While the holiday of Sukot will start tonight, my observation of the holiday will be radically different this year.  For the first time in forever, I won’t have a suka.    It’s been a year since I developed pneumonia of my calf that progressed necrotizing fasciitis- and I am still unable to erect a suka myself.

The three major festivals are Pesach (Passover), Shvuot (Pentecost) and Sukot.  These were ordained in the Tora and in days of yore, we would trek from wherever we were to the Great Temple in Jerusalem and offer special sacrifices to Hashem (and food for the priestly caste [Kohanim and, to some degree, Leviim).

Whether the origin of our sukot (the plural of suka) is to remind us that we traveled for 40 years in the desert- or we needed to preempt the pagan harvest festival that occurred this time of year three millennia ago-  is truly immaterial in the grand scheme of things.  Because we Jewish folk have found meaning in the suka- to remind us that our lives are transient, our lives are fragile, and our lives require our efforts- along with Hashem’s help.

Like the proverbial three pigs, our house of straw, our house of wood- even our house of bricks- doesn’t really protect us.  Just look at all those homes wiped away by Katrina, by Sandy, by Sally, the recent Ida visit, or by tornadoes.

With its flimsy roof, the portion of the suka always erected last on our suka, we recognize the structure of the suka as a shelter for our faith.  Each new day, we are restored to our souls and our brains by Hashem.  By sitting in this suka, this flimsy structure, we are acknowledging our faith in Hashem, who affords us the ability to enjoy our meal with the stars and the sun up above.

That’s amplified with another of our mitzvot- hachnasat orchim- the welcoming of guests.  The problem is that again this year, we might just be entertaining the metaphysical guests we invite each night (Avraham, Yitzchak, Yaakov, Moshe, Aharon, Yosef, and David).  After all, the COVID-19 pandemic renders many of  our friends and relatives unwilling to come out and play.  They fear the conviviality of sharing meals in the Suka.

Which means the fun we expect to have with friends in the Suka just won’t be happening (much- or at all) this year for most of us.  I, of course, am unable to erect or retire my suka- so there won’t be one in my yard at all this year.

So, we’ll have to hope that saying Kiddush, Birkat HaMazon, and Havdala (some of us daven shacharit, mincha, and/or ma’ariv- the three daily prayers) in our suka, we are reminded that t’fila (prayer) is yet another connection.  Our means to maintain a conversation with Hashem.

Of course, if you have neighbors like we used to have, there’s also the shelter of authenticity.  (This neighbor called the police several times reporting that we built a structure without a permit.) The suka reminds us that this tradition, this tenet of our faith,  dates back at least to the time that we entered the holy land of Israel.  As an agricultural people, our connection with the land, with the food and animals we raised, with the offerings of food to Hashem, this is the last connection to those first Jewish citizens of Israel.   And, maybe back to our 40 years of traveling in the desert.

May you truly feel enveloped by the love of your family, friends, and Hashem this Sukot.  Whether in purpose or in spirit.

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