Although Shabbat Sukkot doesn't seem to have much that separates it from the rest of Sukkot, there is one thing at least upon which we may comment - Megillat Kohelet, one of the five special scrolls we read over the course of the year.
Megillat Kohelet is always read during the festival of Sukkot, but it doesn't quite seem to fit - it's tone is decidedly downbeat and certainly appears to clash with the sentiment echoed in a a song commonly sung, "ושמחת בחגך - V'samachta b'chagecha - and you shall rejoice in your festivals" (Sourced from פרשת ראה: טז:יד).
Two Psukim later in פסוק טז, we read, "שלוש פעמים בשנה... בחג המצות ובחג השבועות ובחג הסוכות - Three times a year... On Chag Hamatzot, V'Chag Hashavuot, and Chag HaSukkot..." We are clearly supposed to be happy on our Chagim, we must rejoice on Sukkot. So if we are meant to be happy, how can we read Kohelet, which talks about the "futility" of life?
If we examine the text of the Mussaf Shmonah Esrei we say every day of Chag, we say "ומפני חטאנו גלינו מארצנו, ונתרחקנו מעל אדמתנו - But because of our sins we have been exiled from our land and sent far from our soil." This is certainly no happy statement, and if we pray the we are meant to, these words must surely evoke a certain emotion within us, an emotion rather dissonant with the theme of rejoicing. Again, it seems to clash. How do we resolve such a discrepancy?
Rav Kook answers the question as follows. There are two types of negative feelings in life, one is sadness and one is pain. Pain is a necessary part of life, as it allows us to realise that something is wrong and to build on it. Sadness on the other hand, is restricting and inhibits us. When we are sad, we can become depressed and caught up in the act of "being sad." Humans tend to wallow in sadness. Sometimes people feel really bad about something, and then compound their feelings by playing a depressing song. That is an example of sadness; it's destructive and a waste of one's time and energy.
Rav Kook argues that we are instructed to be full of happiness during our Chagim. We must not allow oursleves to experience sadness, or any type of negative feeling upon which we cannot build. Pain on the other hand, pain that we wrecked our Bet Hamikdash and consequently been cast into a 2,000 year long exile, is useful. That kind of pain allows us to temper our joy to a degree, and lets us realise that we are still homeless. So too, by reading Kohelet, we understand how all in life is transient. Even the greatest joy passes. Just like the Sukkah booths in which we live during the course of the festival, everything is temporary.
Wallowing in melancholy is not a Jewish quality, it will get us nowhere. Being in touch with that twinge of pain however, is essential for us to build ourselves up.
Shabbat Shalom and a Chag Sameach!
Partially based on a D'var Torah I heard from a dorm-mate of mine (Etan) during my Yeshivat Hakotel days, and added to with thoughts of my own and others found from other sources.
Showing posts with label Sukkah. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sukkah. Show all posts
Friday, October 14, 2011
Friday, September 24, 2010
Shabbat Sukkot - שבת סוכות
Although Shabbat Sukkot doesn't seem to have much that separates it from the rest of Sukkot, there is one thing at least upon which we may comment - Megillat Kohelet, one of the five special scrolls we read over the course of the year.
Megillat Kohelet is always read during the festival of Sukkot, but it doesn't quite seem to fit - it's tone is decidedly downbeat and certainly appears to clash with the sentiment echoed in a a song commonly sung, "ושמחת בחגך - V'samachta b'chagecha - and you shall rejoice in your festivals" (Sourced from פרשת ראה: טז:יד).
Two Psukim later in פסוק טז, we read, "שלוש פעמים בשנה... בחג המצות ובחג השבועות ובחג הסוכות - Three times a year... On Chag Hamatzot, Vhag Hashavuot, and Chag HaSukkot..." We are clearly supposed to be happy on our Chagim, we must rejoice on Sukkot. So if we are meant to be happy, how can we read Kohelet, which talks about the "futility" of life?
