Numerous people have requested that I re-print part of my Shabbat HaGadol Drasha that dealt with “Pesach and Children,” and especially the ten parenting lessons that we can derive from the seder.  A fuller exposition is in preparation (long, slow preparation), but I offer this extract in order, I hope, to enhance the seder, the experience of Pesach and the bonds of generations.

Obviously, the essential mitzvah of the night – relating the events of the Exodus from Egypt 3334 years – focuses on our redemption from that house of bondage through G-d’s miracles and wonders, our designation as the Chosen People that led us to receive His Torah at Sinai and to residence in His holy land of Israel. That is primary; beyond that, there are ten lessons for us to ponder as this awesome holiday arrives.

1)      The seder is about roles, and life has roles. The roles need not be absolutely fixed, but they need to exist and we blur them at our peril: mother, father, husband, wife, grandfather, grandmother, child, grandchild, guest, friend, the “master of the seder,” the questioner, etc. There is a hierarchy in life, and that hierarchy is apparent at the seder, and when we attempt to transpose the roles in society, we cause damage to the framework. To understand roles is important, because without roles there can be no role models.

2)      The seder, with its dialogue, discussion, bridging of generations and the shared experience of holiness can be life-transforming – because parents are there, present and accounted for. That is not always true in many families today, in which children often see a foreign caretaker more than their parents. On Pesach, there is no Abba shel Shabbat or Ima shel Shabbat. The benefits of parents and children eating together are inestimable. Even the average Shabbat has become so busy that it is no longer a day of rest. The seder reminds us of that obligation, and that paradise.

3)      The Jewish home is magically transformed on Pesach – everything is new or different, and the home itself glows. It has a majesty that is hard to muster the rest of the year. For all the joys of the hotel, for a child never to experience a Pesach at home is deprivation. On Pesach, our homes are more insulated from outside influences that at any other time during the year. W should appreciate that.

4)      At the beginning of the seder, we announce “all who are hungry, let them come and eat.” We may be in our castle, but to truly experience G-d’s blessings we must see beyond ourselves.

5)      Every child needs a teacher, and the primary teachers in a child’s life are his/her parents. Education generally must be more than merely memorizing certain facts and rituals, and parents are indispensable in transmitting not necessarily facts but certainly experiences, memories, passion, enthusiasm, depth, and substance. However much we spend on education – and we spend a lot – we can never move too far afield from having primary responsibility for educating our children so they speak of lofty things in the home and on the road, day and night.

6)      Each child is different and unique, and so no child should be forced into a mold. There are four models of children in the passage of the “Four Children,” but as the variant texts in the Hagada, the Mechilta and the Yerushalmi – and the very verses in the Torah – all make clear, there is no rigid formula for parenting. The same answer cannot be given to every child, if only because no two children ever ask the same question. The Torah offers us guidelines – but never inflexible formulas. Therefore the dialogue of parent and child must be spontaneous, not formulaic; natural, not contrived. And the most important point that a parent can convey to a Jewish child is that he is a prince and she is a princess, members of a royal people who are expected to behave like royalty (at least the way we like to assume that royalty of old behaved).

7)      Life is all about details, and so the seder is therefore filled with details. Knowing one’s child means accumulating an incredible number of minute details and assembling a portrait of where he/she is in life, what his/her needs are, and how best he/she can be directed to the goal. If we don’t make the effort, then we run the risk of treating every child the same, which as sensible as putting every child in the same size suit regardless of their individual dimensions.

8)      Our aspirations in life are not – should not be – material acquisitions, honor or social standing. Our aspirations in life should be character, integrity, values, ideals, redemption, and the pursuit of Torah and Mitzvot.

9)      The seder is all about delayed gratification (we wait… for the meal, for the Afikoman, etc.), and the demand for instant gratification is destroying children, families, society, and American life as we know it. There is no greater metric of successful parenting than how much children have developed self-control. Pesach, and especially the seder, teach us self-control, about learning how to wait, and about how to enjoy life while waiting.

