Each year when we step into the sukkah, there’s that first moment when the air hits differently. The roof of branches lets in sunlight by day and stars by night. We feel exposed and vulnerable, yet held. It’s an intentional fragility, a reminder that the sturdy walls we build around ourselves are never what truly keep us safe. This year, as we mark two years since the October 7, 2023 Hamas massacre, that feeling of fragility carries deeper weight. The world changed that day. The illusion of safety was shattered, not only in Israel, but for Jews everywhere who felt the tremor of that brutality echo through our souls.
On the first day of Sukkot, we read from Leviticus 22–23, where God commands us to dwell in sukkot so that future generations will remember that the Israelites lived in temporary shelters when God brought them out of Egypt. The Torah insists that we celebrate in a festival of joy, z’man simchateinu, even while sitting in a structure so impermanent that a strong wind could knock it down. We are called to hold joy and fragility together. The sukkah teaches us with its flimsy walls that safety is never guaranteed, and at the same time, the command to rejoice reminds us that resilience and gratitude are also sacred obligations.
On October 7, 2023, the fragility of our people’s sukkah was made unbearably real. Over 1,200 lives were taken in an act of pure terror, and even as we condemn the monstrous brutality that would deliberately target civilians and hold hostages to this day, stories of courage and compassion emerged. Stories of neighbors protecting neighbors, of Israelis and Jews worldwide rushing to support one another, of hope refusing to die. Amid the devastation, the sukkah stands for hope. It is fragile, yes, but it’s also full of the light of the stars shining down from slivers in the roof. Each branch or bamboo pole laid across the top is an act of faith that the world can still be repaired, that humanity can still choose compassion over cruelty.
As we sit beneath the stars this Sukkot, may we let the sukkah’s openness remind us of our shared responsibility: to protect life, to reject violence, to hold fast to hope even when it flickers. May the memories of those murdered sanctify our commitment to peace. And may the fragile walls around us become a testament not to what was lost, but to the enduring strength of a people who still choose to dwell in joy, faith, and love.
