Because love is an act of faith,
a sukkah becomes the safety bar
that proves the strength of it
in our roller coaster world.
So when G-d tells us
to throw together a few thin walls,
topping them with a bamboo roof,
some string lights,
a little greenery,
and a plastic grape or two,
we do.
Because memory is an act of faith,
a sukkah leads us back
to the booths of our desert wandering,
when we carried His immediacy
in our lives like a valise.
So when He tells us
to reconstruct it in our backyards
or upon our rooftops,
setting the Costco table with
kreplach and gratitude,
we do.
Because our real comfort
never comes from the spaces we inhabit
and our vulnerability is precisely the point,
the sukkah is fragile, makeshift –
a folding chair more than a couch.
So when G-d commands us
to build it with gladness,
with magic and wonder and prayer,
we do.
Because as the sukkah lights go on
and the stars ignite the evening sky,
Heaven feels closer to Earth.
So when He blankets us with
grey-blue clouds of glory,
like an afghan on a chilly night,
we can peer through the schach
and say not only “Here I am!”
but “I see you!” –
for in the shadows, of course, we do.