If we examine the text of the Mussaf Shmonah Esrei we say every day of Chag, we say "ומפני חטאנו גלינו מארצנו, ונתרחקנו מעל אדמתנו - But because of our sins we have been exiled from our land and sent far from our soil." This is certainly no happy statement, and if we pray the we are meant to, these words must surely evoke a certain emotion within us, an emotion rather dissonant with the theme of rejoicing. Again, it seems to clash. How do we resolve such a discrepancy?
Rav Kook answers the question as follows. There are two types of negative feelings in life, one is sadness and one is pain. Pain is a neccessary part of life, as it allows us to realise that something is wrong and to build on it. Sadness on the other hand, is restricting and inhibits us. When we are sad, we can become depressed and caught up in the act of "being sad." Humans tend to wallow in sadness. Sometimes people feel really bad about something, and then compound their feelings by playing a depressing song. That is an example of sadness; it's destructive and a waste of one's time and energy.
Rav Kook argues that we are instructed to be full of happines during our Chagim. We must not allow ourseleves to experience sadness, or any type of negative feeling upon which we cannot build. Pain on the other hand, pain that we wrecked our Bet Hamikdash and consequently been cast into a 2,000 year long exile, is useful. That kind of pain allows us to temper our joy to a degree, and lets us realise that we are still homeless. So too, by reading Kohelet, we understand how all in life is transient. Even the greatest joy passes. Just like the Sukkah booths in which we live during the course of the festival, everything is temporary.
Wallowing in melancholy is not a Jewish quality, it will get us nowhere. Being in touch with that twinge of pain however, is essential for us to build ourselves up.
Shabbat Shalom and a Chag Sameach!
Partially based on a D'var Torah I heard from a dorm-mate of mine (Etan) during my Yeshivat Hakotel days, and added to with thoughts of my own and others found from other sources.
Megillat Kohelet is always read during the festival of Sukkot, but it doesn't quite seem to fit - it's tone is decidedly downbeat and certainly appears to clash with the sentiment echoed in a a song commonly sung, "ושמחת בחגך - V'samachta b'chagecha - and you shall rejoice in your festivals" (Sourced from פרשת ראה: טז:יד).
Two Psukim later in פסוק טז, we read, "שלוש פעמים בשנה... בחג המצות ובחג השבועות ובחג הסוכות - Three times a year... On Chag Hamatzot, Vhag Hashavuot, and Chag HaSukkot..." We are clearly supposed to be happy on our Chagim, we must rejoice on Sukkot. So if we are meant to be happy, how can we read Kohelet, which talks about the "futility" of life?
If we examine the text of the Mussaf Shmonah Esrei we say every day of Chag, we say "ומפני חטאנו גלינו מארצנו, ונתרחקנו מעל אדמתנו - But because of our sins we have been exiled from our land and sent far from our soil." This is certainly no happy statement, and if we pray the we are meant to, these words must surely evoke a certain emotion within us, an emotion rather dissonant with the theme of rejoicing. Again, it seems to clash. How do we resolve such a discrepancy?
Rav Kook answers the question as follows. There are two types of negative feelings in life, one is sadness and one is pain. Pain is a neccessary part of life, as it allows us to realise that something is wrong and to build on it. Sadness on the other hand, is restricting and inhibits us. When we are sad, we can become depressed and caught up in the act of "being sad." Humans tend to wallow in sadness. Sometimes people feel really bad about something, and then compound their feelings by playing a depressing song. That is an example of sadness; it's destructive and a waste of one's time and energy.
Rav Kook argues that we are instructed to be full of happines during our Chagim. We must not allow ourseleves to experience sadness, or any type of negative feeling upon which we cannot build. Pain on the other hand, pain that we wrecked our Bet Hamikdash and consequently been cast into a 2,000 year long exile, is useful. That kind of pain allows us to temper our joy to a degree, and lets us realise that we are still homeless. So too, by reading Kohelet, we understand how all in life is transient. Even the greatest joy passes. Just like the Sukkah booths in which we live during the course of the festival, everything is temporary.
Wallowing in melancholy is not a Jewish quality, it will get us nowhere. Being in touch with that twinge of pain however, is essential for us to build ourselves up.
Shabbat Shalom and a Chag Sameach!
