This class was&nbsp;presented by Rabbi YY Jacobson on Tuesday, 11 Tishrei, 5784, September 26, 2023, at Bais Medrash Ohr Chaim in Monsey, NY.

Sukkos is called the &ldquo;Festival of Joy&rdquo;, but what exactly is so joyful about it? The other major holidays are named after their very essences: Passover is the &ldquo;Festival of Our Redemption,&rdquo; and Shavuot is the &ldquo;Festival of the Giving of Our Torah.&rdquo; What&rsquo;s the deep connection between joy and Sukkot?

And how can we understand the mystery of the four plants we shake on Sukkos? If someone unfamiliar with our tradition were to stop you today walking down the street with your four species and say, what are you holding in your hand? You would say: &ldquo;This is my ritual bouquet!&rdquo; Then they ask: What do you do with it? &ldquo;Well, we shake it.&rdquo; Hu?

What is more, the Torah states that when you take these four plants, &ldquo;you shall rejoice before your G-d seven days.&rdquo; Why? How does holding on and shaking these four plants generate happiness?

Who was the first person to take a fruit from a beautiful tree? Of course, Eve and Adam. What fruit was it? The Midrash says: the Esrog. It would appear that on Sukkos we are repeating the same story: we are again taking the Esrog off the tree, but this time around, we take it, shake it, swing it, but don&rsquo;t eat it. It is almost like G-d is telling us, I want you to do this over again.

In the case of Adam and Eve, they were cursed with sadness. This time around we are blessed with joy. Also, after Adam and Eve eat the fruit they feel like they have to hide from G-d. On Sukkos, when we take the fruit, we &ldquo;rejoice in the presence of G-d.&rdquo; What is going on here? &nbsp;

The class (based on this wonderful class by Rabbi Ami Silver: https://www.alephbeta.org/playlist/arbaminim) provides us with a deep reflection on how Sukkos and the Four Species can help us calm our nervous system, reorients our brains, change our paradigms, and ease up the tension in our life, by going away from dissociation to connection. The Sukkah is the virtual &ldquo;Garden of Eden,&rdquo; and the four plants allow us to repair what happened millennia ago in the original Garden of Eden, once again reclaiming the joy and ecstasy of life.

The story of the raffle that happened in the IDF captures the timeless unity of our people who were chosen to unite the entire world under the sovereignty of Hashem.

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sukkah

garden of eden

serenity

lulav

four minim

happiness

esrog

hadas

aravah

From Isolation to Attachment: Re-Creating Rapture In Our Lives

Women's Sukkos/Bereishis Class

Returning to the Garden of Eden: The “Four Plants” & the Sukkah

https://cdnd.theyeshiva.net/content/customitems/default/9099/1056_5784_women_transcript_sukkos.7289.pdf

https://portal.theyeshiva.net/api/download-file?path=content/customitems/default/9099/1056_5784_women_transcript_sukkos.7289.pdf

The Art of Transformation- On Rosh Hashanah we go to the water to cast away our sins; on Sukkos we return to the water to reclaim our sins

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water

tashlich

sukkos

rosh hashana

reclaim your sins

love

teshuvah love

teshivah fear

transforming sins

simchas beit hashoavah

On Rosh Hashanah We Go to the Water to Cast Away Our Sins; On Sukkos We Return to the Water to Reclaim Our Sins

The Art of Transformation

The Torah states: And you shall take for yourselves on the first day [of the holiday of Sukkos, on the 15th of Tishrei], the splendid fruit of a tree, fronds of dates, the branch of the plaited tree, and willows of the river; and you shall rejoice before the Lord your G-d for a seven day period. How can fetching these four plants cause you to rejoice? Is this some form of magic? You shake a citron, a palm branch, a myrtle and willow and you suddenly become happy?! 

So today, we will go on a journey into the esrog. A happy life is also when you learn the secret of the esrog, how the rind and the fruit share the same flavor. Celebrate the journey, not only the destination.

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goals

means and ends

The Secret of the Esrog

Essay Sukkos

Happiness Is Not a Destination

A comedian once shared: I went into a store and bought 8 oranges. The clerk asked me if I wanted a bag?

I said, "No, I juggle!

