not enough of them. Something got in the way of complete candor or apology, except when I stood in front of the Torah for two minutes with my family.
Maybe because real repentance is too raw to do in a public place. Maybe because I’m too afraid to really consider that I, or someone close to me, might have transgressed enough to be punished.
“My life is being weighed,” writes Rabbi Yitz Greenberg; “I am on trial for my life. . . . If life ended now, would it have been worthwhile?”
I couldn’t bring myself to answer that. And no prayer forced me to.
V’al kulam eloha selichot—s’lach lanu, m’chal lanu, kaper lanu: For all these sins, O God of mercy, forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement.
Rabbi Sharon Brous
ON SUKKOT
It’s hard to observe Sukkot. You have to be really invested. There are a lot of rules, specifications. You need two and a half walls minimally, preferably three walls. The Schach (roof) has to be something that grew from the earth but is no longer attached to the earth. More shade than sun. There are a lot of very specific regulations. It’s hard to take on Sukkot in a small bite. At the same time, you can bring really secular and disconnected Jews into a sukkah, and they will have a profoundly moving experience.
Rabbi David Wolpe
ON SUKKOT
One reason why we go from the High Holidays to Sukkot is that, having had the world given to us on Rosh Hashanah—the world has been created, we now have to build something. We have to create something out of the world, and the sukkah is the first gesture. With the first nail that we drive in right after Yom Kippur, we say, “Having been redeemed and having the world be created, now I want to make it better.”
Rabbi Naomi Levy
ON SUKKOT
On Yom Kippur, God is our judge. On Sukkot, God is our shelter. On Yom Kippur, we sit cooped up for endless hours inside. Sukkot is about space and breath. On Yom Kippur, it’s all about “What have I done?” But on Sukkot, it’s “What can I do in the world?” On Yom Kippur, we deprive ourselves—we starve! But on Sukkot, it’s gratitude and about bounty, sensuality, eating, and company. On Yom Kippur, we’re in God’s house. On Sukkot, God comes to our house.
Rabbi Ed Feinstein
ON SUKKOT
I have a very radical idea—I’ve actually preached this in the synagogue: Jews, as you know, show up three times a year—two days of Rosh Hashanah and a day of Yom Kippur. I say, “Those are the wrong three days to show up.” First of all, they’re morbid holidays. And if there’s anything our generation has learned from the Holocaust, it’s that God owes us a smile. So don’t come to shul on Yom Kippur, don’t come to the synagogue on Rosh Hashanah; come on Sukkot. Come on Pesach. And then choose Purim or Simchas Torah—better both. And dance. And sing. This is joy!! Why can’t you Jews enjoy joy? Why can’t you embrace joy? These are High Holidays. Why can’t Jews get it? Because we love misery. And guilt.
10. 14. 14
I DIDN’T SCHEDULE FIVE Sukkot interviews just to stockpile rabbis. For me, the secret kick of this expedition has been the excuse to query some of the thinkers I admire most: “Tell me, Rabbi, why Sukkot matters in this day and age. Since it starts just five days after Yom Kippur, the holiday has always seemed to me like an excuse for a Jewish arts-and-crafts project that arrives too soon on the heels of synagogue saturation.”
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