10)        Redemption, too, is a lesson in patience, like the morning star that is briefly seen over the horizon and then fades, only to soon appear in all its glory. The Jewish people live in the present, but we are never weighed down by the present. We are never weighed down by the present because we are a people of history – of eternity – and because we are future-oriented. We have a deep and abiding faith, nurtured by the seder and the historic reality of “in every generation they rise against us to destroy us” that the future will progress as prophesied, and all the complications and obstacles that we fear will dissipate, that “the Holy One, Blessed be He, will save us from their hands,” from Iran’s bombs, from the rising Jew hatred across the globe, and even from “friends” who would love us to death.

We are an eternally hopeful people, and our children are the very foundation of that hope.

There is much more that was said and that could be said. For now, may we fully grasp the divine trust of children that has been given to us and raise them for the glory of G-d and the sublime destiny of the Jewish people. And together may we soon walk as families and ascend

G-d’s great mountain in His rebuilt city and Temple.

A Happy and Kosher Pesach to all !

Rabbi Steven Pruzansky

Why did our Sages root Haman’s presence in the Torah in that verse, and why was it necessary to find a source for Haman in the Torah altogether? After all, the story of Purim occurred during the late Biblical period, between the era of the two Temples, and long after the Torah was given. The question itself is anachronistic. Rashi says it is the juxtaposition of Haman and ha’etz – Haman was hanged on a tree – but there must be more to it.

Haman’s existence, and that of Amalek and all evildoers down to and including our day, raise the most troubling questions. How do human beings become so evil, so corrupt, so depraved, as to decide to dedicate their lives to destroying other lives? It is one of the great dilemmas of history – starting from the first such villain – Nimrod – until today. How do human beings continue to produce evil people – who can murder in the millions? Or, in just a cursory look around the world today – scoundrels like Assad, the Castro brothers, Mugabe and others – people who kill and incarcerate their own; or an Ahmadinejad and his cohorts, people who are actively and overtly plotting to destroy another nation. How does all this evil endure, and where does it end?

And there is smaller evil as well, that affects not millions or thousands, but cruelty to even one other person that is inexplicable. How can we comprehend people who will willingly and eagerly destroy their own lives for the dubious “pleasure” of destroying someone else’s life – a spouse, a child, a co-worker, or an employee – regardless of the rationalizations they use and the emotional illnesses from which they suffer?

In a sentence, “where do we find Haman mentioned in the Torah?” Where do we find the roots of evil in the Torah?

And Chazal answered quite cogently and brilliantly – it all started in the Garden of Eden, with the stumbling of Adam and the collapse of the pristine, ideal Paradise. Rav Eli Horowitz, hy”d, quoted Rav Zvi Yehuda Kook that the cardinal sin in Eden was “peirud”- separation or estrangement – separation of man from G-d for sure, but especially separation of the Tree of Knowledge from the tree of life. When knowledge is used properly, it promotes life, prosperity and happiness. But when knowledge and life become separate and distinct, they become antagonistic as well, and there will be those who use their knowledge for malevolence, for wickedness, for absolute evil.

Evil results from estrangement from G-d. Obviously, that is the source of the evil of atheists (like Stalin, Mao and others) but also is the source of the evil of those with a false conception of G-d. And even Jews who otherwise practice many mitzvot but are cruel and heartless to others are ultimately estranged from G-d.

What a question: Hamin ha’etz… ?! “Did you eat from the tree from which you were expressly commanded not to eat?” What is the genesis of inv and all his imitators? All the world’s troubles stem from this sin – the tension between men and women, the tension between man and his environment, and the tension between man and G-d – and especially the disconnect between man and the way he is supposed to live – capable of living – and the way he actually lives. All evil is still rooted in that first sin. And its offspring lives – either the seed of Amalek or the spirit of Amalek, and sometimes both.

How then do we remedy the world’s troubles and diminish the lingering effects of Amalek and Haman? Well, certainly by remembering Amalek and celebrating Purim, but also by restoring the state of Eden as best we can – by reconnecting with the Torah in all aspects of our lives, by not despairing when we see bad Jews or bad people, by rededicating ourselves to the  mandate of Gan Eden – to serve and to preserve. To paraphrase Rav Kook, we can curse the darkness or we can light a candle. It is better to light a candle.

