Insecurity

At Sukkot services today, the man who gave the d'var Torah (a brief explanation of the weekly Torah portion) spoke of how we can interpret this holiday as being about insecurity and security. Sukkot celebrates the harvest, the gathering of food from the fields, actions that procure sustenance and security for the community. But we are also commanded to sit and dine in the sukkah, or booth, which has only three sides and only branches for a roof, exposing the occupants to the elements, to insecurity. And, most importantly, we are to be joyful!

So often in life we tell ourselves that we'll be happy or celebrate once we've found security, in whatever form we tell ourselves security exists....when we've completed a large project, receive a promotion or a new job, bought a house or found a place to live, or otherwise have our various ducks lined up in an impeccable row. Yet we can align our ducks perfectly, and even smooth their feathers and shine their beaks, only to have a great wind blow (or a hunter come along) and destroy some or all of our efforts. And if we weren't experiencing joy while attempting to arrange our circumstances to our liking, then when are we to experience it?

I am at a point in my existence where I am keenly, make that painfully, aware of my tendency to figuratively, and often literally, hold my breath and not be able to enjoy life in its current configuration. Yes, I can make decisions and choices and put things in motion, but how they turn out is not 100% up to me. Intellectually, I know that each day really is a cause for celebration - not necessarily in the form of a black tie party with a mariachi band - but a chance to feel good simply about being alive, or even some small aspects of being alive. Plenty of people I know no longer are.

And yet....it is difficult for me to rejoice in my highly imperfect life, despite a growing pile of evidence from my own experience that pleasant surprises or turn of events typically appear when I am not looking for or expecting them, when I have let go of whatever urgency I had attached to the particular outcome, when I have stopped being preoccupied. For a (recovering) Type A personality and skeptic, this lesson has been slow to percolate through my consciousness, which seems to be protected by a very thick layer of nearly impermeable ego.

At synagogue we all had a chance to wave (and shake) the lulav (palm branch) and etrog (citron) in all four directions as well as up in the air and down towards the earth. I couldn't help but remember Palm Sunday in Jerusalem, where I toured the Christian Quarter of the Old City and tried to surreptitiously snap pictures of monks of all denominations toting palm branches in what appeared to be an arcane ritual. Our guide told us that it was possible that Jesus had entered Jerusalem around sukkot, when Jews would have been parading around with their lulavim, and that later Christians might have appropriated this part of Jewish ritual to mark his arrival to the holy city.

Lulav and etrog in my hands, I was relieved that no snarky photographers were lurking in the corners of my synagogue, waiting to catch us in the act of praising God with objects that bear some resemblance to reproductive organs. I didn't quite connect to the ritual at the time, but perhaps I can retroactively attach meaning to my actions, a way of thanking God for all the reminders I've been given to be at ease and joyful, even when, or especially when, I don't know what is coming.

Hallelujah!