“But I only juggle 8.&nbsp; If you ever see me in here buying 9 oranges, bag'em up!"

The Celebration

It was a glorious sight to behold: The greatest sages of Israel performing juggling acts; and it happened each year during this holiday of Sukkos.

Each night of the&nbsp;holiday, the Jews in Jerusalem during Temple times, held the "Simchat Beit HaShoeva," or "Celebration of the water-drawing." Throughout the year, the daily offerings were accompanied by the pouring of wine on the Temple altar; on Sukkos, water was poured in addition to the wine. The drawing of water was preceded by all-night celebrations in the Temple courtyard, with instrument-playing Levites, and huge oil-burning lamps that illuminated the entire city.

The singing, music, and dancing went on until daybreak when a procession would make its way to the valley below the Temple to “draw water with joy”&nbsp;from the Shiloach Spring. (When you visit Jerusalem today, you can go into this spring—and it is an incredible experience to dip into the spring where Jews dipped constantly right before entering the Temple, and from where they draw the water to pour on the Altar on each morning of Sukkos).

“For all the days of the water drawing,” recalled Rabbi Joshua ben Chanania in the Talmud, “our eyes saw no sleep.” The Talmud further declares: “One who did not see the joy of the water-drawing celebrations, has not seen joy in his life.”

It was a scene to behold. For seven nights, Jews, men, and women, were up all night—singing, dancing, celebrating, and rejoicing with each other and with G-d, in the courtyard of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem.

The Juggling Acts

But there was one aspect of the celebration, the Mishnah and the Talmud make special mention of:&nbsp;the torch-juggling sages.

The Mishnah states (Sukkah 51a-b): The pious ones and men of great deeds would dance while juggling flaming torches.

The Talmud relates the story of one particular juggler during these Sukkos celebrations. This was no ordinary person.&nbsp;It was Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel (circa 10 BCE-70 CE), who held the title of head of the Sanhedrin (High Court), known as the “Nassi” (the prince of the Jewish people). A direct descendant of King David, he was the spiritual leader of the nation. During these all-night celebrating on Sukkos, Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel juggled. He kindled eight portable bonfires and juggled them, without dropping even one, and without them ever touching each other.

It must have been some scene: The greatest scholar and leader of the time, juggling eight blazing torches!

(This joyous experience continued uninterrupted for many generations. It ended when the Roman conquerors destroyed Jerusalem, razed the Temple, and slaughtered the population. Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel was cruelly imprisoned and beheaded.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn1" name="_ednref1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref1')">[1]</a> Most survivors of this devastation were eventually driven into exile. Yet the nation survived. And to this very day, even without the Temple, we celebrate each night of Sukkos with great festivity, dancing, singing, and rejoicing.) &nbsp;

Yet it seems strange. Why was the juggling of blazed torches such a highlight of the celebration, as to warrant a special description in the Mishnah and the Talmud? We can appreciate the music, the singing and the dancing, which are all-natural forms to express joy—but why did juggling play a central role? And to the extent that it was performed by the greatest spiritual giant of the time?

We can understand that during a grand celebration, someone gets up and does a juggling act to enhance the fun. But the fact that the Mishnah makes special mention of this act as a feature of the Simchas Beis Hashoavah, and the fact that it was performed by the greatest of the great, indicates that this was a necessary and central feature of the celebration. But why? It is a charming fun spectacle, but does not seem essential to a spiritual celebration?

A Nation of Jugglers

The question becomes more perplexing when we consider, as the Talmud goes on to describe (Sukkah 53a), that in subsequent generations, some of the great&nbsp;sages of Israel were juggling. We know at least four such stories recorded in the Talmud.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn2" name="_ednref2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref2')">[2]</a>

The sage Levi (circa 150-220 CE), who was a highly creative thinker, and who assisted in the compilation of the Mishnah, juggled eight knives before Rabbi Yehuda Hanassi (c. 135-219 CE), the national leader and Nassi of the Jewish people during his era (Rabbi Yehuda was a great-grandson of Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel mentioned earlier.) Somehow, Levi was trying to bring some joy to this great leader by tossing up and juggling these eight knives.

