by Rabbi Ron Stern
The Yiddish short story writer Abraham Reisen tells this Sukkot tale:
Baruch and Miriam were the poorest of the poor. Together with their children they lived in a one room shack that was cold in the winter and stuffy in the summer. Each night they’d push their few pieces of furniture into a corner so they could roll out their worn mattresses and sleep in a row on the floor. Their pantry, if you could call it that, was bare of anything but a few cups of flour, salt, and an egg or two.
Each Jewish holiday, the family would make the rounds of their more well-off relatives and rely upon the generosity of their kin to provide them with a holiday meal. Upon leaving, Baruch would promise that: “Next year, we’ll host you in our home!” To that, he’d receive a strained smile and a polite nod. All knew that promise would never be fulfilled.
One year, Baruch turned to Miriam and said: “Next Sukkot, we’re going to host our relatives in our sukkah!” So they scrimped and saved. Miriam placed a penny or two in a jar each week and resisted the temptation to borrow from that jar even for the Shabbat meal. Baruch scoured the town every day and brought home scraps of fabric and pieces of discarded wood.
Finally, as Tishri arrived, invitations were sent to the relatives to join Baruch and Miriam for Sukkot. Baruch busied himself using his scraps of fabric and wood and soon created a palatial and spectacular sukkah that was five times the size of their one room home. Miriam used her saved pennies to purchase food for the Sukkot holiday meal. The relatives separately decided to bring their own dishes of food to supplement what meager offerings they expected from Miriam and Baruch.
As they arrived, they were shocked to see light radiating from the grand sukkah and were greeted by the aromas of freshly baked goods and simmering pots of food. As they entered the sukkah they were greeted by a beaming Miriam and Baruch who said: “This year, we welcome you to our sukkah!”
Reisen inverts the usual Sukkot experience on its head in this story. On Sukkot we leave our comfortable homes and enter the temporary sukkah—exposed to the elements. In Reisen’s story, the home is a sukkah and the sukkah becomes a beautiful palace. He reminds us that for many, home is nothing more than a sukkah, temporary, ramshackle, barely protective of the inhabitants lest we take our own comfort and security for granted.
At Wise, the sukkah on our plaza is dedicated to those in our world who are forced to dwell in temporary “sukkot.” Whether the homeless in our own community or the refugees forced to wander the world. May our celebration of the most beautiful of Jewish holidays remind us of our obligation to provide the world’s wanderers with secure and safe homes.
