The Wealth of Wanting Less: Sukkot’s Ancient Answer to Modern-Day Joy

A few months ago, I quit a stressful job that was not serving my professional needs or my desire to help out others with data and analysis. I put the vast majority of my possessions in a storage unit. I went to go visit a friend out West I had not seen for six years. We were able to catch up and create new memories. I then went to Peru for a month and now I find myself in Buenos Aires celebrating the Jewish holidays. I have spent the past few months living out of nothing but a duffel bag and a backpack. It is as minimalist as I could be without living on the street. Yes, I have learned a number of life lessons since I quit my job. One of the most resonating lessons is how few possessions I actually need. I am not a particularly materialistic person. I mostly own books, clothes, and dishes. I do not even own a car. This nomadic experience helped me realize that less is more. So what does this have to do with the Jewish harvest festival of Sukkot? 

The Sukkah as a Teaching Device

The world is unstable, unfair, unpredictable, and filled with things or people that can cause harm.  Humans have a propensity to control because we think it will bring us security. I am not an exception because relinquishing a need to control at such a level is part of my teshuvah process this High Holidays season. We accumulate because we think it makes us happy or it provides a sense of security.  The sukkah, which is the temporary dwelling during Sukkot, challenges that concept. During Sukkot, Jews leave their secure homes for a flimsy sukkah that is open to the sky and exposed to the elements of Mother Nature. This holiday is called "a time of our joy." We are meant to find joy in having less, not more. 

Material Excess Causes Problems

This claim that material excess causes problems is going to make some heads spin. We are bombarded with advertisements that hammer the idea in our heads that happiness is buying a bunch of material possessions. Unless we have the latest iPhone, car, or article of clothing, advertising does its darnedest to condition that we are not enough. It lends itself to social comparison, making us feel inadequate or that others are better off. What societal conditioning teaches us is that buying more can ward off that comparison or not feeling like enough. It teaches that joy has to be bought or earned in order to be experienced. 

While it is tantalizing, Jewish tradition teaches us "the more possessions, the more worry" (Pirke Avot 2:7). This one could use some explanation. There is a Midrash that teaches that if you put 50 plagues on one side and poverty on the other, poverty outweighs them all. There is something to be said about having one's basic needs covered, such as food, clothing, and shelter. Once you surmount poverty, then it gets trickier. 

Yes, money is a means to fulfill certain dreams. I would not be able to travel around Latin America if I did not have money. One study shows that while more money improves life evaluation (which is how people think about their life), emotional well-being levels off at around the $75,000 figure in 2010 dollars (Kahneman and Deaton, 2010), which would be about $111,000 in 2025 dollars. In other words, money does not make your day-to-day emotions significantly better once your basic needs are met. 

On the other hand, there is a reason why the U.S. Declaration of Independence says we should have "life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness," and not happiness itself. Science shows that there is a negative correlation between materialism and well-being (e.g., Li, 2025; Teng et al., 2022; Górnik-Durose, 2019), whether that is lower life satisfaction, higher anxiety, or increased depression. As one accumulates more possessions, one has to guard and protect them due to fear of loss (Bartenura, commentary on Pirkei Avot 2:7). This sort of fear, anxiety, and attachment to material possessions can erode spiritual life (Maharal). 

Social comparison also reduces happiness and well-being because it breeds envy, lowers self-esteem, and creates a sense of scarcity (e.g., Liao, 2021; Liu and Wang, 2016; Hagerty, 2000). There is also the classic study comparing lottery winners to paralyzed accident victims (Brickman et al., 1978) in which the respective events affect happiness, but eventually hedonic adaptation kicks in and what used to feel like "enough" becomes the new norm. In Ecclesiastes (2:10-11), King Solomon acquired mass wealth and still called it a vanity because of this hedonic adaptation. 

Modern-day science affirms the Jewish assertion that abundance of material wealth and focusing on that material wealth bring anxiety, clutter, and the pressure to maintain an image. 

What Works Instead of Materialism

If buying a bunch of stuff is not the answer, then what is the key to happiness? Remember that bit about "more possessions, more worry"? The second half of that portion in Pirke Avot 2:7 provides an antidote: "If one has acquired Torah, one is increased in wisdom; if one has acquired a good friend, one is increased in good; if one has acquired a good neighbor, one is increased in peace." You do not have to be Jewish to understand this concept. It is about improving one's wisdom, one's sense of ethics, and improving interpersonal relationships, or in short, the intangibles. This concept lines up with studies showing that experiences typically provide stronger and more lasting happiness than material wealth (Kumar et al., 2020; Weidman and Dunn, 2016; Van Boven and Gilovich, 2003).

Pirke Avot gives us another antidote (4:1): "Who is rich? One who rejoices in their lot." Richness is not about wanting more of what you do not have. It is in part wanting less, but more importantly it is about accepting and appreciating what you do have. Rabbeinu Yonah's commentary suggests that one could have a multitude of material possessions but never feel satisfied. This is not to say that rich people are unhappy, but that material possessions do not guarantee happiness. To quote Ecclesiastes 5:9, "He who loves silver will not be happy with silver." 

This is not a piece saying that all material possessions are bad, that money is evil, or that the only way to be happy is to live with bare bone essentials. It is about shifting one's perception of wealth from what one has (or does not have) to defining it by one's capacity to appreciate what one does have. It means saying "more would be nice, but it is not a prerequisite for joy." It means being satisfied with your lot, not someone else's. Sukkot invites us into that mindset each year: to step away from a false sense of permanence and into simplicity. It helps us rediscover how little we actually need to feel whole. 

