I was one of three men who moved into the office building of a campus leased by a Yeshiva yet to open in Santa Clara, California. We slept in the office and kept the school's old speaker system on all night so that we could hear whatever was going on in the other buildings. The school, empty for five years, had become the meeting place for teenagers to do whatever it is that teenagers do in abandoned buildings. Our job was to chase away trespassers and to signal that the buildings were no longer abandoned. The problem was that most of the kids we had to chase away were bigger than we Yeshiva guys were. The one of us who was a black belt in karate slept through all disturbances, and we were too scared of him to wake him up for assistance.
I mentioned my fears to Rabbi Daniel Lapin, master teacher and scholar, and, even worse, a fearless man. "People who do not belong automatically feel more vulnerable than one who does. As long as you know that you belong, they will run from you." He was right. I could chase twenty kids away without any problem.
I had the same sense of vulnerability the first night that I slept in my Succah in New York City. Santa Clara had bees. Saratoga Springs had unforgiving cold. St. Louis had both. My New York Succah did not offer any sense of protection from its unique elements. I then recalled Rabbi Lapin's words, and realized that I only felt vulnerable because I did not have a sense of belonging in the Succah. I had always been taught that the Succah reminds us of our vulnerabilities. No wonder I did not have a sense of belonging and safety.
I changed my approach: I viewed my Succah as a lesson in having a place in which I belong no matter how vulnerable I am to the vicissitudes of life. It was a difficult period in my life, but as I looked up at the Succah roof and imagined being able to see the stars that avoid New York, I realized that I belonged in that special place. My spirits lifted. The vulnerabilities disappeared. I slept well, at least until woken by an unfriendly, and obviously irreligious, wasp.
How interesting that I had to leave my home for my Succah to discover a sense of belonging! I no longer view the Succah as an acknowledgement of vulnerabilities, but as a statement that I can discover a powerful sense of belonging despite the vulnerabilities of life.
It is challenging to step back into the world after the intensity of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. It is difficult to feel that we belong in this world after spending so much time focused on our spiritual lives. We are again vulnerable. The Succah reminds us that we belong exactly where we are. We have a place in this world. It begins in the Succah, and hopefully, we will be able to extend that place far beyond the flimsy walls.
Rabbi Simcha L. Weinberg
President
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