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.