Tag: joy

Sukkot a time for happiness

As a kid, Sukkot wasn’t a holiday we observed at home. Our congregation was where I decorated and visited a sukkah, but it wasn’t a big festival for us. The temple did feel like an extension of my house since my mom worked full time there – but it wasn’t my house.

By contrast, as a married adult, we’ve really embraced Sukkot at home. We’ve built a sukkah in the backyard of each home we’ve lived in. We’ve more than 20 years now of experience in inviting guests for big sukkah dinner parties and having quiet family meals together, too. We enjoy buying a lulav and etrog so we can “shake it in the sukkah!” on our own.

It’s brought us lots of pleasure, which is apt because Sukkot is the only festival that is labeled “z’man simchateinu” or “our time of happiness.” It’s literally our time to party. In Tractate Sukkah, it describes the special “in the place of the drawing of water” celebrations at the Temple on Sukkot as the party to end all parties. In Tractate Sukkah 51a, it says this twice, in both the Mishnah and Gemara, “One who did not see the celebration … never saw celebration in his days.”  The Gemara goes further to explain: “One who did not see Jerusalem in its glory, never saw a beautiful city. One who did not see the Temple in its constructed state, never saw a magnificent structure.”

Like any spare, ancient text, we can read this several ways. My first tendency is to recall overhearing university acquaintances laughing. When they saw me, as they laughed, they explained that their fraternity bash was “the party to end all parties” and “they were so blasted” and “it’s a shame you weren’t there!” Then I’d feel some shame. I hadn’t been invited, feeling left out and uncomfortable. Then, as an introvert, I’d privately admit relief!  I didn’t have to deal with the noise, drunks, drugs and cigarettes, either.

Yet this is not at all the negative, emotional reading that I think the rabbis intended. The talmudic sages were describing a truly joyous, amazing, mind-blowingly big celebration. It’s hard during the pandemic to wrap my brain around this huge way of celebrating. The Temple in Jerusalem and its way of observing the festivities are also long past, but there are still big sukkahs out there in the world, full of party-goers, no matter the year.

Many of us struggle at times to find the joy in our lives – the world news, natural disaster and ongoing pandemic waves can leave us reeling and wondering when things will get better. When we can gather, many people are flooded with joy at a crowded wedding or a big festive event. However, modern-day Sukkot can bring us joy even without the enormous shindig or party to end all parties at the Temple in Jerusalem.

For me, being outside, at any time of year, helps me find that inner calm, contentment and grounding. I’ve also recently observed moments when I start feeling anxious or sucked into negativity. At those times, I’m consciously trying to step away from the news and the social media feed. I’m giving myself time every day to read a book, cook, study Talmud, knit, and watch my kids and dog play. I need to make space for finding that joy.

This summer, we’ve had a lot of wasps outside in Winnipeg, along with heat, drought and wildfire smoke. It was so bad that our difficult-to-assemble patio table never made it out onto the deck. We used the matching chairs, but gave up on eating outside. I recently tested the waters with my husband, asking if he felt it would be worth it to assemble everything for Sukkot anyway. After all, three out of four family members have gotten wasp stings in the yard so far. It hasn’t been auspicious.

He responded positively, as only a biology professor who studies insects might, noting that wasps weren’t active at night, that cooler temperatures and winds helped, and that we should set things up as usual. He was right. By planning to build a sukkah despite everything, we could optimize our chances at “our time of rejoicing.” Studying Tractate Sukkah this summer made me anticipate the holiday so much that I couldn’t wait for this joyful holiday this time around.

Towards the end of August, the weather started to turn. Our lawns have finally gotten enough rain to turn green again and, as the temperatures drop, the wasps are less active. Winnipeg isn’t a place where many people consider sleeping in the sukkah, or even insist on eating every meal there. It’s often just too cold, but that also kills wasps! Once or twice since we moved here, it’s even snowed during Sukkot.

In Tractate Sukkah 26a, the talmudic rabbi Rava suggests leniency in terms of dwelling in the sukkah. Sick people are exempt from this commandment, but Rava suggests that, if you’re suffering, you too are exempt. His examples include biting flies or a foul-smelling sukkah floor but, when comparing the weather in Israel or Babylonia to Winnipeg, Rava would likely suffer here. Our freezing fall temperatures are sufficiently uncomfortable that many seek only a brief moment in the sukkah rather than a camp out.

I’m still drawn to crisp, clear fall evenings outside in the dark, however. We’ll be wearing our coats and smelling the leaves turning. It’s not the right year to invite lots of guests for parties. We’ve got kids too young to be vaccinated yet. We’re being very cautious.

Still, Sukkot gifts us with excuses to stay up late and enjoy the outdoors each autumn just a little bit longer. The chance to celebrate, this time of our happiness, is upon us. Give yourself that chance to let go of the negativity, worries and anxieties. Have a completely legitimate, Jewishly commanded break outdoors. It’s that time of year to get out into nature and party!  Sukkot is here. Enjoy.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for CBC Manitoba and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Rejoice or slog? You choose

Over the past two weeks, we’ve dealt with one of the worst household chores during Canadian winter: car repair. We’ve got two old cars. No, I don’t mean gorgeous restored antique cars, stored lovingly in a garage. We’ve got two cars that sit out in the back lane parking area in all kinds of Manitoba weather. We don’t have a garage.