Traveling with merely a duffle bag and a backpack, I have not had so few material possessions on hand during my adult life. Yet I have a sense of personal and spiritual fullness that I have not felt in years. It does not mean that I will donate all my possessions when I get back to the United States and go all minimalist. It means that I measure wealth differently and that I appreciate the non-tangibles a lot more, whether that is a meaningful conversation, helping out others or a good, long laugh with a friend. That sort of richness does not fade or break. Perhaps that is the truest form of joy out there.

How Dwelling in a Sukkah During Sukkot Can Help in Living More Modestly and Humbly

Having completed Yom Kippur, I pivot from the fasting and chest-thumping of Yom Kippur towards celebrating the time of joy that is Sukkot. Traditionally a harvest festival (Exodus 23:16; Deuteronomy 16:13, 15), the Jewish holiday of Sukkot has two main mitzvot (commandments), one of them being sitting in an dwelling in a sukkah (Leviticus 23:42-43). A sukkah is a temporary booth or hut covered with vegetation that commemorates the time the Israelites spent in the wilderness after the Exodus. You can read more about the particular legalistic requirements of what constitutes as a sukkah here. I do not want to get into the details today because I want to ask a more fundamental question of why Jews dwell in a sukkah in the first place. 

The great rabbi Moshe ben Maimón, also known as Maimonides, gives us an answer. In his text The Guide for the Perplexed (3:43), Maimonides states that Passover teaches us about the miracles which G-d wrought in Egypt, whereas Sukkot teaches about the miracles wrought in the wilderness. The moral lesson is "to remember his evil days in his days of prosperity. He will thereby be induced to thank G-d repeatedly, to lead a modest and humble life." Maimonides then goes on to say that Jews "leave our houses in order to dwell in tabernacles (a sukkah), as inhabitants in the dessert do that are in want of comfort." 

To recap, Maimonides opines that the end-goal of dwelling in a sukkah is to teach us to live modestly and humbly. The two ways we go about that is to remember the past miracles along with leaving our own homes for a temporary dwelling that is less comfortable than our current homes. So how does dwelling in a temporary hut lead us to be more modest or humble? 

In the Mussar text Duties of the Heart, Rabbi Bachya ibn Pakuda teaches that "All virtue and duties are dependent on humility." Another Mussar text, The Ways of the Righteous (ארחות צדיקים), the author teaches that humility is the root of Divine Service. Upon examining various character traits, I found truth in these statements when tying it to the mitzvah of dwelling in the sukkah: 

Gratitude. Having Sukkot be during the harvest time teaches that there are fat years and lean years, much like the story of Joseph teaches. A farmer can control for technique and taking care of crops, but cannot ultimately control for what the yield is or whether there is a drought that year. We are to be humble enough to be grateful for the bounty, regardless of its size. Shifting from pride in our possessions to recognition of the blessings we receive humbles us. To quote Pirkei Avot (4:1), "Who is rich? The one who is satisfied with their lot."

The Jewish philosopher Philo (1 c. CE) takes the gratitude concept further. Maimonides actually got the idea of being in a sukkah to remember the "bad old days" from Philo. Philo says remembering the "bad old days" is a reminder of how far we have come. It can be challenging to appreciate that concept when we are dealing with the worse anti-Semitism since the Holocaust, but recognizing the progress in the overall arc of history and praising G-d for the good in life helps us remain more humble. 

Our relation to material wealth. With regards to being modest, the very nature of a sukkah leads to a more modest mindset. Here you have a semi-flimsy structure that is intentionally exposed to the elements of nature. It is designed as to not be luxurious. Modesty is in contrast to luxury because modesty in part is about avoiding excessiveness or extravagance. 

As Maimonides points out, entering a sukkah means leaving the comforts of home. The sukkah teaches a lesson about not being obsessed with material wealth. The sukkah is a manifestation of minimalism and a lesson on how to be satisfied with less material wealth. After all, Pirkei Avot (2:8) teaches that "the more possessions [you have], the more worry." Sukkot gives us a spiritual time out to de-emphasize the material to focus on what truly matters. This is not to say that we need to forego material comfort of any sort, but rather that we do not need material extravagance or to be materially focused or obsessed to live a good or happy life. Our actions, character, values, and experiences are worth more than our material wealth. 

Impermanence. The Rashbam taught that the sukkah's temporary, fragile structure teaches us about the fragility of our lives, which includes our mortality. Per the previous point, we ultimately are not going to care about how much material wealth we amassed. Most likely, we will care more about the experiences we had and the people with whom we shared those experiences. Realizing how short our lives are is meant to give us pause, as well as a sense of humility. 

We are small in comparison to the vastness of the universe and time itself. The sukkah reminds us that even the most seemingly secure and solid aspects of our lives are ultimately temporary. This realization of permanence does not only give us humility. In 2021, I wrote a blog entry about how meditating on death (memento mori) paradoxically brings us more joy because we are more likely to enjoy life's experiences with intensity and motivation when we are aware of how short life is. 

Adaptability in the face of vulnerability. Death is not the only form of vulnerability we deal with during Sukkot. Dwelling in a sukkah means being exposed to the elements of nature. What does this teach? No matter what we do to prepare or protect ourselves, there are always forces beyond our control. Reminding us of our limitations amidst the vulnerability teaches us to be more humble and accepting of whatever may come our way. Six years ago, I wrote about how we adapt our environment for optimal performance when things go awry. A couple years later, I wrote a blog entry on how nasty weather during Sukkot gives us an opportunity to expand our comfort zone, thereby enhancing our experiences. Both blog entries came with the theme of learning to adapt to conditions that we previously deemed sub-optimal. 