The Gemara sounds inscrutable – “whence do we know Haman from the Torah?” – but in fact Chazal here elucidate one of the most complex and troublesome issues of our world. It is all part of the divine system – even the potential for failure and especially the opportunity to rectify it and elevate it, to eradicate evil one bit at a time. Therein lies our purpose, and the gift of eternity awarded to us in the words of the prophet Shmuel, that the Eternal One of Israel does not lie – in His promises, His guarantees, or in His assurance that as He did for our ancestors miracles and wonders for them at this time’ so will He for us.

Happy Purim to all !

    Concludes our writer: “There is only one small difference. The Levites were acting under God’s direct command, whereas Matityahu was acting on his own religious zeal and certitude. While we see God’s hand working through the Maccabees, and while were it not for Matityahu’s rebellion the miracle of Chanukah never would have happened, we do not have to endorse this initial act of killing another Jew who was violating the Law. We do not have to endorse an approach that turns a tzaddik into a kanai, a zealot.”

      At least he doesn’t go so far as to turn Matityahu into a rasha, an evildoer, but merely, a zealot. But he was a zealot, as were his sons, and that is why they were successful, and why we celebrate Chanuka until today.

     The linguistic acrobatics performed here are worthy of a circus act. “Were it not for Matityahu’s rebellion, the miracle of Chanuka never would have happened,” so the rebellion ostensibly was a good thing. But “we do not have to endorse this initial act of killing,” because apparently it was a bad thing. But if it was a bad thing, he shouldn’t have done it; but if he didn’t do it, there might not have been a rebellion – after all, “the initial act of killing” was the rebellion. Hmmm…quite a predicament: how can we make Chanuka palatable to the religious left, since it seems to be rooted in many doctrines that are anathema to the religious left: objective truth, moral certitude, justified violence, fierce nationalism and religious zeal. That is quite a predicament.

      Perhaps the rabbi has in mind that Matityahu should have led non-violent rallies against the enemy, written some nasty letters to the editor, negotiated peace with the Syrian conquerors, or –  perhaps even better – allowed himself to be killed while not-resisting, so that 2250 years later liberal Jews would not have to be embarrassed by his actions which only serve to ruin their celebrations of Chanuka. How short-sighted of Matityahu…

     Matityahu and his sons did not believe in religious freedom, or in pluralism, or in peace with the invader, or in sharing the land of Israel with foreigners. They believed in the absolute truth of Torah, in the sanctity of mitzvot, and in an uncompromising loyalty to the Creator, and they were willing to die for their beliefs. And almost all of them did die for their beliefs, including the most famous son of Matityahu, Yehuda HaMaccabee, who was killed in battle not long after the Menora miracle of Chanuka took place.

    It must be painful to celebrate a festival that is repeatedly mentioned in our prayers with a passage that begins “in the days of Matityahu,” and then to have to read approvingly how they “stood against the evil Greek kingdom that attempted to cause them to forget the Torah and to cause them to stray from the statutes of Your will.” It must be even more painful to be forced to recall three times a day that “You, in Your abundant compassion, stood with them in their time of travail,” and with His help they prevailed over their enemies.

    How to avoid such pain, or such cognitive dissonance between the real Chanuka and the contrived Chanuka ? Our writer: “We choose what to remember, and we choose how to see God in the world.” That is to say, since we are troubled (sometimes rightfully so) by religious certitude, arrogance and zealotry, we will eliminate those postures from our celebration of Chanuka, notwithstanding that without those, there is no Chanuka. So he chooses to focus on the miracle of the oil (unmentioned in the Chanuka prayer “al hanissim”) rather than on the rebellion and the military victory that the miracle of the Menora only came to ratify – to confirm that all aspects of Chanuka were the handiwork of G-d.

     The psychological disconnect of Chanuka from modern, liberal sensibilities results from the Maccabim’s rejection of democracy (they were the “few against the many”), humanism (they were the “pure against the impure”), moral relativism (they were the “righteous against the wicked”), pluralism (they were “the diligent students of Torah against the wanton violators”), and reason (they were the “weak against the strong”). All the pillars of the liberal Jew wobble each time the name Matityahu is mentioned, and each time the miracle of Chanuka is commemorated amid feasting and rejoicing, the lighting of the Menorah and the singing of Hallel.