Partially based on a D'var Torah I heard from a dorm-mate of mine (Etan) during my Yeshivat Hakotel days, and added to with thoughts of my own and others found from other sources.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Sukkot - סוכות
In my last D'var Torah, I spoke about Yom Kippur and its connection with Rosh Hashanah. Similarly, it is by no coincidence that the festivals of Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret/Simchat Torah (which takes place over one day in Israel but is split over two days in the Diaspora,) fall right next to one another. Upon consideration, it seems a tad strange to be commanded to live in a Sukkah for seven days, and then without a break, without even a day in which to dismantle the Sukkah, we jump right into another festival.
The word Atzeret comes from the Hebrew root עצר, which means stopping. On this day, Jews around the world celebrate finishing the yearly cycle of reading the Torah. But there's a concept in Judaism that seems to directly contradict this term. The concept is that we never stop going; that there's always more work to be done in this world. I'd like to point out that although this idea seems simple, it's very much the opposite of the prevalent custom today. Most people nowadays live a lifestyle that demands hard work so that ultimately, one may take time off. The Jewish concept though, is that up until one's dying day, one remains obligated to perform Mitzot - there's no such thing as time off. There's no such concept as retirement in Judaism - one is obliged to do their best till their dying day.
With this in mind, how can there be a Jewish festival that celebrates the completion of the Torah? The standard answer is cute; that we don't just stop - we start again and read from Parshat B'reishit on the same day. We refuse to wait the normal week to progress to the next Parsha, and instead signal our intent to keep going. This answer certainly proves that though this Torah reading has ended, we don't really stop, but I would like to propose an alternative answer.
A point repeatedly made by various Rabbis over the years is that the number seven in Judaism signifies that which lies in the natural. There are seven notes in the musical scale, seven continents and there are seven days in the week - something that remains remarkably indisputed, despite the fact that there are various calendar systems in use around the world, all agree that there is such a thing as a week and that it has seven days. We also say that there Hashem made seven heavens (hence the expression,) Tefillin are wrapped around the arm seven times and the Menorah in the Bet Hamikdash had seven branches. Additionally, it is said that the world was created with the number seven. The first verse in the Torah deals with the creation of the universe, and contains seven words and twenty-eight letters; a number which happens to divisible by seven!
As such, it is no surprise to say that the seven days of sukkot correspond to the natural world. For seven days we sit outside, exposed to the elements. Therefore, the second Gerer Rebbe writes in his seminal work, the Sfat Emet, that during this time we need the extra defence of the Sukkah. But beyond seven, the number of the physical, of the natural, is the number eight - which is said to represent the spiritual. He explains that the festival of Sukkot is one that "gives life to the whole world." This is alluded to by the fact that we observe Sukkot for an entire week. Similarly, in the times when the Bet Hamikdash stood, 70 bulls were sacrificed - for each of the 70 distinct nations* in the world. Through these sacrifices, the whole world was given nourishment.
On the day after Sukkot we go one level above the physical world and enter into the spiritual domain, so to speak. We call this day Shmini Atzeret, which means the eighth day. After observing Sukkot and giving physical life to the world, we don't waste any time and focus on imbuing the world with the spiritual energy it needs. The question posed at the beginning of this D'var Torah, why Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret are placed next to one another, may now be answered. On Shmini Atzeret, we leave the Sukkot outside because we don't need the protection it affords. That protection is only needed by someone living a physical, natural lifestyle. We learn that Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret have to be placed next to one another to show that when one lives life fully and spiritually, one moves beyond the need for such external protection.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom and a pleasant Sukkah experience :)
*There is a Torah concept that there are 70 nations in the world. Although there are over 190 countries in existence today, many of these share roots and originate from one people. As such, it's not so absurd to refer the world in terms of "70 nations".