Next, the author and teacher Shmuel (180-275 CE) was considered one of the greatest Talmudic scholars in Babylonia and was also known for his outstanding expertise in medicine and astronomy. He was eventually promoted to dean of the academy at Nehardea. He managed to perfect an act wherein he juggled eight cups of wine without spilling a drop! Shmuel did this in front of the Persian monarch, King Shapur, with whom he had a close relationship.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn3" name="_ednref3" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref3')">[3]</a>

Another distinguished scholar, one of the greatest sages in Jewish history, Abaye (280-339 CE), would juggle eight eggs before his great teacher, Rabah. Abaye was head of the Academy at Pumbedita and is one of the most quoted sages in the Talmud. He was a great juggler.

Then we have another story about the great sage Rabbi Shmuel bar Yitzhak (circa 300-370 CE) who would attend weddings, dance before the bride, juggling three hadasim, myrtle branches. When one of his contemporaries, Rabbi Zeira, saw this, he said: "The old man is embarrassing us!” (Through this crude behavior.) Yet at his funeral, Rabbi Zeira observed a pillar of fire, separating him from the people, and he said: “It was this insane behavior which put him on such a high spiritual level.”<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn4" name="_ednref4" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref4')">[4]</a>

[The tradition of juggling at joyous occasions has continued throughout Jewish history. Remember the wedding scene in "Fiddler on the Roof,” where a group of four wedding guests perform a well-choreographed dance step while balancing bottles of wine on their heads without spilling a drop. These tricks are still practiced regularly at many traditional Jewish weddings.]

But here is the question: What was the significance of this practice during the Sukkos celebrations? Why was it performed by the greatest sage of Israel? And why did some of the spiritual giants of the Talmud engage in juggling? One would think these tricks were below their dignity.&nbsp;

The Story of Life

During a public address on Sukkos 1957 (5718), the Lubavitcher Rebbe presented an exquisite explanation.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn5" name="_ednref5" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref5')">[5]</a>

Juggling, the Rebbe suggested, captures in a very physical and tangible way the meaning of life—and the path toward genuine joy.

Often, we hear people lament: "I've got too many balls in the air!" Life in our time-strapped, stressful, busy, and chaotic world has become a juggling act, both at work and at home. We're all jugglers.

Yet in Judaism, we take this one step deeper. We are not only juggling duties; we are juggling torches of fire.

Let Your Soul Soar 

"The soul of man is a flame of G-d,” says Proverbs.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn6" name="_ednref6" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref6')">[6]</a> We each carry a blazing torch within ourselves; our soul is full of fire: intense passion, warmth, light, and the incredible possibility to cast light and warmth on the world around us.

In life you have to be able to juggle: to toss up your “torch,” as high as you can. You need to allow your flaming soul, to lift itself up once in a while and detach from all the pressures, stresses, burdens, and anxiety of your earthy existence. At least a few minutes of the day, you need to allow your soul to “melt away” in the sublime, to cleave to its pristine source. We all deserve a few moments of intimacy with ourselves, with our G-d, with our truth.

In modern slang, they call it “downtime.” Everyone needs downtime, when you can “let go” of your duties and pressures, and chill out. Moments when you allow yourself just “to be,” to breathe, to be present in the moment, to be burden-free. In Judaism, we call it “uptime”—it is the time you toss up your soul and let it soar, freed from its chains and shackles. Like a child running into his or her father’s arms just to be lifted up and embraced, without any motives, the soul too needs its moments when it can be elevated in an embrace by its Father in Heaven, liberated from any concern or incentive, but the opportunity to dwell in the bosom of its transcendent source.

AM or FM?

And yet, our torch must not stay up there forever. Down it must come, to re-enter our moment-to-moment concerns and responsibilities. Descend it must, returning back to reality, to the daily grind. We cannot live in heaven; we must bring it down to earth.

The juggler is the person who has that unique ability to continuously operate on two levels, living simultaneously in two states of consciousness.

There are people who live in “AM” radio, and there are those who operate in “FM” radio. Some lives revolve around “headline news,” “talk show” pessimism, traffic reports and political scandals and crisis. They live in the universe of Hannity, Savage, and Mark Levine. Between Biden, Corona, Afghanistan, and Global Warming, the world is about to come to an end. “You give us 22 minutes and we will give you the news.” Oy, and in those 22 minutes you hear enough to make you meshugah, nervous, anxious, worried, stressed, and overwhelmed.