The “younger” car is already 16 years old. This car, inherited from a family friend long ago, was having issues. We needed a new engine or a new car. Shopping for a new car during a pandemic didn’t seem wise. My husband opted for the engine.

While the car waited for its new engine to be installed at the auto repair shop, we had cold weather, as one does during Manitoba’s winter. Nobody at the garage plugged in the block heater or kept the car warm. Three thousand dollars later, while the new engine worked fine, the battery froze. The car had a good 10 kilometres of trouble-free driving back to our house before the battery died entirely. I spent a few days fielding Canadian Automobile Association calls and driving back and forth to the repair shop, accompanied by our kids – at home for remote school – and my husband.

On Jewish topics, well, we’ve just read the Shirat Hayam (Song of the Sea) Torah portion, which is in parashat Beshallach, Exodus 13:17-17:16. This is where we celebrate miracles, like crossing the Sea of Reeds, but not only that. It also details how G-d gave the people water, quail and manna, too. There were a lot of amazing gifts offered to the Israelites. There’s a message of hope here, and of life beyond the drudgery they encountered in Egypt, if they can see it.

There’s also an interesting confluence in that those who study Daf Yomi (a page of Talmud a day) are working through Pesachim right now. This is the tractate where the rabbis debate a lot of rules around Passover. As I learned from both the Torah portion of the week and Talmud, I saw a similarity that gave me pause.

The Israelites escaping from Egypt were in a time of great upheaval, including a plague that had just struck down all of the Egyptian firstborn. The rabbis in Tractate Pesachim are also in an unsettling time – the Temple in Jerusalem was long gone, and they were trying to understand how the Pesach sacrifices were done at the Temple and apply that ritual to a new vision of Jewish life.

Meanwhile, we’re in the middle of a pandemic, with more upheaval, trying to find our way through unrest and difficulties. It’s 2021, Passover is coming, and this will be yet another Zoom holiday, full of unexpected experiences.

When faced with all this, we have choices. We can, of course, complain and grumble, as the Israelites did in the desert, in Exodus 16:2-3. We sure have heard complaining during the COVID-19 pandemic, even among people lucky enough to have food, safety, warm housing and stable income.

In Exodus, Moses told the people that enough manna would be provided each day and how to gather it. The Israelites didn’t believe it, and some of the food got maggots because they didn’t follow the rules. Our Canadian public health officers have been leaders. They have told us how to stay safe and well and, sure enough, (surprise!) some of us haven’t followed the rules and have gotten into trouble.

Finally, we get to that whole “dead car in winter” routine. Could I draw a parallel here between our poor car and Pharaoh’s chariots, maybe? No. Instead, I saw the message the Israelites offered when they crossed the Sea of Reeds. “Who is like you, O Holy One, among the ones who are worshipped?” There is an expression of hope, joy and grateful acknowledgement there.

The thing is, our cars do a lot for us, getting us to work, school and the grocery store. This is essentially the plodding that is just a part of our lives, whether we complain or acknowledge it or not. We can find that drudgery everywhere, in schoolwork, in chores and in our careers. However, we can make a choice here, too.

In Tractate Pesachim, as the rabbis go through every part of Passover, they pause on page 68. In that pause, they reflect on what they are doing in studying Torah. Rabbi Elliot Goldberg, in his introduction to page 68 on the My Jewish Learning website, points it out: “Every 30 days, Rav Sheshet would review what he had learned over the previous month and he would stand and lean against the bolt of the door and say: Rejoice my soul, rejoice my soul, for you I have read scripture, for you I have studied Mishnah.”

In all good Jewish texts, there is a counterargument. Here, the Gemara responds: “But didn’t Rabbi Elazar say: If not for the Torah and its study, heaven and earth would not be sustained, as it is stated: If not for My covenant by day and by night, I would not have set up the laws of heaven and earth. (Jeremiah 33:25)

In other words, study isn’t just a slog. It benefits and nurtures us, and that causes us to rejoice. Also, Jewish tradition and Rabbi Elazar say that our study and work and, therefore, our Jewish action and rituals, uphold the world and keep it running as we know it.

We can see the car dying and its subsequent repairs as a struggle, and it is. We can also rejoice at how long the car has served us, how nice it is to have a break outside, even if it’s to drive back to the shop.

I won’t lie. It would be wonderful if, like manna, a new car appeared instead, but, since that isn’t happening right now, I need to rejoice in what does appear – a new engine, a free replacement battery and an opportunity to pause in the middle of the slog to see how lucky we are. The car died in our back lane, not on a highway. We were warm inside the house, and able to pay for repairs.

We need these ancient narratives – the Shirat Hayam story, rejoicing in freedom and full of hope, as well as the Pesachim reminder about the joys of study. They serve as a much-needed attitude adjustment. In the midst of a truly scary pandemic, in sickness and death, many of us are very lucky souls. It would benefit us to remember it. If a dead car battery or an engine replacement is the worst thing happening to us? We’re lucky indeed.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for CBC Manitoba and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.