     Of course, there is always a real choice for every Jew – a choice not to try to force the round peg of Torah into the square hole of modern liberalism. There is always a choice – to conform our ideas to those of the Torah, and not try to distort the Torah so they it conforms to our predilections. There is even a choice to re-think cherished assumptions, primarily that good and evil, morality and immorality, and right and wrong, are determined not by the editorial pages of the New York Times but only by the Torah.

     The subtle attempt to link Matityahu’s “extremism” with the evildoers of Bet Shemesh fails, except to the extent that any disfavored violence should be attributed to disfavored people. The Ultra-Distorters who spit on little girls are not Matityahu reincarnate because their motivations are impure and repugnant, and their sexual hang-ups both bizarre and un-Jewish. Their lifestyle and values, such as they are, reflect an obscene failure of education, upbringing and Torah knowledge. The simplest solution would be to imprison them where they can be kept apart from decent society. They are too easy a target even to criticize – but not a rightist fringe of Jewish life; there is nothing “right” about them – and they have few defenders of any standing in the Rabbinical or Jewish world.

       But Chanuka celebrates certainty. It is why we have survived many cruel and harsh enemies, and even survived many pleasant-sounding notions that are really the death knell of Jewish life. Jewish nationalism is not restricted to jingoistic expressions of greatness but is designed to cultivate a nation that will better the world and be a source of blessing for the entire planet. The celebration of Chanuka internalizes that objective and advances that goal – of pride and accomplishment, of purposeful survival, of righteousness and faith, of self-sacrifice and intense dedication to Torah – and to true Jewish values.

     So thank you, Matityahu and family, and happy Chanuka to all.

Moreover, the Rambam continues that “the mitzva of Ner Chanuka is most precious (chaviva hi ad me’od) and one has to be extremely careful in order to inform others of the miracle, and to expand on it in praise and thanksgiving to G-d.”

But why is this particular mitzva so precious ? There are other mitzvot that we have that also purport to publicize miracles – most famously the reading of the Megila and the drinking of four cups of wine on Pesach. In neither place does Rambam call those mitzvot precious – so why does he use that term only in reference to Ner Chanuka ? And why do we say of the Chanuka candles that they are “holy” – what’s so holy about Ner Chanuka ?

And one other, fundamental question: Why Chanuka ? Why do we commemorate ancient but short-lived victories ? The  Chashmonaim had their moment and served a valuable function 22 centuries ago, but they disappeared 20 centuries ago. The monarchy they established was a fleeting phenomenon in Jewish history, and the Mikdash they lovingly rededicated was destroyed two centuries later  – so why celebrate their achievements that have long ago been dimmed by history ?

Rav Soloveitchik zt”l explained by citing the Gemara Shabbat (22b) that the Menorah in the Mikdash served only one purpose: “it was evidence that the Divine Presence rests on the Jewish people.” So, too, the Rav said, Ner Chanuka is a symbol of G-d’s enduring presence among the Jewish people in every age and in every location in the world. In essence, in the absence of the Mikdash, Ner Chanuka is the means by which we demonstrate every year that we are the Chosen People.

That was one of the primary clashes between the Jews and the Hellenists. The latter maintained that the Jewish people had to renounce any notion of chosenness, to them a cause of Jew-hatred that we ourselves provoked. They argued that we were just like everyone else, and the very concept of a “chosen” people was repugnant to their modern sensibilities.

It still is. Of course, the early Christians claimed for themselves the mantle of the New Israel, but it fascinating that the early Americans did the same. The Pilgrims called themselves New Israel, sprinkled the colonies liberally with biblical names, and saw America as the “Promised Land.” Benjamin Franklin even wanted the Great Seal of the US to depict the crossing of the Red Sea, and Thomas Jefferson thought a better image was the Israelites in the wilderness being led by a pillar of fire and a cloud. (Instead, they chose the bald eagle and other symbols.)

Nonetheless, all this imagery – and the idea of a “manifest destiny” – fed the notion of American exceptionalism, which, sad to say, even high-ranking American politicians have repudiated of late. And even Jews are uncomfortable with the concept of an “am hanivchar.”. One of my putative colleagues on the far left fringe of the Orthodox rabbinate not long ago described the notion of chosenness as “a moment of imperfection in G-d’s creation and decision-making.” It is “problematic” to single out one people for leadership. Hmmm…well, someone’s imperfect.

