The post to my Facebook Page practically jumped off the screen. The house is down. I'd been waiting for months, so it shouldn't have come as such a surprise. The stark reality that the house in which I lived from Thanksgiving of 2nd grade until I went off to college, the home in which our family laughed, cried, argued, compromised, and celebrated holy days and "chol" days was gone was jarring. The house is down. I checked google maps to see what down looked like. Instead of rubble or debris from our belongings and possessions, I found renderings and a YouTube video of
a house that would go up in its place. From my vantage point in NYC, the house was not just down, it was gone.
As we prepare for Sukkot, I'm remembering the Sukkah my father built on the tiny back patio of the house that is no longer. The hut that housed meals of chicken soup with my grandparents, and bagels and cream cheese with my friends. The fragile, temporary space where we bentched lulav each year, and sometimes did our homework and ate ice cream. My mind floods with memories of a golden yellow jacket somewhere between a parka and a windbreaker, and debates about whether we should be wearing hats and gloves at that time of year (for sure as a parent I would say, wear what you want!) Like the sukkah itself, I am feeling fragile and vulnerable.
Rabbi Jack Nahmod, Middle School Judaic Studies Head at The Abraham Joshua Heschel School shared just the right text for my state of being the other day. The Maharal of Prague says of the sukkah, unlike a house, the sukkah is not a finished and fixed house, and so it can easily be made to stand again/aval hasukkah, she'aino bayit she'hu binyan gamor v'kavua, u'b'kalot hu hozer....Even if it falls, it is still called a sukkah, since it can be established again with relative ease. How amazing that something so vulnerable and temporary retains its identity even when it falls. A house, on the other hand, cannot be rebuilt precisely as it was. Sukkot reminds us of the strength that comes from vulnerability. It calls us to embrace the possibility of rebuilding again, and again, and again.
The house is down. It is not a sukkah. While it will be rebuilt, it will not be our family house. Instead, we'll hold onto the memories that inspired our dreams. As I reminded all of us on Rosh Hashanah, we are not less because of that; we are not less. Enjoy this video of Adam Shel Halomot by Yonina, the song that inspired my second day Rosh Hashanah teaching.
As we enter into Sukkot, may you find strength in the temporary, and make memories that inspire you to rebuild towards your dreams.
Hag Sameach! rg
Congregation Habonim 103 West End Ave New York, NY 10023
