Chag Sameach and Shabbat Shalom in the Sukkah

I sometimes wonder who had the idea of cramming so many holidays together in the Jewish calendar. We are hardly finished with Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur before we start getting ready for Sukkot. (It is a custom by some to start erecting the sukkah immediately at the conclusion of Yom Kippur.)

            But it also seems to me that we can look forward to this next holiday 

​another way. W

e read in the daily prayer book

​ and 

praise God for watching over us with the phrase “hapores sukkat shalom aleinu” (whose shelter of peace is spread over us). This is a remarkably beautiful concept – God is sheltering us as we sit in a flimsy sukkah (shelter). We don’t ask God for a strong, hurricane-proof shelter, but just a flimsy shelter through which the ra

​i​

n can (and often does) fall.

            As Rabbi Neal Katz has noted (Reform Voices of Torah, 10/16/16) we use the metaphor of a sukkah in this daily prayer precisely because we know how fragile peace can be. If we want a more permanent and enduring kind of peace, it is up to us to make it happen. In doing this, we become God’s partner in a most noble effort.

            This Sukkot, when peace and security does not exist for millions, through natural disaster or war, or through racial bias and hatred, 

​through mindless gun violence ​

or even from a lack of civility, perhaps as we sit in our fragile Sukkah and give thanks to God for seeing us through to this joyous occasion, we can remember that it is part of the Jewish Mission statement to help bring peace to all.

            Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach.

Here I am

On Rosh Hashanah and on Yom Kippur, the Hazzan chants a special prayer immediately before the repetition of the Amidah in the Musaf service, called “Hineni” in which the Hazzan leader begs God to accept the leader’s role as spokesperson for the community, the shaliach tzibur, even though the prayer acknowledges the speaker as unworthy. It some congregations, the Hazzan begins this chant from the rear of the sanctuary, walking slowly down the aisle towards the bimah, often in a very still, quiet voice. The prayer begins:

            “Here I stand, impoverished in merit, trembling in Your Presence, pleading on behalf of Your People Israel even though I am unfit and unworthy for the task.”

            The word itself, “Hineni” is one with powerful echoes in the Bible. When God calls to Adam, he responds “Hineni.” When God calls to Abraham, he, too, responds “Hineni.” When God calls to Moses, he responds “Hineni” as well. It is more than “I am here.” It connotes “I am prepared to follow Your will.”

            When God calls us to do important and difficult tasks on behalf of the community or the Jewish people, the answer must be “Hineni.” Here I am, here I stand, even though I may lack merit to represent anyone beyond myself. Even when we merely assume the role of an active member of the Jewish community, we again state “Here I am, Hineni.”

            In either case, however, we are obligated to must retain the humility expressed in the Hineni prayer, and remember our own limitations.

            And yet. Yom Kippur means many things to many people, with its overt emphasis on fasting and recounting one’s sins. Will we live or die? Will we prosper or face challenges? I choose, however, to focus this year on “Hineni” and pledge to “be here” for those facing crises so much greater than my own: to the orphan, the widow, the stranger, the aging neighbor, the victim of natural disaster, of political retribution, of prejudice and injustice. For them, as well as for ourselves, we say “Hineni.”