The word Atzeret comes from the Hebrew root עצר, which means stopping. On this day, Jews around the world celebrate finishing the yearly cycle of reading the Torah. But there's a concept in Judaism that seems to directly contradict this term. The concept is that we never stop going; that there's always more work to be done in this world. I'd like to point out that although this idea seems simple, it's very much the opposite of the prevalent custom today. Most people nowadays live a lifestyle that demands hard work so that ultimately, one may take time off. The Jewish concept though, is that up until one's dying day, one remains obligated to perform Mitzot - there's no such thing as time off. There's no such concept as retirement in Judaism - one is obliged to do their best till their dying day.
With this in mind, how can there be a Jewish festival that celebrates the completion of the Torah? The standard answer is cute; that we don't just stop - we start again and read from Parshat B'reishit on the same day. We refuse to wait the normal week to progress to the next Parsha, and instead signal our intent to keep going. This answer certainly proves that though this Torah reading has ended, we don't really stop, but I would like to propose an alternative answer.
A point repeatedly made by various Rabbis over the years is that the number seven in Judaism signifies that which lies in the natural. There are seven notes in the musical scale, seven continents and there are seven days in the week - something that remains remarkably indisputed, despite the fact that there are various calendar systems in use around the world, all agree that there is such a thing as a week and that it has seven days. We also say that there Hashem made seven heavens (hence the expression,) Tefillin are wrapped around the arm seven times and the Menorah in the Bet Hamikdash had seven branches. Additionally, it is said that the world was created with the number seven. The first verse in the Torah deals with the creation of the universe, and contains seven words and twenty-eight letters; a number which happens to divisible by seven!
As such, it is no surprise to say that the seven days of sukkot correspond to the natural world. For seven days we sit outside, exposed to the elements. Therefore, the second Gerer Rebbe writes in his seminal work, the Sfat Emet, that during this time we need the extra defence of the Sukkah. But beyond seven, the number of the physical, of the natural, is the number eight - which is said to represent the spiritual. He explains that the festival of Sukkot is one that "gives life to the whole world." This is alluded to by the fact that we observe Sukkot for an entire week. Similarly, in the times when the Bet Hamikdash stood, 70 bulls were sacrificed - for each of the 70 distinct nations* in the world. Through these sacrifices, the whole world was given nourishment.
On the day after Sukkot we go one level above the physical world and enter into the spiritual domain, so to speak. We call this day Shmini Atzeret, which means the eighth day. After observing Sukkot and giving physical life to the world, we don't waste any time and focus on imbuing the world with the spiritual energy it needs. The question posed at the beginning of this D'var Torah, why Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret are placed next to one another, may now be answered. On Shmini Atzeret, we leave the Sukkot outside because we don't need the protection it affords. That protection is only needed by someone living a physical, natural lifestyle. We learn that Sukkot and Shmini Atzeret have to be placed next to one another to show that when one lives life fully and spiritually, one moves beyond the need for such external protection.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom and a pleasant Sukkah experience :)
*There is a Torah concept that there are 70 nations in the world. Although there are over 190 countries in existence today, many of these share roots and originate from one people. As such, it's not so absurd to refer the world in terms of "70 nations".
Monday, October 13, 2008
Sukkot
I had been wondering what the link between the regular theme of Tishrei, that of Tshuvah, and Sukkot was. Here I am on an Egged bus with a copy of the Sfat Emet in front of me, and I haven't seen anything on that particular topic so far.
I have however, seen a fantastic D'var Torah elsewhere on the web, so please take two minutes to click the following link and read the article. I hope you enjoy reading it! Here's the link.
In my summer classes with R' Daniel Katz I learned something very interesting, and it would seem that (at least one of) his source(s) is a drasha by the Sfat Emet I read just now. R' Katz explained in his classes how a cube is a very symbolic object in Judaism. A cube is a symbol of the spiritual world and physical world acting in harmony, a source of tremendous power. He explained that it was no coincidence that a Chupah is a cube, as are T'fillin, and so too are most Batei Knesset along with the bimah that stands in their middle. Intriguingly, so too is a Sukkah. The Holy of Holies was in the form of a cube, and the Holy Place was a double cube in length. He explained that a cube has six sides with one central, focal point. A cube has the spiritual number of seven imbued within it. It also has 12 axes, and again, if we count the central point, we arrive at 13. Another highly significant number.
