Sukkot is one of the sweetest times of year because it possesses so much wisdom. We could fill a lifetime fully unpacking, living into, and savoring the profundity and power of Sukkot’s insight! (and, that’s certainly what we are doing!). 

As I mentioned in my latest conversation with Tracie, I haven’t built a sukkah of my own yet. And while I won’t likely be building nor spending time in a traditional sukkah this year 😔, I’m thinking a lot about the lessons we can take from the physicality of the Sukkot experience, especially as we’re moving forward into this shmita year of release. 

The Torah instructs us to build a sukkah, an impermanent and flimsy structure with at least three sides and a roof made from natural materials that provide shade from the sun while allowing us to see the stars at night. Once we enter, we are sheltered in an often luscious, abundant interior while through its thin walls, a gust of wind or words from a passerby’s outside conversation can easily pass through. We may feel the warmth of its woody or fabric walls and some shade from its roof, while later that night, we can take in the boundlessness of a starry night sky. 

I don’t know about you, but this isn’t anything like the buildings that I’ve spent most of my life living in, ones with locked doors and solid, sturdy walls and roofs that shield from the rain, among other elements of the natural world. Not only do we lock our doors, but we sometimes build fences around our already enclosed homes (and often lock those, too). When we move into the sukkah for eight days, we are shedding something, and maybe gaining something with it. 

The past year and a half of the pandemic has illuminated that the structures we’ve built and sustained to keep life “normal” and allow us to keep going with life and “business as usual” are not actually quite so set-in-stone, as seemingly many previously found it comforting--and would still like--to believe. The pandemic was and continues to be chaotic and scary, and we are still figuring out how to re-envision and rebuild. Much like the structures and institutions commonly considered “normal,” there are certainly benefits of the enclosures many of us operate in, of concrete walls, a closed roof, and locked doors (to be clear moving forward, this is a metaphor). 

But what are we losing by being closed off? What spiritual, communal, and imaginative walls do we maintain/perpetuate when we consistently, even chronically isolate ourselves from the folks living next-door, or folks targeted by similar and different oppressions than the ones we face?

When we are seeking shelter, at what point do our shelters become barricades?

What structures do we accept as standard that are in fact barriers we tacitly choose to continue enforcing while not questioning their existence, their purpose, or the outcomes they cause? 

This pandemic has made plain that our institutions and systems are not immune to potential collapse in the face of unanticipated change. No matter what many of us tell ourselves, the walls within which most construct our lives and imaginations--like those of the sukkah--are inherently fragile and impermanent. 

The sukkah can teach us that we don’t necessarily need to try to protect ourselves from all that is “out there,” be it the elements, realities, or people. In fact, we can’t! We are all profoundly interconnected, even if sturdy, yet ultimately impermanent walls, barriers, and borders temporarily numb our awareness of this reality. Ultimately, they’re all manifestations of social constructs which should always be up for assessment and consideration regarding their purpose, impact, and potential adjustments in the service of honoring the Divinity within all of the interconnected beings sharing this planet.

Sukkot draws attention to how illusory, temporal, and even limiting some of our protections, walls and borders can be. We’re not separate from our earth nor our communities. What would it look like to rethink our idea of shelter, where rather than relying on a metal roof, we experience the warmth, security, and comfort of our neighbors’ company (while applying important public health measures!) when we open the sukkah to them?  

At the end of the eight days, we release and say goodbye to the sukkah we’ve built, but we don’t need to part ways with the insightful invitation to look with eyes and awareness anew at the walls within which we choose to exist...and sometimes hide behind. As the sukkah can teach us, beauty, connection, love and relationship move more freely when given room. What ideas, people, possibilities that we’ve historically shut out might we consider placing behind more of a sukkah-type wall, rather than a concrete or brick one? This doesn’t have to be all or nothing, but I do believe we have much to gain by barricading our minds, communities, and selves a bit less in the service of connection, new possibilities, and bridges that can exist where barriers once were. With time, self-compassion, and courage, we can steadily deepen our understanding of and intimacy with our sacred interconnectedness. 

How will you reimagine the shelters, walls, and barriers you create and/or exist within this Sukkot and in the coming year? What might you consider releasing or at least temporarily replacing with a boundary that protects, but maintains our capacity to see and understand beyond our comfort zone?