Dealing with ego and arrogance. One beautiful lesson I found from Slovie Jungreis-Wolff from Aish HaTorah is that there is a height limit for a sukkah of 20 amot, which is about 37 feet. Why the height limit? Because when you are so full of yourself, the arrogance does not make room for anyone else in your life, even G-d. She goes on to say that "if you want your life to be filled with love and meaning, discover the gift of humility." Per a quote misattributed to C.S. Lewis, "Humility is not thinking less of yourself; it's thinking of yourself less." The world does not revolve around you. This is not woo-woo spirituality talking. The longitudinal Harvard Study of Adult Development is a good example of showing how social connections and community can be the single most important factor determining happiness and long-term health. 

Another aspect of dealing with ego comes from the Rashbam's commentary on why we sit in the sukkah. For him, it is a matter that one's wealth ultimately comes from G-d (Deuteronomy 8:17-18). Rabbi Yitzhak Haboab went as far as saying that this is to remind us that we ultimately should not put our trust in man, but G-d. 

Even if we want to make the insight less theocentric or make it completely secular, the sukkah can still provide that lesson that we are not capable of providing or creating everything we need. We can never be truly independent or self-sufficient in the strictest of terms, short of going off the grid and living in the wilderness as a hermit. No one is so talented or has the time to be a mechanic, author, welder, doctor, professor, farmer, flight attendant....you get the idea. The beauty of living in a market-based economy is that we can use comparative advantage in a way where we mutually benefit from voluntary exchanges. By recognizing how interdependent the economy is, it helps us come to terms that we cannot do it all on our own, thereby instilling a sense of humility. 

Compassion. A couple of years ago, I argued that one of the spiritual benefits of fasting is that it helps create greater empathy for those who deal with food insecurity. For those who do not experience housing vulnerability year-round, living in a sukkah gives a taste of what an unstable housing situation feels like. That humility can lead to compassion towards those in need (Rabbi David Golinkin).

Memento Mori and Sukkot: The Paradox of Contemplating Death and Finding Joy

Love and marriage go together like a horse and carriage, at least according to the song that Frank Sinatra sung back in the 1950s. While love is not a given in a marriage, love and marriage are ideally compatible. As for death and joy, they do not seem to go together at all, at least at first glance. Yet that is exactly where my thought process has been as we transition from the repentance of Yom Kippur to the joy of Sukkot. It makes more sense to think about death during Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, most notably with the prayer Unetaneh Tokef. This prayer is meant to be taken as a metaphor about life and death, our mortality, and meant to inspire introspection on what we are doing with our lives. 

The metaphor goes something like this. On Rosh Hashanah, G-d determines who is going to live and who is going to die. He writes those names in the corresponding Book of Life and Book of Death. Between Rosh Hashanah and the end of Yom Kippur, we have the ability to avert or minimize the decree by recompensing, repenting, and working on becoming a better version of the self. Again, I do not read Unetaneh Tokef literally, especially since it is a poem.....a powerful poem, but a poem nevertheless. It does not take negate the motifs of our G-d's sovereignty or our limits and mortality that are so prevalent in High Holiday liturgy. 

For Sukkot, the idea of contemplating death is not immediately apparent. As a matter of fact, it took me a number of Sukkot celebrations before I connected the dots. It is true that the harvest holiday of Sukkot is also referred to as "the time of our joy" (זמן שמחתנו). The association between death and joy is not obvious, and yet it shows up in Sukkot. For one, the sukkah is a temporary, flimsy structure that is open to the sky and anything else Mother Nature throws at us. Interestingly enough, the Rabbis in Talmud (Sukkot 23) debate not whether it should be flimsy, but how flimsy the sukkah needs to be. There needs to be at least some flimsiness, but at least enough sturdiness to last for the holiday. Based on these legalistic arguments, the structure ends up being one of impermanence and fragility, both literally and metaphorically. You know what else has impermanence and fragility? Our lives. The twelfth-century scholar Rashbam believed that the sukkah reinforces the idea that our wealth and comfort come from G-d. For Rashbam, the sukkah is a reminder of the fragility of life, which by extension, includes our own mortality. 

The idea of the impermanence of life is found in another Sukkot tradition: the reading of Ecclesiastes (קהלת). After the preface in the first verse, the Book (Ecclesiastes 1:2) starts out by saying  "הבל הבלים הכל הבל". This is commonly translated as "Vanity of vanity, all is vanity." I do not think "vanity" or a translation of "futility" does justice to the word הבל. The word הבל literally means "breath." Our time on this planet is short, like a breath. Using this literal translation, we see that King Solomon's grievance is not that life is meaningless or pointless, but rather that it is but a short breath. The ephemeral and temporary nature of life is the underpinning of King Solomon's existential angst that we see throughout the Book of Ecclesiastes. 

But why bring up death at all on a festival of joy? There are Jewish practices that give us hints. One is at the end of a Jewish wedding, one member of the couple (traditionally the groom) stomps a glass and screams "Mazal tov!" The breaking of the glass is to remember the destruction of the Temple, which was symbolic of the spiritual epicenter and cohesion that the Jewish people lost. Even in our happiest of moments, we are meant to temper our joy. This is a similar thought to why we read the Book of Ecclesiastes on Sukkot. One reason for this custom is that if we give into joy as an extreme, it becomes frivolous and we lose focus on the loftier reasons for existence (Avudraham; R. Azaryah Figo). 

This leads to my second explanation: life is a mixed bag. As Ecclesiastes brings up, "To every time, there is a season, and a time to every purpose under Heaven. A time to be born, a time to die...(Ecclesiastes 3:1-2)." There is a mixture of good and bad. Sometimes, they even get mixed together. What is the traditional Jewish garb for a groom on his wedding day? A kittel, which is a simple, white shroud. What is the traditional Jewish garb for Yom Kippur, the Holy of Holies? A kittel. What about the garb in which one is to be buried? Also a kittel. There is a similar sentiment of mixed feelings in the mourning of a loved one, known as shiva (שבעה). Shiva is mostly a sad occasion because a loved one is no longer with us. At the same time, it is a celebration of life: the impact they had on others, how they dedicated their lives, and the memories they created. It is in this paradox where I have seen chuckles and moments of laughter even in a shiva call. Life is that complex. To paraphrase Oscar Wilde, truth exists in paradox. 