The point that the Sfat Emet raises is that a Sukkah is like a Chupah.(Which is another cube shape.) A Chupah is where the act of marriage between a man and wife is finalised, and the Sfat Emet intimates that when we sit in our Sukkot, we are realising our marriage with Hashem. If Pesach was the flash, that magical spark of pure potential, and Shavuot was Hashem betrothing us at the Chupa of Har Sinai, Sukkot is the completion of that marriage, where we stand under the wedding canopy with Hashem and consummate our marriage.
The Sfat Emet in another teaching on Shavuot, explains what the significance of Tfillin are. Just like on Shavuot we take the Bikkurim, the year's first fruits, and mark them as being from Hashem with a red ribbon, the Sfat Emet reveals the parallel of T'fillin and the Jewish nation as a whole. When a Jew wraps T'fillin around his arm, he is marking himself off as being holy, special, and God's property. No coincidence that ion both cases a strong colour is used, T'fillin being black and the Bikkurim are wrapped with a red string. And relevant to this D'var Torah, the man recites, while wrapping his T'fillin, "V'erastich li," an expression of betrothal.
As the Sfat Emet says, “the Sukkah is like a Chupah, concluding the marriage of man and wife. ‘For I caused Israel to dwell in sukkot when I took them out of the Land of Egypt.’ (Vayikra 23:43) At the Exodus from Egypt, Israel were sanctified (wedded) to God, as it says: ‘I am the Lord who sanctified [or weds] you, who brought you forth from the Land of Egypt to be your G-d.”’ (Vayikra 22:32-33)
The Sukkah, in this beautiful interpretation, is the wedding canopy that we joyfully re-enter each year, reaffirming our commitment to God and our certainty of God’s love for us.
But the Sefat Emet continues, asking a most contemporary question: How could God have “chosen” Israel, only one of the many nations on earth, for special relationship? How could the Infinite choose a partner that is itself only a small part of the whole of creation? The angels seemingly had a serious problem with the concept of Hashem "marrying" himself to humans. Of all the creations, why man? (And of all the nations, why us? Is that not a question that troubles non-Jews to this very day?)
And the Rebbe’s response: “God is wholeness itself. Why then did God choose a fragment of something [i.e., choose Israel]? Scripture answers: ‘I dwell with the lowly and those of humble spirit.’ (Isaiah 57:15) The Zohar adds that a person with a broken heart is indeed whole. This in fact is to be said in God’s praise: Wherever God dwells there is wholeness….”
The Infinite, says the Sfat Emet, can enter into relationship with a finite creature because the One can make a part whole. The Holy One is wholeness itself. In connection to God, all that is fragmentary can be healed, all that is separated can be rejoined, all that is broken can be mended. Thus Sukkot is a time when all of us may find a measure of healing for whatever ails us.
At the end of the teaching comes the most remarkable surprise. “This is the real meaning of ‘who spreads a sukkah of peace’ [from the Hashkiveinu prayer, in Ma'ariv]. The inner point [the spark of holiness within] that is everywhere is wholeness; Israel represents this among God’s creatures. On Sukkot 70 bullocks are offered for the 70 nations. The water libation [of Sukkot] is also interpreted by the Talmud to mean that Israel should pray for God’s kingdom to spread over all Creation.”
In this stunning teaching, the Sfat Emet develops the rabbinic notion that the biblical sacrifices for Sukkot are offered on behalf of all the nations of the world, joined in service of the Holy. A far cry from the holy days that remind us of past enmity with other peoples, this holiday is a time of hope, of abundant possibility, of a vision of a world sheltered together under God’s sukkah of peace.
I have however, seen a fantastic D'var Torah elsewhere on the web, so please take two minutes to click the following link and read the article. I hope you enjoy reading it! Here's the link.