In the immortal words of the ancient Jewish telegram: "Begin worrying; details to follow."

And then there are souls who hang out in “FM radio.” They march to the beat of soft music, unencumbered and undisturbed by the realities and pressures of “the news.” They could not care less if the GW Bridge or the Holland Tunnel is backed up 45 minutes. They are not eager to learn of “breaking news,” and of the endless reports of traffic jams. They just spend their time in the sweet, delightful, relaxing world of FM music channels.

What is the Jewish approach? To live in AM or in FM?

The answer is: To juggle. To always have “part” of your soul way up there; and part of your soul way down here. One torch goes up, while the other comes down. One part of your flaming soul lingers above, while the other comes down to bring light and warmth into a dark and cold world. Then conversely, the other one goes up to refresh, and the one that was tossed up to the air, makes its way back down to bring down the light.

To be a Jew means that you have the ability to operate simultaneously on AM and FM. As the dream of our forefather Jacob on his way to building the Jewish family: The Jew is a ladder standing on the earth, but its peak reaching heaven. Our&nbsp;souls are anchored in a space of deep innocence, sacredness, peacefulness, and truth. Yet our souls were sent down to this world to transform earth into heaven, darkness into light, to take the endless details of our day and infuse them with Divine meaning and holiness. We juggle. We remain above, while we are present right here and now.

What is a Jew? Someone asked the holy Chassidic master Reb Yitzchak Vorker. “To be a Jew,” he said, “is to dance while you are sitting in one place; to scream while you are silent, and to be alone even when you are among a thousand people.”

The Integrated Souls

Juggling, thus, embodies the essence of our festival of joy. The life of happiness demands mastering the art of juggling.

If I remain down here all the time, stuck in AM mode, I get too entangled in the pressures of life. I become burdened and depleted. If I stay up there all the time, in FM mode, I am abandoning my mission and my duties to man and to&nbsp; &nbsp;G-d. I can’t be content. Happiness requires me to cultivate the spiritual juggling act.

It was the great sages who taught us how to juggle. It is a skill that requires profound spiritual focus and dedication. There are people who enjoy running away to FM—they would love to toss themselves up, and never return. They abandon duty, service, family, and devotion. Sometimes in the name of spiritual oneness and serenity, they become selfish. There are others who know not how to get out of the rat race, out of their entanglement with the stresses of life. But it is the great soul, defined in the Talmud as the “Chassid,” who masters the art of juggling: fly high, but let part of you always remember your responsibility toward G-d and man. Stay above, but be within.

It was the great leader Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel who was the master juggler. For this is the sign of a true leader among our people. He never gets entangled in the pitfalls of human frailty and filth. But he also never goes into isolation, detaching from his flock. He is always fully present, but never loses his connection to Heaven, to purity, sacredness, and innocence. He never becomes cynical, disillusioned, and corrupt. He or she masters the art of integration.<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_edn7" name="_ednref7" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_ednref7')">[7]</a>&nbsp;And he teaches us all how to emulate this ideal.

_________________

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref1" name="_edn1" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn1')">[1]</a> We recount the story in the section Aleh Ezkerah in the Musaf of Yom Kippur.

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref2" name="_edn2" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn2')">[2]</a> Sukkah 53a.

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref3" name="_edn3" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn3')">[3]</a> Shapur I (reigned 241-272 CE), of Sassanian descent, defeated the Roman Legions in the battle for Edessa. His portrait appears on a rock relief at Naksh-i-Rustam and on a gem in the Museum of Gotha.

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref4" name="_edn4" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn4')">[4]</a> Kesuvos 17a. For a very detailed explanation of this story, and the three versions of what Reb Zeira said, see Maamar Basi Legani 5735 (1975). For an explanation of why he juggled a myrtle, see Kisvei Reb Isaac (by Rabbi Isaac Scheu from Montreal) to Kesuvos ibid.