The publicizing of Chanuka is not merely a reminder of the miracle of Chanuka and the salvation of Israel from our enemies, but primarily proof that the divine presence rests on the people of Israel. Our relationship with G-d is based on two components – our acceptance of

G-d’s oneness and the special character of the descendants of Avraham. That’s why the Rambam says the mitzvah is “to demonstrate and publicize the miracle” – to demonstrate what is already known but also to reveal what is not widely known, or widely accepted: to explain why we fought then, why we fight today, what G-d expects of us, and what is His vision for mankind.

And that is why the Ner Chanuka is a “very precious Mitzva,” treasured and cherished, and why these flames are holy, set aside not to use but to examine, understand, and investigate this unique phenomenon of an eternal people and its relationship to the Creator. Megila and the four cups on Pesach recall a particular event – Chanuka is more than that: it is a celebration of our unique relationship with G-d that has never faltered and that transcends time and space.

Thus, after the victory, the Chashmonaim endeavored to formalize the notion of the chosen people in halacha – reinforcing the ban on intermarriage, and adding to the laws of purity and impurity – all of which served to stem the tidal wave of assimilation in those days, and serves as a model for our time as well. That is the Chanuka that deserves celebration every year. It is not just the miracles of old, but His loving embrace that reminds us then and now that redemption comes not through might or power but through G-d’s spirit, and our fidelity to that spirit.

One day, the king issued a proclamation that whoever enters the palace to greet the king will be granted honors and riches, and serve the king as a trusted minister. Some people came, saw what appeared to be the multiple walls, were intimidated and retreated. Others penetrated the first and second layers, and despite seeing no great obstacles – no rivers, no walls, no ferocious animals, and the king’s retinue dispensing great riches to all visitors, they still shied away from approaching further.

Only one person persisted – the king’s son, who yearned to see his father. And so he forced his way into the palace, past the magical walls and the bears and the lions and the guards – he fought and struggled until he arrived at his father’s inner sanctum. When the king saw his son’s dedication, he removed his
sleight-of-hand, and the son saw that there were really no walls, nor any
partitions or separations – just gardens and orchards and all the delights one
could imagine – and the king sitting on his throne, surrounded by his retinue.

And the son cried out to his father – why did you hide from me ? Why did you conceal yourself – “you concealed Yourself and I trembled” (Tehillim 30:8)? And the king answered that it was all done for you, to test you, to reveal
what is in your heart, the extent of your love and reverence for me.

There are times when we sense a distance between us and G-d – when G-d appears remote and inaccessible, when we feel forlorn and abandoned to a chaotic and unruly world. “You concealed Yourself and I trembled” – we tremble at the distance, at the concealment. It is when we call out to G-d – “to You, G-d, I call out, to G-d, I supplicate” (ibid 30:9) – that we realize that the barriers
are illusory and the obstacles are all of our own making. G-d is wherever we
let Him in.

Why does man build walls – why does man resist surrender to G-d’s will ? Primarily fear. Fear that our lives will be less enjoyable, fear that we will have fewer friends, fear that we will lose our jobs and our money, fear that the nations of the world will oppress and persecute us. We run from the covenant, or we attempt to re-define it on our terms.

We conclude – “I can’t learn Torah (no background, no time, no fun); I can’t observe Shabbat as a complete day of sublime holiness for 25 hours (I have to commingle it with the activities and deportment of the weekdays); I can’t give charity, I can’t make aliya, I can’t avoid speaking lashon hara, I can’t dress appropriately, I can’t behave in shul, I can’t treat others with respect and courtesy, or I can’t feel G-d’s presence in my life…” Each “can’t” is a wall, a moat, a roaring lion, a mighty soldier that blockades the door to the palace. King David said “my soul thirsts for G-d” (ibid 42:3). We might say – “I don’t want to thirst for G-d; I want to retain my autonomy, my independence – I don’t want to surrender, I want to engage G-d on my terms. I don’t want to feel a spontaneous gratitude to G-d – too limiting, too demanding.”

But, if we choose, we can dismantle these barriers on our own – one by one. Or, sometimes, the barriers fall away by themselves, because we are left with no choice. We fear the consequences of sin, we’re adrift, we sense something is amiss, and we finally want to enter the palace. Our fears are replaced by a yearning – “as a father has compassion on his children, so too G-d has compassion on us.” And we finally admit that “there is nothing but  Him” (Devarim 4:35).

