In a rabbinic legend, the Roman governor Turnus Rufus asks Rabbi Akiva: ‘Whose works are better – God’s or humanity’s?’ Rabbi Akiva gives a short answer: ‘Humanity’s.’ To prove his point, he places stalks of wheat next to loaves of bread. What is better – bread or wheat? God creates the wheat, human beings must harvest, grind, knead and bake it. (Midrash Tanchuma, Tazria)
According to Rabbi Akiva’s logic, the world is given to us unfinished, so that human labour and creativity can complete and refine it. Our lives have the potential to be good, useful, and beautiful, but without human intervention, that potential will never be fulfilled.
The festival of Sukkot makes this idea deeper. On Sukkot Jewish people are commanded to build temporary shelters (‘Sukkot’ in Hebrew), and spend time eating, gathering and, traditionally, sleeping in them. Its walls must withstand an ordinary wind, yet its roof should allow rain to penetrate and stars to be seen at night. It must offer some shelter while reminding us how exposed we remain to the forces of nature.
Like many Rabbis, I see the sukkah as a powerful metaphor for the fragility of our material possessions. We spend years acquiring things and making homes that help us feel secure. Yet everything we own can one day disappear. If we think the world today is more stable than in the past, we are only partially correct.
It is true that humanity has developed institutions and networks of mutual support that protect many of us. But look at Ukraine, Sudan, Iran, Gaza, Israel, and Yemen, where wars have devastated many homes and millions of lives. In our globalised, interconnected world, we must not take security and stability for granted. For those of us who can return from a sukkah to a safe home, the festival should deepen our responsibility towards people who have no such choice.
There is a Yiddish saying:
Der mentsh trakht un Got lakht
People plan, God laughs.
We can only make plans knowing that life may unfold very differently. No amount of careful preparation can give us complete certainty about what the future will bring.
That thought can make us anxious, but it can also be liberating. We do not have to wait until everything is settled before allowing ourselves to enjoy life. We can appreciate the meal we have, the people around us, and enjoy life as it is today. Recognising how vulnerable and fragile our lives are can also make us more attentive to those who need our help.
At its core, Sukkot is the Festival of appreciation and joy. It requires us to work with what the world gives us and be grateful for it. Nothing will last forever, but this is not the reason to despair. We still must bake the bread and build shelters, we still must find reasons to celebrate life even in the midst of challenges. This Sukkot, may we find joy in what we have, generosity towards those who have less, and the hope to keep building in a world whose future none of us can know.
Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach.
- Rabbi Igor Zinkov serves The Liberal Jewish Synagogue (LJS). This reflection was originally published by The LJS.