In my summer classes with R' Daniel Katz I learned something very interesting, and it would seem that (at least one of) his source(s) is a drasha by the Sfat Emet I read just now. R' Katz explained in his classes how a cube is a very symbolic object in Judaism. A cube is a symbol of the spiritual world and physical world acting in harmony, a source of tremendous power. He explained that it was no coincidence that a Chupah is a cube, as are T'fillin, and so too are most Batei Knesset along with the bimah that stands in their middle. Intriguingly, so too is a Sukkah. The Holy of Holies was in the form of a cube, and the Holy Place was a double cube in length. He explained that a cube has six sides with one central, focal point. A cube has the spiritual number of seven imbued within it. It also has 12 axes, and again, if we count the central point, we arrive at 13. Another highly significant number.
The point that the Sfat Emet raises is that a Sukkah is like a Chupah.(Which is another cube shape.) A Chupah is where the act of marriage between a man and wife is finalised, and the Sfat Emet intimates that when we sit in our Sukkot, we are realising our marriage with Hashem. If Pesach was the flash, that magical spark of pure potential, and Shavuot was Hashem betrothing us at the Chupa of Har Sinai, Sukkot is the completion of that marriage, where we stand under the wedding canopy with Hashem and consummate our marriage.
The Sfat Emet in another teaching on Shavuot, explains what the significance of Tfillin are. Just like on Shavuot we take the Bikkurim, the year's first fruits, and mark them as being from Hashem with a red ribbon, the Sfat Emet reveals the parallel of T'fillin and the Jewish nation as a whole. When a Jew wraps T'fillin around his arm, he is marking himself off as being holy, special, and God's property. No coincidence that ion both cases a strong colour is used, T'fillin being black and the Bikkurim are wrapped with a red string. And relevant to this D'var Torah, the man recites, while wrapping his T'fillin, "V'erastich li," an expression of betrothal.
As the Sfat Emet says, “the Sukkah is like a Chupah, concluding the marriage of man and wife. ‘For I caused Israel to dwell in sukkot when I took them out of the Land of Egypt.’ (Vayikra 23:43) At the Exodus from Egypt, Israel were sanctified (wedded) to God, as it says: ‘I am the Lord who sanctified [or weds] you, who brought you forth from the Land of Egypt to be your G-d.”’ (Vayikra 22:32-33)
The Sukkah, in this beautiful interpretation, is the wedding canopy that we joyfully re-enter each year, reaffirming our commitment to God and our certainty of God’s love for us.
But the Sefat Emet continues, asking a most contemporary question: How could God have “chosen” Israel, only one of the many nations on earth, for special relationship? How could the Infinite choose a partner that is itself only a small part of the whole of creation? The angels seemingly had a serious problem with the concept of Hashem "marrying" himself to humans. Of all the creations, why man? (And of all the nations, why us? Is that not a question that troubles non-Jews to this very day?)
And the Rebbe’s response: “God is wholeness itself. Why then did God choose a fragment of something [i.e., choose Israel]? Scripture answers: ‘I dwell with the lowly and those of humble spirit.’ (Isaiah 57:15) The Zohar adds that a person with a broken heart is indeed whole. This in fact is to be said in God’s praise: Wherever God dwells there is wholeness….”
The Infinite, says the Sfat Emet, can enter into relationship with a finite creature because the One can make a part whole. The Holy One is wholeness itself. In connection to God, all that is fragmentary can be healed, all that is separated can be rejoined, all that is broken can be mended. Thus Sukkot is a time when all of us may find a measure of healing for whatever ails us.
At the end of the teaching comes the most remarkable surprise. “This is the real meaning of ‘who spreads a sukkah of peace’ [from the Hashkiveinu prayer, in Ma'ariv]. The inner point [the spark of holiness within] that is everywhere is wholeness; Israel represents this among God’s creatures. On Sukkot 70 bullocks are offered for the 70 nations. The water libation [of Sukkot] is also interpreted by the Talmud to mean that Israel should pray for God’s kingdom to spread over all Creation.”
In this stunning teaching, the Sfat Emet develops the rabbinic notion that the biblical sacrifices for Sukkot are offered on behalf of all the nations of the world, joined in service of the Holy. A far cry from the holy days that remind us of past enmity with other peoples, this holiday is a time of hope, of abundant possibility, of a vision of a world sheltered together under God’s sukkah of peace.
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