The Courage of Our Joy
Sukkot 5782
Ben Volman, Kehillat Eytz Chaim, Toronto
My treasured memories of spending time in Jerusalem at Sukkot always bring to mind those inspiring commands from D’varim/Deuteronomy: “Rejoice at your festival. . . . Adonai your God will bless you . . . so you are to be full of joy” (Deut 16:14,15, CJB). Joy doesn’t have to be overly exuberant—but I can’t recall a time that so filled me with a rush of gratitude for a living faith, the intimate joy of knowing my Messiah in Zion.
In Jerusalem, on the verge of autumn, the air is refreshing in the mornings and pleasantly cool by night. In a city where it seems that you’re surrounded by people literally wearing their religion on their sleeve—from a pair of petite, blue clad nuns to the tall Hasid with long curls framing his beard—everyone strolls comfortably through the golden sunshine. I recall taking a city bus with a friend, up from the German Colony toward the Old City. We’re surrounded by dark-suited yeshiva bochers, intimate young couples, and families, large and small, enjoying the school holiday. When we reach the Jaffa Gate, we look for a favourite route atop the old stone walls before we stop at Christ Church, then through the market to the Kotel. Along the way each of us points out the cleverly varied sukkot—on rooftops, in alleyways, and even crowded balconies.
Our tradition records a controversy between Rabbi Eliezer and his celebrated student, Rabbi Akiva, on the key verse instructing us to celebrate the feast by building sukkot: “So that generation after generation of you will know that I made the people of Isra’el live in sukkot when I brought them out of the land of Egypt” (Lev 23:43 CJB).
The rabbis’ responses (in typically brief summation) are in striking contrast: “R. Eliezer says they were booths, literally; R. Akiva says they were clouds of glory.” The statement that follows the opinions doesn’t say either view is preferred: “We are hereby taught that even the sukkah is a reminder of the Exodus from Egypt” (Sifra, Emor ch. 17:11). The common opinion is that R. Eliezer adheres to a Torah-rooted, practical view of our responsibility—as down-to-earth as the stuff of the schach we place on top of the sukkah (it must have grown in the ground). But Akiva’s visionary understanding broadens our spiritual purpose by encouraging us to celebrate the Shekhinah presence that “covered” Israel the length of their journey. R. Eliezer wants to make sure that we build a sukkah; R. Akiva wants us to do it with a heart of joy.
Both are correct. The experience of erecting the family or congregational sukkah gives us a tactile connection to our ancient forebears in Sinai, but also to the memory of loved ones who raised sukkot in their own past seasons of joy. So many wonderful memories are attached to our family sukkah—surrounded by children’s decorations, seasonal fruits, songs, laughter; the pleasure of family, friends, and our family of faith gathering with all the communal joys of the festival—isn’t this the living reality of the Ruach HaKodesh among us?
Our inspired joy isn’t just fixed in the past, or momentarily alive depending on how things look in the present. We take joy knowing that the future of Jerusalem—and we’re blessed to be in a generation that’s certain of its future—will make God’s glory even more visible in a world struggling to find reasons for joy. The Haftarah portion for the first day, Zechariah 14, thrusts us into one of the most powerful prophetic visions in the Tanakh. Of course, as Messianic believers, we’re already familiar with Zechariah 12:10 ff., describing how Israel will “look to me, whom they pierced” (CJB). Chapter 14 declares the full impact of God’s crowning victory over the nations: “On that day Adonai will be the only one, and his name the only name” (v. 9, CJB)—reminding us of that familiar refrain in the liturgy: “B’yom hahu. . .”
I admit, memories make it easier to raise a heart of joy than the world we’re coping with right now. But days like these call us to new inspirations for joy—the courage of faith, the courage to walk in joy. I’m confronted with new questions: how did my parents and grandparents celebrate in the shadow of war and the aftermath of times described by a beloved mentor, Rachmiel Frydland, “when being Jewish was a crime”?
I take joy when I recall the courage of Bishop Michael Solomon Alexander—our brave Jewish Messianic forebear, resolute and unbowed to raise up that remarkable edifice of blessing we call Christ Church. Despite years of local resistance, years of Turkish bureaucratic bungling and the local Pasha’s insistence it could not be done! Alexander and his determined associates were more than a century ahead of their time, but we’ve lived to see that unique “Jewish chapel” become a centrepiece for a thriving Messianic testimony to Israel.
And I take joy when I read the wonderful account of our Messianic sister, Pauline Rose, who built a garden on Mount Zion. When she and her husband, Albert, determined to move into the war-torn, bullet-ridden building that they made into a home, they faced every possible resistance from the Israeli authorities. It was the early 1960s, while Jerusalem was a divided city prior to the Six Day War. Their windows literally faced the guns of the Jordanian army, yet she used her incredible faith, will, and God-given horticultural skills to create the most beautiful garden in the city. Her little book, Window on Mount Zion, includes the marvelous story of celebrating their first Sukkot with a decorative wooden booth on their balcony held together with burlap. The local rabbi came by to bless the sukkah and then the UN representatives arrived: “We’ve had complaints from the Jordanians that new military fortifications were being built on Mount Zion.” Barely able to hold back their smiles, Pauline and Albert brought the men out to the balcony to show the “new fortification . . . and they joined us in our laughter as they looked through the [burlap] window at the heads of the Arab soldiers behind the sandbags not many yards away” (Vine of David edition, p. 81).
When I think back to the courage of our forerunners, the courage to keep believing when everyone around you says, “It’s impossible,” I feel joy. Not just the joy of the past, or today’s tentative joys that struggle to lift their head—but the joy to keep walking in the faith of these men and women—to make the hope of my Lord a living reality, despite the winds blowing against my own fragile sukkah of faith. And today, let’s encourage each other, “as long as it’s called today,” to fulfill the word of the Lord from Moshe Rabenu, and believe in the promises of our prophets. Let’s have the courage to seize hold of joy and celebrate the Feast!