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref5" name="_edn5" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn5')">[5]</a> Published in Sichos Kodeash 5718 and in Toras Menachem 5718 vol. 21 For other explanations into the significance of this behavior, see: Chasdei David to Tosefta Sukah ch. 4. Eyun Yaakov and Yefeh Enaf to Ein Yaakov Sukkah ibid. Aruch Lener Sukkah Sukkah ibid.

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref6" name="_edn6" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn6')">[6]</a> 20:27

<a href="javascript: void(0);" id="_ednref7" name="_edn7" onclick="ty.scrollTo('_edn7')">[7]</a> Why eight torches? Perhaps, corresponding to the four levels of the soul: Nefesh, Ruach, Neshamah and Chaya, each of their “torches” operating both “above” and “below.” The fifth level, Yechidah, of course, is always one with G-d, and is not subjected to the pendulum of Ratzo and Shuv (see Likkute Sichos vol. 4 Yom Kippur). For other explanations for the number eight, see references in footnote 5.

One aspect of the Simchas Beis Hashoavah celebration in the Holy Temple during each night of Sukkos remains perplexing: the torch-juggling sages. The Mishnah states: The pious ones and men of great deeds would dance while juggling flaming torches. The Talmud states, that the leader of the Jewish people, Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel, would juggle eight blazing torches! We can understand that during a grand celebration, someone gets up and does a juggling act to enhance the fun. But the fact that the Mishnah makes special mention of this act as a feature of the Simchas Beis Hashoavah, and the fact that it was performed by the greatest of the great, indicates that this was a necessary and central feature of the celebration. But why? It is a charming fun spectacle, but does not seem essential to a spiritual celebration? The question becomes more perplexing when we consider, as the Talmud goes on to describe, that in subsequent generations, some of the greatest sages of Israel were somehow in love with juggling. We know at least four such stories recorded in the Talmud. Levi juggled knives, Shmuel juggles wine, Abaye juggled eggs, and Reb Shmuel juggled myrtle branches. One would think these tricks were below their dignity. Yet, one generation after the other, literally the greatest of the great were juggling. It seems like their knowledge of Torah is what turned them into such efficient jugglers! It was at a public address on the fifth night of Sukkos of the year 1957 (5718), that the Lubavitcher Rebbe presented a most exquisite and profound explanation. Juggling, he suggested, captures in a very physical, tangible way the meaning of life&mdash;and the path toward genuine joy. The celebration of Sukkos was essentially all about mastering the art of juggling.

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juggling

jugglers

Are You an AM or a FM?