Speaking of paradox, this leads to my third explanation: death gives life meaning. In Judaism, morning blessings include thanking G-d for giving us the ability to discern (אשר נתן לשכוי בינה להבחין בין יום ובין לילה). As I brought up on Tisha B'Av in 2020:

If we lived happily all the time, we would have nothing with which to compare happiness. It would get old really quick. Paradoxically, we need difficult moments in life so we can better appreciate the happier moments.  

These difficult moments sadly include death. What if we were immortal? We could always put off getting something done. It would diminish our desire to get things done or to pursue relationships because "there would always be another time." The limited timeframe of our lives gives life urgency. It gives life meaning. As R. Jonathan Sacks points out, "A book that never ended would not be a book. Music that went on forever would not be a symphony. All meaning takes place within a frame. Birth and death are the frame that give meaning to life."

That is the paradox: because death gives our life meaning, it also gives our life joy. This is one of the reasons why the idea of memento mori (Latin for "remember death" or alternatively, "remember you will die") is important. Instead of running away from the idea that we are going to die, memento mori teaches us to lean into it, to meditate on it. Montaigne once wrote that la préméditation de la mort est la préméditation de la libérté, or to translate, "to practice death is to practice freedom." 

If we practice memento mori on Sukkot, I think it would enhance the reasons why we rejoice on Sukkot in the first place. To quote Marcus Aurelius (Meditations 2:11), "You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think." How much easier would it be to appreciate the harvest that Sukkot celebrates, and how much easier would it be to appreciate our material wealth, when we internalize that we cannot take it with us to our graves? How much more likely are we to enjoy the company of others under the sukkah or our loved ones when we remind ourselves that people come and go? How much more motivated are we to find meaning in the sukkah and indeed our lives when we recall that this all can end in the blink of an eye? 

That is one of the reasons I enjoy Sukkot. We are meant to find joy in spite of the tumultuous nature of life and in spite of the fragility of our own mortality. Rather than be depressed by our inevitable demise, it should inspire us to live life and give us the ability to prioritize what truly brings joy in life.  

A Sukkot Lesson on Schach and Being Comfortable with the Uncomfortable

For a Jew, it's the most wonderful time of the year. Jews have four holidays crammed into a single month. We are currently in the middle of Sukkot (סכות). Also known as "the Festival of Tabernacles," Sukkot acts as a harvest festival. A major component of Sukkot is building a temporary dwelling called a sukkah (סוכה). As I looked up through the roof of the sukkah this year, I started to focus on the roof covering of the sukkah, referred to as schach (סכך). 

I started to think of some of the technicalities about what makes for valid schach under Jewish law. Two important details have to do with what the schach is made of (Kitzur Shulchan Aruch 134:3). It has to grow from the earth (גדולו מן הארץ) and it has do no longer be attached to the earth (תלוש). On the one hand, it is material made of this earth, implying there was nurturing and growth that was involved in the creation of the schach. At the same time, it is no longer attached to the earth. It has been uprooted from the conditions that once allowed for it to grow. 

Another important detail is that there has to be enough schach to provide more shade than sun (Kitzur Shulchan Aruch 134:5). What is interesting is that we are not completely covered under a sukkah. We need enough openings to have the sunlight come through the roof and enough where we can see the stars. Yes, we are supposed to receive some coverage, but we still leave enough openings to be exposed to nature, to the elements. 

You would think that these would only be details that a carpenter or architect would give particular meaning. I would normally find a fixation with such details as material type of the schach to be reflective of the obsession in the Orthodox world over legal minutiae that seemingly have no bearing on a spiritual experience. And this year, I was able to find spiritual meaning in them. 

I have been reading the book How to Be Comfortable with Being Uncomfortable by Ben Aldridge. Aldridge talks about his journey, which includes the exploration of Stoicism, Buddhism, and cognitive-based therapy. By discussing these approaches, Aldridge describes how he came to terms with his fears and anxieties by leaning into them. As the title suggests, he developed the mental resistance to become comfortable with the uncomfortable. 

I think the schach has a similar lesson to teach, especially if the sukkah is meant to act a metaphor for joyful living. We grow up only to have life thrust less-than-ideal situations upon us. We are uprooted from the things that make us feel comfortable: that is an inevitability in life that I discussed this past Tisha B'Av. I think this feeling has been quite notable during the pandemic. Pre-pandemic, so many people went to work and went about their day-to-day in an automatic fashion, thinking that nothing could shake their sense of stability or security. And then we got hit with the worst pandemic since the Spanish Flu, the greatest economic downturn since the Great Depression, and social unrest in the United States that has not been since the late 1960s. The uprootedness, the disorientation, things not going as we expect: this is all a part of life experience. 

If the amount of schach teaches us anything, it is that we are not meant to be sheltered from the elements. We are meant to accept the elements as part of the process. As a dear friend of mine brought up, the sunlight comes in through the cracks. Even as we protect ourselves from the elements, we have to remind ourselves vis-à-vis gratitude that there is good in our lives. 

What about when the elements get to be too much? I wrote a piece two years ago about the exemption of sitting in the sukkah when weather conditions are uncomfortable and what we could learn about adapting to bad situations. It seems contradictory that I would now write that we need to be comfortable with the uncomfortable. But if we sift through some of the details, it really is not contradictory. 

One of the interesting points about the exemption is that it is based on a subjective definition of discomfort. If we learn to become comfortable with the uncomfortable, it would not bother us as much. It means we would have a higher resilience to deal with cold weather or rain if it comes on Sukkot. 

