, no longer at the mercy of others. We have a home. Israel is not just a political entity; it is a spiritual affirmation that Jews belong in this world, that we have a right to exist, to flourish, and to live in peace.
In these days of war, as we fight for the return of our loved ones, let us hold tight to the lesson of Sukkot: we will not be uprooted again. And as we build our sukkot, may we also anchor ourselves in the truth that we belong. We deserve life, stability, and peace. And we will fight for these rights to be recognized by the world. As long as we must.
Chag Sameach, may this Sukkot bring us closer to the day when all our family is home.