Sukkos Essay

The Jugglers

A Tale of Two Jews
In the world of yesteryear, in a small village near Karlin, Belarus, lived two Jews. One was a Chassid—a pious follower of the great spiritual master Rabbi Aaron of Karlin. The other was the type they used to call a Misnaged, a Jew who deeply apposed Chassidim and Chassidus and everything they represented. The misnaged (the opponent) was tremendously wealthy and the Chassid—a desolate pauper.
This wealthy man had everything a man desires. He had fine children, a dedicated wife, and was healthy like the day he was born. All a man can wish for except one thing: cheerfulness. He was a bitter and miserable soul. He never had a pleasant moment; he was always tense and suppressed. He would be quicker to pay full price for something than to smile. He was a religious person, but his religion had no soul, no smile, no joy. It was all about rigid law. &nbsp;
Friday evenings in this man’s home were solemn and glum. He would sit at the head of the ornate mahogany table with a stern face, tense shoulders and eyes that bespoke tension. Even the Shabbos melodies were depressing, sung fulfilling his duty, without warmth.
Truth be told, this man was most comfortable and content with Tisha Bav, the saddest day in the Jewish calendar; by contrast Simchas Torah was a day he dreaded. &nbsp;
If there ever a soul of darkness, it was he!
Across the street at the corner, was a shack, a wretched excuse for a home, where the Karliner Chossid lived or, to be more accurate, was surviving. He barely had money to buy nutritious meals for his family. He lived on the edge. But one thing that never lacked was joy, exuberance and warmth.
Friday evenings at the chassid’s home were other worldly. Joyful and lively tunes reverberated throughout and the house was filled with a heavenly euphoria and ecstatic elation. He hugged each of his children and made them feel like princesses. He laughed, he sang and he danced. He loved the Shabbos and he loved people. He was in love with life.
And so it was week in week out, the misnagad’s home made the North Pole look like Miami, and the chassid’s home was a haven of warmth and light, pulsating with joy and excitement.
Now, the chassid’s good natured personality irked his wealthy neighbor to no end. “How can it be,” he would often wonder “that I, who posses all a man can want, yet I am so bitter and angry, while this penniless Chassid is so joyful and upbeat?!” Inasmuch as it disturbed him, he remained bitter. This was the 18th century, pre-therapy days, so when you were irked by your neighbor, you just repressed it.
The Sukkos Trauma&nbsp;
Sukkos was his worst holiday. The holiday of joy was something he could not bear. He would sit outside in the Sukkah upset and distraught. His poor wife and children sat with him somber and hard faced. A gloomy atmosphere always filled the Sukkah. &nbsp;
Across the street was the chassid’s sukkka full of dancing and singing. Many lechayim’s were shared and beautiful stories told. The Sukkah walls were bursting with positive energy.
The Decree
One Sukkos, the positivity and joy was more than the misnaged could handle and he decided he must put a stop to the Chassidic lunatic who was driving him mad. Being the wealthiest Jew in the shtetl and practically providing everyone’s livelihood, he devised a plan.
You see, how would the poor chassid build his Sukkah every year? He would approach Yankel and ask him for a piece of wood or two; then go to Chatzkel and request a piece or two, then he would go to another few friends and borrow for the week a plank or two, and eventually put together his little sukkaleh. So as the next year came around, as Sukkos approached, the wealthy Jew warned one and all not to help the chassid with his Sukkah. “Under no circumstances is anyone allowed to lend him lumber,” he warned. “Anyone that does, can look for a job somewhere else.”
His word was heeded. This year, the poor chassid got the same response from everyone he approached. “I would love to help you but your neighbor forbade us to help you. I have young mouths to feed; I’m sorry but I can’t afford to lose my job.” Every person he went to rejected him.
The chassid was devastated. It was a night before his most cherished holiday and he still had no Sukkah. He had no money to purchase his own lumber, nor would anyone lend him even a single plank of wood. What do I do? He thought to himself.
Suddenly he had a plan; he would go to the cemetery.
The Cemetery
The custom back then was, when a poor person who cannot afford a marble tomb would pass away, the shtetel community would provide a wooden plank for his tomb. The cemetery had hundreds of such planks with the inscription “Here Lies” (Po Nitman), and when someone poor would pass away, they carved out his name on the plank of wood, and stuck it into the ground. This would constitute the tombstone on his grave.
“Well,” thought the chassid to himself, “let me go borrow the planks of wood from the cemetery to build my Sukkah. “Who’s going to die on Sukkos, and if someone does, how many will die already? There are hundreds of planks in the cemetery. I will borrow these planks for my Sukkah and return them after the holiday! Certainly, the kehilah (community) would allow me to do so.”
And so off he went with tens of wooden planks and built himself a Sukkah the size of an airport! The cemetery had so many planks, that he could afford to build himself a gigantic Sukkah, larger than he ever built before.
The Night Comes
The eve of Sukkos arrives and the misnaged is sitting in his Sukkah rubbing his hands. “Finally,” he says to himself as he settles in his palatial Sukkah, “it’s about time I taught that Chassidic dance box a lesson! Finally, I will enjoy one Sukkos without those lively tunes, festive celebrations, and ecstatic dancing from the Chassid. Finally I will be able to remain happily depressed without anyone making me feel how misrable I am.”
