And may you spread upon us the Sukkah of Your peace (Prayer recited upon entry to the Sukkah)
For many, change is difficult. And when it is unpredicted and unexpected, it becomes even more daunting.
Yet in most situations, we find ways to respond. If someone loses a job, they update their resume, make calls, and reach out for help. If a loved one falls ill, we seek the best doctors, say Tehillim, and rally every spiritual and practical support possible. We do what we can.
But then there are moments—rare, terrifying moments—when our hands are completely tied and there is nothing we can do. And in those moments, many falter.
During the Holocaust, in the Krakow Ghetto, there was a strict curfew with no one permitted outdoors at night. Months passed with no Torah learning, until a group of brave young men couldn’t bear the spiritual void. They resolved to meet quietly and secretly on the fourth floor of a building to learn by the dim glow of a single candle.
They knew the risk, but they craved the spiritual light. And so they came. Twenty neshamos, one flickering flame, and pages of a sacred text. Hour after hour, they poured their hearts into Torah, nourishing their souls in the darkness.
Until they heard it. The sound of boots...screaming...barking dogs.
The Nazis had found them.
Fear clutched them, all of them freezing in place, their hearts pounding. One boy suddenly cried out, “They’re here!” The others stared at him in horror. Of course we know they’re here! But they said nothing. They held their breath. The soldiers stormed the first floor, then the second, then the third. The boys began whispering Shema Yisrael, expecting the worst.
But then, the footsteps retreated. The guards left. They were saved.
Once the coast was clear, Yaakov, the group’s leader, turned to the boy who had cried out. His voice was calm, but piercing. “You risked your life and you risked all our lives. Don’t you understand? In moments like these, we survive by emunah. And when you screamed in fear, you didn’t just break the silence; you broke our faith. And that is the greatest danger of all.”
As we walk into the Sukkah this year, we may feel surrounded by unpredictability. It may not be the Krakow Ghetto and there may be no boots, no dogs and no Nazis, but there are other looming fears and uncertainties.
The world feels unstable. There’s illness and there’s disaster, and so many of our brothers and sisters remain trapped behind the trauma of their past and present. Panic and doubt may clutch us. There is wave upon wave of change upon change. And so we ask: how do we rejoice?
The answer may lie in the Sukkah itself. It is, by design, temporary, flimsy and impermanent. It cannot shield us from the elements, and yet, it is the safest place in the world because it is the dwelling place of Hashem. It is the Ananei HaKavod, the Clouds of Glory. It is His hug, His embrace.
The Sukkah is the only mitzvah in which your entire being is enveloped. When you eat in it, sleep in it, speak in it, it’s all a mitzvah. When we make the blessing Leishev ba’Sukkah, we are declaring: “I choose to dwell in emunah. I choose to place myself in Hashem’s hands and surrender control.” And that surrender is our greatest strength.
Yes, the world is uncertain, and yes, there are things we cannot predict. But when we don’t panic and instead sit with serenity inside our Sukkah, we affirm that we are not alone. We are in the palace of the King. And in His arms, we are safe.
Rabbi Avi Wiesenfeld