The Rogatchover Gaon said the blessing for the commandment of shofar is “to hear the sound of the shofar,” rather than to “blow the shofar” because we don’t all hear the same thing. And it is not the technical “hearing” of the shofar
that fulfills the mitzvah, but rather the mitzvah is to listen to the sound of
the shofar that breaks through the walls of our creation, the figments of our
imagination, the sources of our rebellion. If one hears the shofar and is not
moved, and the walls don’t crumble, and the heart is not bent, then there is no
mitzvah. It is the sound we hear, each and every one of us, that defines the
mitzvah, and our surrender to G-d on the day of judgment.

Rav Saadia Gaon wrote that we listen to the shofar and surrender to G-d, because that is the nature of the shofar, the instrument of coronation.

May the sounds of the shofar this year cause G-d to ascend, and enable us to break down all the barriers, and confer the blessings of life and health, prosperity and tranquility, on us and all Israel.

Shana tova  to all !

     This colloquy must sound familiar to some people – because that is how we treat the “wicked” son. He just asks a simple question – “what is this service to you?” – and he is lambasted for it. But on the surface, it doesn’t seem like such an aggressive, antagonistic, heretical question. He did say lachem (you) – but that is not much different from the “wise” son’s style of questioning, who also said you (etchem). And are we trying to drive away the wicked son, who at least came to the seder ? Shall we assault his dignity –  tell him we will break his teeth, call him an atheist, tell him he wouldn’t have been redeemed?” Why are we so hard on him?
    The whole seder revolves around questions – so how wise is it to rule some questions out of bounds? Undoubtedly – and this has been verified statistically – young Jews have been turned away from a life of Torah because their questions were ridiculed, or dismissed, or not answered – or worse – their questions generated a vicious counterattack on the part of the person question – whether Rabbi, teacher, parent: “Only a heretic would ask such a question!”

    And at the end of the day, that question of the wicked son – “what is this service to you?” – was never answered. So why are we so harsh on this child ?

     Rav Meir Simcha Hakohen of Dvinsk (the Meshech Chochma) explained that the answer can be found in the verses themselves. The Torah emphasizes the “wise” son’s question: “When your son asks you ‘what are these laws and testimonies, etc.’”(Devarim 6:20) Concerning the “simple” son’s query, the Torah relates: “When your son will ask you tomorrow, ‘what is this?” (Shmot 13:14) But the “wicked” son’s question is not really a question: “And it will be that your sons say to you, what is this service to you?’” (Shmot 12:26)

     What a difference! The wise and simple sons ask – and then “leimor,” saying – they anticipate and desire a dialogue, they want an answer. The “wicked” son doesn’t ask – he says. Sure, he puts his statement in the form of a question, like on Jeopardy, but he doesn’t really want an answer. It is “ki yomru”, he says it – and there is no “leimor,” saying – there is no sense that this is a discussion or a dialogue. His mind is already made up. He doesn’t ask – he makes pronouncements.

     A heretic once visited Rav Chaim Brisker and said that he has some questions on Judaism he would like answered. Rav Chaim said to him: “if you really had questions, we could answer them. But you don’t have questions – to you, your questions are really answers. You have teirutzim, not kushyot. You don’t want to observe Mitzvot, so you look for “questions” that for you constitute “answers,” rationalizations for your lifestyle. There is no answer for that.”

     That is why the Hagada says “because he separated from the group, he denied G-d” – not that he denied G-d and then separated from the group. His ideology is b’diavad, post-facto; it just seeks to justify the decisions he has already made.

      There are many people who ask questions – and don’t really want answers. Answers can be very limiting, very inhibiting, and even very challenging. Answers can cause us to re-think, re-evaluate, perhaps admit error, and even sometimes to change. Some people are more comfortable with questions than with answers.

    The true servant of Hashem is not the person without questions – such a person might not be a servant of Hashem at all. The true servant of G-d has questions – and seeks answers. He looks for solutions. With such a child – and adult – we can dialogue, interact, fall and rise together, and embark on the lifelong quest of Torah study. Through such children, Jewish communities are built; and through such communities, the nation redeemed 3333 years ago reminds itself why Hashem chose us, and sanctified us from among all the nations, and prepares itself for our own journey from servitude to redemption, speedily and in our days.