It is also worth noting that the sukkah pushes us in multiple ways. The temporary nature of the sukkah reminds us that our lives are also temporary. We have to find joy even while knowing that we will all die one day. Many have argued over the centuries that money buys happiness. Although it might seem intuitive for that to be the case, we are meant to find spiritual joy in material simplicity. We also have to find comfort and joy in nature when we could readily enjoy the comforts of modern-day life. The fact that Sukkot does not commemorate a specific event implies that we have to push ourselves to find meaning to a situation when one is not immediately apparent.

Yes, there will be certain scenarios in which we cannot avoid going indoors for Sukkot, such as when a hurricane, whether literal or metaphorical, abruptly comes in our lives. We cannot weather everything. We are human and thus limited by our imperfections. However, if we could learn to weather a slightly colder wind or a temporary storm, it gives us more opportunities to experience a mitzvah, to experience something we otherwise would not have. If you can enjoy eating in a sukkah, saying brachot (blessings), and singing zemirot (holiday songs) regardless of what life, G-d, or Mother Nature throw at you, I would argue that is equanimity. Stoic philosopher Epictetus once said that it is not so much the external events that cause distress, but how we respond to them. If we learn to better respond to the external events, we would have fewer scenarios in which we would feel the need to go inside during Sukkot. Life is not about the comfort zone. It is about moving beyond it to grow, much like Abraham did when he left his hometown at the age of 75. Interestingly enough, the Torah does not mention anything in Abraham's life prior to him pushing himself outside of his comfort zone. To quote American author Neale Donald Walsch, "Life begins at the end of your comfort zone."

What I leave you with are some questions to think about: What makes us uncomfortable? How does the discomfort impede us in life? How do we learn how to build our resilience? How do we learn to become comfortable with the uncomfortable so we experience life more fully instead of missing out on the vast number of opportunities that life has to offer? 

מועדים לשמחה!

A Sukkot Lesson on Optimizing Our Environment for Goal-Setting

During the first two days of Sukkot, I had to contend with some lousy weather. It was dreary and raining the entire time. In spite of the weather, I decided to sit in the sukkah for both meals on the first day. It wasn't torrential downpour by the time I got around to eating either meal, but it was bad enough where it put a damper on the holiday spirit. Nevertheless, I did not let the weather get the better of me because I wanted to fulfill the mitzvah of dwelling in the sukkah (לשבת בסוכה). One could also argue that I am a glutton for punishment.

Joking set aside, there is a leniency to be made for when it rains. If it is raining, one is exempt from eating in the sukkah (Mishnah, Sukkah 28b). [One says kiddush and hamotzi before going indoors (Kitzur Shulchan Aruch, 135:3)]. The Shulchan Aruch expands upon the Mishnah and says that if it is too cold or it is too uncomfortable to sit in the sukkah, one is exempt (Orach Chayim 639:2). Even if it stops raining and the sukkah is still wet, one is still exempt from sitting in the sukkah (Shevet Hakehati 1:199).

This leniency caught my eye because me living my Jewish life in the 21st-century Orthodox world, leniencies are hard to come by because it seems to get more stringent with each passing year. The leniency caught my eye for another reason: it is the only mitzvah that you can exempt yourself from if you are uncomfortable while doing it. There are some, such as the Chabad Lubavitch, that stay outside even when it is raining. Even so, it is an exception, not a norm. During the yom tov, I asked myself why the leniency was the law.

I was unable to find a more spiritual answer to the question, so I came up with one of my own. Sukkot is referred to as "the time of our joy," and there are multiple reasons for that title. I certainly think that part of going inside in the event of rain is to maintain the joyous nature of the holiday. However, I think there is something more to it. The sukkah represents the fragile and ephemeral nature of life (Rashbam), and because of that, we are supposed to find joy in uncertainty.

At the same time, the leniency teaches us something about how we interact with our environment. I recently read two relevant self-help books: Willpower Doesn't Work and Better Than Before: What I Learned About Making and Breaking Habits. It got me to think about the role our environment plays, and perhaps that we only have so much willpower to exert before we get exhausted. Both books emphasize the idea of making good habits easier to follow [almost to the point of sheer automation] and removing everything in your environment that conflicts with your decisions or goals.

While both books argue the limits of willpower, it nevertheless requires a different sort of willpower to make this work. After all, automating good habits and making it difficult to partake in bad habits requires a structural change. There needs to be at least some initial willpower or motivation to make the change because otherwise, one ends up wallowing in status quo. Change has to take place. A decision to move past the comfort zone has to be made and something has to be done. Looking at personal change from this lens could help better explain why the first step is so hard to take.

For centuries, the sukkah has embodied what those in the field of positive psychology have recently discovered. On the one hand, we do not have control over such things as the weather. On the other hand, we control how we react to the adverse situation. When a less-than-ideal external force comes in and makes a situation more intolerable, we are meant to respond favorably. That is what the leniency teaches us: if are to experience the maximum amount of joy, we have to first recognize the situation we find ourselves in. Then we have to find a way to make the situation better. We then take the courage to act on it. As American author Neale Donald Walsch once said, "Life begins at the end of your comfort zone." The questions I can leave you pondering is this: how can you internalize this Sukkot lesson?  How can you change your environment to be the best version of you? What are you willing to do step out of your comfort zone and start living your life?

חג סכות שמח!

Going from Yom Kippur to Sukkot: A Transition from Repentance to Joy

The Jewish calendar around this time of year (the Jewish month of Tishrei) is one where a Jew almost feels like a chicken with its head cut off. Within one month, there are four Jewish holidays: Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, and Shemini Artzeret/Simchat Torah. In addition to our normal lives, Jews have spiritual preparation, meal preparation, and sukkah building to contend with. Within the craziness is the time between Yom Kippur and Sukkot. Normally, that is the time to make sure the sukkah is built and that meals are lined up for the first days of Sukkot. Within the commotion, I find something else more spiritual when looking at this craziness within the context of the High Holiday structure.

