Swaddled by G!d
(delivered by Rabbi J.B. Sacks on September 29, 2023)
We dwell in temporary structures in order to remember, as the Torah depicts G!d explaining, “that I caused the Israelites to live in sukkot when I brought them out of the land of Egypt.”[1] In a famous rabbinic debate,[2] Rabbi Eliezer explains that the term “sukkot” is a reference to actual huts that the Israelites dwelled in, and thus we are supposed to dwell in huts as well. In contrast, Rabbi Akiva maintains that the term “sukkot” is a reference to the clouds of G!d’s glory that guided the Israelites by day through their wilderness wanderings. The debate between these two sages has the potential to transform our understanding of the nature and significance of the festival.
Why might Rabbi Akiva understand Sukkot as a reference to “clouds of glory”? Throughout the Bible, the term “sukkot” is often used poetically to refer to a cloud covering associated with the Divine Presence, rather than a physical structure. For example, the book of Psalms teaches that when G!d manifested G!d’s Self that “G!d made darkness a Divine screen; dark thunderheads, dense clouds of sky were a sukkah around G!d.” [3] Isaiah prophesies that one day a cloud will hover over Zion and serve as a sukkah for shade and shelter.[4] Job asks , “Can one contemplate the expanse of clouds, the thundering from G!d’s Sukkah?”[5]
Moreover, as Talmud scholar Rabbi Dr. Jeffrey Rubenstein points out, the pillar of cloud is first mentioned in the Bible at a place called Sukkot: “The Israelites set out from Sukkot and encamped at Eitam at the edge of the wilderness. HaShem went before them in a pillar of cloud.”[6] The juxtaposition of Sukkot with the pillar of cloud may have suggested to Rabbi Akiva that the Sukkot in which G!d made the Israelites dwell were in fact the sheltering cloud of the Divine Presence.
In rabbinic literature, the clouds of G!d’s Glory are associated with Divine love and protection. According to the Mekhilta, the clouds also served to intercept the stones and arrows of the pursuing Egyptians at the Red Sea.[7] The Tosefta[8] teaches that the clouds protected the Israelites from the various dangers they might encounter along their journey through the wilderness: snakes, scorpions, and uneven terrain. The clouds not only guided the Israelites in their journey through the wilderness, but also ensured their safe passage.
According to the Tosefta, seven clouds surrounded the Israelites on all sides, enveloping them protectively like a swaddled infant. The midrash, in discussing the clouds, expands upon this image by invoking a parable about a king who takes every precaution to protect his son when they set out together on a dangerous journey: When robbers attack, he hides his son behind him; when a wolf attacks from the back, he moves his son in front.[9] This midrash quotes from the prophet Hosea to describe the king’s relationship with his son, and by extension, the role of the clouds for the Jewish people: “I have pampered Ephraim, taking them in my arms.” Like a parent pampering a young child, the clouds of G!d’s glory nurtured and tended to the needs of the Israelites.
But the clouds of G!d’s glory were not a constant presence for the wandering Israelites. The Torah teaches that every evening, the clouds were replaced by a pillar of fire that guided them by night. The midrash[10] elaborates that the first time the clouds appeared, the Israelites rejoiced; but when night came and the clouds dissipated, they began to weep, perhaps fearing the loss of God’s enveloping presence and frightened by the ominous appearance of the pillar of fire. When the clouds reappeared the next morning, the Israelites rejoiced with inordinate joy, regarding the clouds as a sign of God’s abundant love for Israel.
Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg[11] considers the significance of the impermanence of the clouds in her book on Leviticus,[12] where she cites the Vilna Gaon’s[13] claim[14] that the clouds which had first appeared when the Israelites left Egypt then departed when they built the Golden Calf; the clouds did not return until they began to construct the mishkan, the Tabernacle on the fifteenth of Tishrei, which marks the festival of Sukkot. If we read the Vilna Gaon in light of the midrash, then Sukkot—the festival known as “the time of our rejoicing”—is a time of inordinate joy because it also marks the return of the clouds of glory.
The midrashic debate about whether the term “sukkot” refers to actual huts or to Divine clouds points to two different and opposite ways of understanding the holiday. If the term “sukkot” connotes physical structures, as Rabbi Eliezer maintains, then by dwelling in Sukkot we experience our own fragility and vulnerability. We realize what it means to expose ourselves to the elements by living in a home whose walls could blow away in the wind and whose roof could be ruined by rain. According to this understanding, the festival of Sukkot is about recognizing what it means to forfeit the stability and comfort of our more permanent homes. On the other hand, if the term “sukkot” refers to the clouds of G!d’s glory, as Rabbi Akiva maintains, then by dwelling in sukkot during the holiday, we can come close to the experience of being held and embraced by G!d in a relationship of tremendous intimacy.
The Israelites did not always feel enveloped by G!d—the clouds came and went at various points in their wilderness journey. In our own relationships, too, there are times when we feel close with the people we love; yet at other times we feel distant, vulnerable, and exposed. The holiday of Sukkot, when the clouds of G!d’s glory returned, serves to remind us how special and wonderful it is to be held and loved, and how we might aspire to that connection–with both G!d and the people who inhabit our lives.
Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Akiva’s debate seems to have conflicting implications for our understanding of the holiday of Sukkot. Is Sukkot about feeling vulnerable and exposed, or about feeling loved and enveloped? Perhaps the answer is both: We dwell in temporary structures to sensitize ourselves to our own vulnerability, thus becoming ever more cognizant of the comfort and security we stand to gain from being held in G!d’s loving embrace, and feeling loved by each other.
Kein y’hi ratzon. May the comfort, security, and love we receive from G!d and give to one another sustain us through the new year 5784. Amen.
[1] Leviticus 23:43.
[2] Sifre, Emor 17:11.
[3] Psalm 18:12.
[4] Isaiah 4:5-6.
[5] Job 36:29.
[6] Exodus 13:20-21.
[7] Mechilta, B’shallach 4.
[8] Tosefta Sotah 4:2.
[9] Mechilta, op cit.
[10] MIdrash Hagadol 40:38.
[11] Avivah Gottlieb Zornberg (b. 1944) is a contemporary Torah scholar. She offer sees traditional texts through a literary lens.
[12] Zornberg, Avivah Gottlieb. The Hidden Order of Intimacy: Reflections on the Book of Leviticus. New York City: Schocken Books (Random House), 2022.
[13] Elijah ben Solomon Zalman (1720-1797) was a Lithuanian rabbi, talmudist and halachist, who led the misnagdim, non-Chassidic Jewry. Considered one of the giants, he is influential even today. A believer in science, he encouraged his followers to study the natural sciences, and he personally translated geometry textbooks into Yiddish and Hebrew.
[14] See his commentary to Song of Songs 1:4.