You can imagine his shock and horror when he hears his neighbor singing like never before. The voices from the other sukkah are more jubilant than any other year! He goes to see for himself and… Oy! His neighbor is sitting in a massive Sukkah, larger than ever before, surrounded by his wife and children, plus a few guests, dancing and singing, and enjoying immensely.
The wealthy Jew never had a worse meal in his life.
The next night, he could contain himself no longer. He ran over to the Chassid’s Sukkah, his face burning red with anger, his veins looked like they would burst out any second. “Who gave you this wood?” he roars at the poor Chassid. Who defied my orders? Tell me right now, from whom did you obtain such a massive, beautiful Sukkah?”
The chassid, who was a clever individual, looks at his neighbor and smiles. “First of all, Gut Yom Tov my friend, sit down and relax and I will explain it all to you.”
An Encounter
The Chassid tells him the following story:
Due to your decree, I was not able to gather materials to build a Sukkah. As you know, I’m sure, I don’t either have a steady job. So with no Sukkah to build and no work to do, I was left with a lot of time on my hands.
It was the night before Sukkos, and I had nothing to do. What does a Jew with time on his hands do? I decided to go for a walk.
I went out for a stroll. It was after midnight.
As I am strolling, I meet someone I have not seen in a long time: the angel of death.”
“Sholom Aleichem,” I tell the angel of death. “What brings you to our neighborhood on the night before Sukkos?"
The angel of death tells me he came to do a job. Someone’s time is up and he got to seize the man’s soul.
“Who?” I asked the angel of death. Who are you coming to take?
“Ah,” the angle of death says, “I am on my way to kill your rich neighbor. The guy who really can't tolerate you. His time is up.”
So I turned to the angel of death, and I said: “Don’t bother with him. Leave him alone."
"Why?" asked the angel of death. "He despises you with a passion. Why not finish him off?"
So I told the angel of death: "It is a waste of your energy and time to kill this man. You see this person has long been dead. Trust me, there is no need to kill him; he died many decades ago. He has not been alive for probably 50 years.”
The angel of death thanked me profusely for giving him the night off. Then he asked me how he can repay my favor. I told him: I need a Sukkah!
So the angel of death told me: Go to the cemetery and build your Sukkah with all the wooden tombstones that are there. I promise you, I will make sure no one dies for the next eight days, and you have no reason to worry about those planks of wood. You can take them all!”
At this point, the chassid points to the walls of his Sukkah and says: Look, I can prove it. Pointing at the “Here Lies” (Po Nitman) inscription that was on all the boards, he says, "you see they are all from the cemetery."
The Breakdown
The misnaged could no longer contain himself. Years of ignoring and suppressing his emotions and feelings, stifling his crying soul, suddenly gave way, and the dam crumbled. Rivers of tears flowed freely, as he wept like a baby. He cried for the decades of lost time; he cried for his soul, for a live lived so meagerly and miserably.
“How is it that I have everything yet I have nothing; you have nothing, yet you have everything?” From where do you get it? From where?” cried the welathy man in agony.
“For this,” replied the chassid, “you need a Rebbe.” A Rebbe lifts you up in a moment of hardship, and empowers you during challenging times. A Rebbe allows you to remain connected to your own deepest soul, reminding you of your essential connection to G-d. A Rebbe is always there for you, pushing you up the mountain of life, telling you that you can climb yet higher. And when you are connected to a Rebbe, you realize that there are things larger than your own ego, you don’t take yourself so seriously. You can laugh at yourself.”
“Go to Karlin, go to the great Rabbi Aharon of Karlin, my Rebbe. There you will begin to live.”
Tradition has it that this wealthy Jew turned out to become one of Reb Aharon’s greatest disciples.

In the world of yesteryear in a small village near Karlin, Belarus, lived two Jews. One was a Caossid&mdash;a pious follower of the great Chassidic master Rabbi Aaron of Karlin. The other was a Misnaged, from those Jews who deeply apposed Chassidim and Chassidism and everything they represented. In keeping with age old tradition the misnaged (the opponent) was tremendously wealthy and the Chassid&mdash;a desolate pauper.
The wealthy Jew had everything a man desires, except one thing: cheerfulness. He was a bitter and miserable soul. He never had a pleasant moment; he was always tense and suppressed. He would be quicker to pay full price for something than to smile. He was a religious person, but his religion has no soul, no smile, and no joy. It was all about rigid law. &nbsp;
Across the street at the corner, was a shack, a wretched excuse for a home, where a karliner Chassid lived or, to be more accurate, was surviving. He barely had money to buy nutritious meals for his family. He lived on the edge. But one thing that never lacked was joy, exuberance and warmth. 
On Sukkos, the great confrontation happened. The angel of death got involved, and a new life was breathed into a miserable soul.

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sukkot

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A Sukkah Sponsored by the Angel of Death

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elul

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personal freedom

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choice

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