Elul is our spiritual preparation to get us geared up for the holidays to come. Rosh Hashanah is our time to get that initial spiritual jolt by listening to shofar blasts. Yom Kippur is a spiritual spa day: no food, no drink, no worry about comfort as is represented by not wearing leather shoes. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur have a few common themes. They act as a reminder of our limits and imperfections, as well as our own mortality. The chest-thumping and the guilt trips cannot go on indefinitely. If they did, we would be debilitated. That is why Yom Kippur only lasts one day, and that is why there is a change of tone within the holidays. The switch does not begin at the end of Yom Kippur when we say to ourselves "Thank G-d we can eat again." It happens during the Ne'ilah service towards the end of the Yom Kippur services.

R. Israel Salanter taught that as a minimum, one did teshuvah (repentance) between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. If you want to take it up a notch, you start during the Jewish month of Elul. However, if you really want to take the concept of teshuvah seriously, you start at Ne'ilah services. Why? Ne'ilah represents the turning point in which we act on all the spiritual work we did between Elul and Ne'ilah in the hopes of a better future.

As my Rabbi, R. Shmuel Herzfeld, discussed this Yom Kippur, our past does not define our future. That is the essential lesson of Yom Kippur. Judaism is not a fatalistic tradition in which we believe that we are condemned by genetics, environment, or G-d Himself. We take those efforts from Elul, Rosh Hashanah, and Yom Kippur, and we transform ourselves into something more.

There are many reasons to be joyful for Sukkot. R. Shlomo Wolbe expresses the view that Yom Kippur and Sukkot are juxtaposed is that we received positive judgement from G-d. Our ability to have another chance to work on ourselves, our goals, our teshuvah, are all reasons to be joyful.

Another reason to be joyful is to be thankful for what we have. The sukkah is a temporary structure that is flimsy relative to an actual house or building. That sukkah is a metaphor for life: ephemeral, fragile, uncertain. One thing we realize is that we become thankful for all that we have in the simplest of settings because life does not come from material fulfillment, but spiritual fulfillment. Additionally, the joy of Sukkot comes from becoming at peace with our environment and who we are (R. Yitzhak Berkowits).

Speaking of being at peace with ourselves, my Maharat, Ruth Friedman, brought up a certain tension that exists during Yom Kippur. On the one hand, we are meant to be our most spiritual selves to the point where we act like angels on Yom Kippur. We wear white, we don't eat or drink, we say "Baruch shem kavod malchuto l'olam va'ed" out loud, and we wear our tallit in the evening. On the other hand, we are meant to bring our most honest selves to Yom Kippur: confess all of our imperfections from the previous year and figure out how we can be better next year.

Going off Maharat Friedman's words and R. Berkowits' interpretation, I think that we are meant to find joy in the paradox of striving for perfection while realizing our human limitations. As Maharat Friedman brought up during Yom Kippur, we need to find a way to accept our non-angelic humanity while still striving for our best. Coming to terms with both our humanity and our expectations not only helps because it helps optimize goal-setting, but it helps bring us closer to G-d since we can feel the joy of Sukkot, as well as life, all the more so.

Ushpizin: Having Sukkot Guests as a Spiritual Act

Sukkot: the Jewish harvest festival. It has a number of particular rituals that may seem peculiar to some. One Sukkot practice that is not as peculiar is that of the Ushpizin (האושפיזין). According to the Zohar (Emor 103a), the spiritual energy of Sukkot is so intense that seven souls leave the Garden of Eden to participate in the celebration of Sukkot. Each one of the seven spiritual guests corresponds to a different day of Sukkot:

1. Abraham represents benevolence and love (חסד)
2. Isaac represents restraint and discipline (גבורה)
3. Jacob represents beauty, harmony, and truth (תפארת)
4. Moses represents victory and endurance (נצח)
5. Aaron represents humility (הוד)
6. Joseph represents foundation and connection (יסוד)
7. David represents  sovereignty, receptiveness, and leadership (מלכות)

This is meant to inspire each and every one of us to take on the characteristics that each of these biblical figures represents. By manifesting these attributes, the divine light shines down upon this world (Derech Hashem 4:2:2,5). However, the passage in the Zohar does not end there:

"One must also gladden the poor, and the portion [that would otherwise have been set aside for these Ushpizin] guests should go to the poor. For if a person sits in the shadow of faith and invites those guests and does not give their portion [to the poor], they all remain distant from him. One should not say 'I will first satisfy myself with the food and drink, and I shall give the leftovers to the poor.' Rather, the first of everything must be for one's guests. If one gladdens his guests and satisfies them, G-d rejoices over him. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and the others shower him..." -Zohar, Emor 103a

On a personal level, I generally stay away from mystical teachings because the level of esoteric thought is so much that it leaves much to be desired in a practical sense. However, I think the teaching in this particular passage is astounding. If you want to be spiritual, it is not enough to have lofty thoughts and ideas. They have to be translated into lofty deeds. The idea of manifesting the spiritual into the physical is so important that the Zohar states that those who do not feed the poor greatly diminish the spiritual aspect of Sukkot.

It is Jewish law that during the holidays, it is incumbent upon us to feed the widow, the orphaned, converts, and any other poor and destitute individuals (Mishneh Torah, Shevivat Yom Tov 6:18). However, why is this so emphasized during the holiday of Sukkot? Aside from being important biblical figures, each one of the seven guests mentioned above dealt with uprootedness during the course of their lives. Each one knew what it was like to be wandering and looking for shelter. The Rashbam, in his commentary to Leviticus 23:43, teaches that we are to leave the comfort of our homes to dwell in a temporary booth, to act as a reminder of the ancient Israelites who did not have homes or much in material possessions. While Sukkot teaches us to be happy in spite of the temporary and uncertain nature of life, the Zohar teaches that part of being spiritual is making sure that peoples' needs are taken care of during Sukkot.

Is this a ringing endorsement to end global poverty? Of course not! Pirkei Avot [2:21] reminds us that just because we cannot complete the task, it does not mean we desist from completing the task. Jewish tradition teaches that we do our small part during Sukkot to help out others in need, whether those needs are physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual in nature. We are not meant to celebrate in isolation while others are suffering. Even during Sukkot, which is referred to as "the Time of Our Happiness," we do not act as if others do not matter. Quite the opposite! We share with those who are less fortunate to remind us that we are in this together, that we are human, and that when push comes to shove, we are all faced with the ephemeral state of living on this planet.

Why We Read the Seemingly Depressing Book of Ecclesiastes on Sukkot

Sukkot, which is the Feast of the Tabernacles that typically takes place around late September/early October, originally started as a harvest festival for the ancient Israelites. It is also referred to as זמן שמחתינו, or the "time of our joy," for a variety of reasons. Being the festive holiday it is, it comes off as a peculiar tradition [for Ashkenazi Jews] to read the Book of Ecclesiastes, also referred to as קהלת (Kohelet), during the Shabbat Sukkot services as a way to celebrate this rejoicing. The Book starts off with "Futility of futilities, all is futile (Ecclesiastes 1:2)" and continues with such lines as "for with much wisdom comes much grift, and he who increases knowledge increases pain (1:18)," "What does joy accomplish? (2:2)," and "for the fate of men and the fate of beast, they have the same fate...man has no superiority over beast, for all is futile (3:19)." It seems counterintuitive to read a dejecting text that points out the futility of life on a time where we celebrate the joy in our lives, so I did some research in hopes to resolve the paradox:

1. Let's not take it too far with the joy. Maimonides teaches the Aristotelian idea of the golden mean, which is to say that we should not take our מדות (character traits) to extremes. The trait of joy is no exception. In the Mussar text ארחות צדיקים ("The Ways of the Righteous"), if we give in entirely to humor or frivolity, we detract our focus from G-d. Ecclesiastes is the antidote to lightheartedness (Avudraham; R. Azaryah Figo). The joy we should feel is not for frivolity, but in serving G-d (Sefer HaMagid, Vol. III).
2. Joy is not about material wealth. King Solomon was a man who had hundreds of wives and concubines, as well as all the riches a man could imagine. At the end of the day, King Solomon realized just how transient material wealth can be, and how futile it was to chase after it (Ecclesiastes 1:11). We read Ecclesiastes at this time of year to remind ourselves that we are to rejoice in our lot, and that happiness will not be found in chasing after insane amounts of wealth (R. Mordechai Yaffe).
3. Ecclesiastes is about steadfastness to Torah. The Talmudic rabbis wanted to censor the Book of Ecclesiastes as apocryphal because its contradictory statements would end up confusing the masses (Shabbat 30b). However, the Rabbis decided not to suppress the text because the text begins with matters of Torah (Ecclesiastes 1:3) and ends with matters of Torah (Ecclesiastes 12:13). When discussing the question of "what profit does man have under the sun (1:3)," the Rabbis interpreted that as those who go "before the sun," i.e., study Torah, then one profits. In spite of the skepticism that King Solomon expresses throughout the Book, he concludes that the purpose of life is to "fear G-d, and keep His mitzvahs because that is the whole of man (12:13)."
4. Faith in the midst of uncertainty. In Ein Ayah, R. Avraham Yitzchak Kook points out that in spite of the intellectual pursuit, King Solomon ultimately returns to fear of G-d. Ecclesiastes is a reflection of how many people struggle with life. It can be confusing, contradictory, unfair, and downright harsh. As I wrote in a previous entry, faith is not acceptance in the form of passivity. We are allowed to question the purpose of it all and do so quite profoundly. At the end, of the day, we stick with G-d. We struggle, question, and wonder, and yet still remain within the framework of Judaism because the Jewish tradition allows for us to be human. The ability to stay steadfast to Judaism while still contending with the inconsistencies and injustices  of life that we observe and process with our rational faculties is the Ecclesiastical experience. It is to remind us that even in the unknown, we can still find meaning in life and experience joy. 
5. Accepting the transience of our physical lives. There is a Midrash (Shir HaShirim Rabbah 1:10) that says that King Solomon wrote this text at the end of his life, a time during which he reflected on all he had done. For King Solomon, he viewed life as a הבל (Ecclesiastes 1:2). The word הבל is commonly mistranslated as "futility"; a better translation would be "breath." For King Solomon, he realized that life was but a fleeting moment, and G-d was eternal. We can amass wealth and power, but there is an end for us. A definite, inevitable end. King Solomon realized this after all the wisdom and wealth he gained during his lifetime. It is my hope that we can not only realize the gift that life has to offer us and the important things in life, but to realize that the amount of time we have to enjoy and experience that life is like the length of a breath. People come, people go. The world in which we live is all too temporary. The sobering message that Ecclesiastes sends us is that we should enjoy and appreciate it while we still can. Having that level of radical acceptance to understand the ephemeral nature of life and how to fulfill your true calling within a small amount of time is the true joy of reading Ecclesiastes on Sukkot.

Why and How Rejoicing on Sukkot Is a Mitzvah

There was a time when I thought of Sukkot as some antiquated agrarian celebration. However, after spending this past Sukkot with some great friends, I realized that Sukkot is more than just a harvest holiday, "The Feast of Booths," or even a pilgrimage holiday. My friends showed me why Sukkot is known as "the time of our rejoicing" (זמן שמחתינו). The simplest reason for Sukkot being considered a time of rejoicing comes straight from the Torah:

ושמחתם לפני אדני אלהיכם שבעת ימים

"And for seven days you shall rejoice before G-d." -Leviticus 23:40 (also see Deuteronomy 16:14) 

Knowing me, "because the Torah says so" has never been a satisfactory explanation unto itself because it leaves a lot to be desired, particularly on a level of spiritual meaning. When I hear that "rejoicing on Sukkot" is a mitzvah, it brings up a few issues. One, how can G-d command any emotion, never mind that it's happiness, for an entire week? Two, we are explicitly commanded to live in a simplistic, temporary construct for the duration of the holiday, during which one is to "endure Mother Nature at her finest." That doesn't seem all that joyful. Three, this holiday does not commemorate any major event in history. If I were to designate a time of year for rejoicing, it would be Purim. The Jewish people avoided genocide, which is something worth celebrating. We eat, dress in costumes, and even have a few drinks. So how did Sukkot end up being the Jewish holiday for rejoicing?

Going into further detail of what exactly a sukkah is can help answer these questions. A sukkah is a temporary dwelling constructed for Sukkot. The sides of the structure is typically made of wood (although the sides can be made of metal or other materials), and the roof covering is made of material that grew from the earth, but is disconnected from it (e.g., wood, palm leaves, bamboo sticks). The sukkah is ideally a construct au naturel, derived from natural and organic materials. The sukkah is to be constructed under open skies so we can be exposed as possible to the elements of nature. With that brief description in mind, let's list some reasons as to how Sukkot is a festival of rejoicing, and how it can be construed as a commandment:

1. Ancient Israeli society was an agrarian society. Since the fruits of one's labor have been gathered, one rejoices for a good harvest, regardless of how it turned out, because one is thankful for the sustenance that G-d provides.
2. Sukkot comes right after the High Holy Days. On Yom Kippur, we contemplate the importance of teshuvah and how we should prioritize our lives. The juxtaposition of Yom Kippur and Sukkot gives us joy because G-d gave us a positive judgment, and we are able to start off with a clean slate (R. Shlomo Wolbe). Additionally, if we are to start the year "with a clean slate," especially if it is meant to be a joyous year that was better than the last, we cannot end with the holidays with chest-thumping and guilt-tripping. G-d placed Sukkot where He did so that we can both start the New Year and finish the holidays on a positive note.   
3. The sukkah becomes a metaphor for life: fragile, uncertain, ephemeral. Our exposure to nature illustrates just how little control we can have over life. The rejoicing comes from the fact that "everything is in G-d's hands (Rashbam's commentary on Leviticus 23:43)."
4. Since I don't believe in a personal G-d, I don't personally buy #3, although there are a good amount of Jews that do. Yes, the sukkah becomes a metaphor for life: fragile, uncertain, ephemeral. Given the nomadic nature of the Jews wandering in the desert (See Point #6), the sukkah can be interpreted as a manifestation of the "wandering Jew 'in exile," which is symbolic of how we should never be complacent in our surroundings. Even so, the message ultimately is that we don't need to be afraid of anything external. Rather than life live in a self-enclosure (i.e., the home), we become exposed to the elements (i.e., the ups and downs of life) in order come to terms with and be at peace both with who we are and with our environment. (R. Yitzhak Berkovits). This realization brings us joy, which is the ultimate antidote to fear.
5. The sukkah represents the simplest form of living, which is the entire point. On Sukkot, we are not supposed to live in luxury because we are to realize that happiness does not come from material goods. As Hillel said (Pirke Avot 2:8), "the more possessions, the more worry," which is to say that people either fear loss of their material possessions or worry about the jealousy of others. We should not put such emphasis on our homes or material possessions, but in something more transcendent. And we should do so because people have a tendency to conflate physical fulfillment with spiritual fulfillment. In Judaism, most acts are not intrinsically mundane. Sukkot is a great reminder that we are able to elevate the physical and mundane into something more holy, and for that opportunity, we should be happy, even when inhabiting the simplest of constructs. As Ben Zoma points out (Pirke Avot 4:1), "Who is rich? The person who is happy with their lot."
6. The festival of Sukkot commemorates the forty years spent in the desert. Part of having been freed from Egypt and being free person endowed with free will is to accept the daily challenges of existence, and to do so with a sense of fulfillment and joy.
7. Happiness is not something we acquire; it is a byproduct of what we accomplish, and to what and to whom we connect. Within the mitzvah to rejoice, G-d is not commanding us to feel an emotion. G-d knows that it is not easy to be happy because there will always be stress in life. Rather, G-d gave us an opportunity to create our own happiness during Sukkot or any other time of year for that matter. G-d is commanding us to partake in certain actions, i.e., externalities [that we Jewishly call mitzvahs], to induce happiness. During the holiday, we enjoy time both at synagogue and at home. We are engaged both with our family and friends. We even give tzedakah and pray for guests (אושפיזין) to come to the sukkah, as a gesture of hospitality. To quote R. Avraham Weiss, "Spirituality means encountering the moment, being conscious of the moment, while recognizing G-d's role in the moment." What does this R. Weiss quote have to do with Sukkot? The mitzvah of living in the sukkah is one of the only mitzvahs that utilizes the entire body (the other one is walking in the land of Israel). This mitzvah involves the entirety of our physicality. Much like with the mitzvah of living in the sukkah, being happy entails our entirety. By pursuing the mitzvahs pertaining to Sukkot and spending time with others, what it helps us recognize is that by realizing our purpose in life and opting to pursue that purpose, we can choose to be happy and partake in actions that increase our overall happiness.

Regardless of which reasons work best for you, I hope that you find happiness and joy during this Sukkot.

חג סוכות שמח!