 A happy and kosher Pesach to all !

     But there is also the hidden Succot – another dimension that looms beneath the surface – the Succot of the seventy sacrificial bulls, offered in the Temple on behalf of the nations of the world, and the Succot of the future, when all nations will gather to celebrate Succot in Jerusalem. How do we get from one Succot – the particular celebration of the Jewish people – to the global celebration of Succot ?

    And what exactly do we celebrate ? Succot is the only one of the festivals that does not commemorate a specific event – Pesach celebrates the moment of our national birth, and  Shavuot the revelation of G-d that gave us the Torah. But Succot has no individual event associated with it. So what are we celebrating ?

    And perhaps the greatest mystery of Succos is a Midrash  cited in Yalkut Iyov 927: “R. Levi said: whoever fulfills the mitzva of Succa in this world, G-d will place him in the future in the Succa of Leviathan.” But what is that, and why do we aspire to such a Succa ?

     Leviathan is one of the two creatures singled out by G-d in the book of Iyov as examples of His infinite power and wisdom – behemoth, the enormous land animal, and leviathan, the monster of the sea. To further complicate matters, Leviathan itself has two forms – the nachash bariach, the straight serpent, and nachash akalaton, the coiled serpent, both referenced as well in Isaiah 27 where the prophet states that in the future G-d will unsheathe His mighty sword and kill both. So who and what are these, and why do we want them dead ?

     Rav Shamshon Rafael Hirsch writes in a brilliant essay (Collected Writings, Volume II) that Leviathan represents the forces of evil in the world that are submerged, and yet threaten the stability of mankind again and again. The nachash bariach, the straight serpent, are the nations that rule through brute force and impose their will on mankind directly, through their power, while nachash akalaton, the coiled serpent, are those nations that rule through cunning and manipulation, that achieve their ends through stealth and secrecy. Both are dangerous – and both need to be kept apart.

    “If the two forces ever mated, the whole world would be destroyed” (ibid 926), i.e., if might ever combined with cunning, they would be unstoppable. Built into history is the inability of powerful empires to sustain themselves, because they become impressed with their own might and their own invincibility. And they usually self-destruct.

     It is both depressing and astonishing when we contemplate the persistence of evil in the world. From the time of the primeval serpent until today, the world has not seen a moment’s respite – and especially since the creation of the Jewish people, evil has always had a defined target. Sometimes the enemy’s assault is frontal and sometimes it is circuitous – but it lingers – and our enemies are, usually, the oppressors of others, as well. Even if one evildoer disappears, another appears; even if we think that the world learned a lesson through a spasm of violence and mayhem, the lesson is short-lived. The carnage of World War I – “the war to end all wars” – was a trifle compared to World War II, and the savagery and depth of evil did nothing to prevent the rise of Communist tyrants. And their demise did not thwart the ascension of the despots and terrorists of the Arab and Muslim world. It never ends. And this week’s gathering of despots and tyrants among the free world’s leaders at the UN seemingly underscores that bleak prospect.

    But it does end, and that is the eternal message – the hidden message – of Succot. Rav Lior Engleman notes that, unlike the other holidays, Succot does not commemorate an event, but it celebrates a process, the long road, with all its twists and turns, all of its surprises and dangers – with one constant: the protective hand of G-d. On Succot, we are reminded of the cycle – every day (except Shabbat) we circumambulate the shul, starting and ending at the same point; on Succot, we are judged on the year’s water supply – which is not only a palindrome (mayim in Hebrew) – but also comes to us through nature’s cycle.

    On Succot, we live our normal life and rejoice in the Succa, because there is unlimited joy in our regular lives under the protective wings of the Divine Presence. Whoever can do that in this world – with all the evil lurking around us – the evil of the brutes and the evil of the sophisticates – with all the enemies who wish us ill, and with all the “good” people who make their accommodations with evil – whoever is able to see history as a process, with a beginning and an end and not lose faith – “G-d will seat them in the Succa made from the skin of Leviathan.” When evil is vanquished, and human society – the great Leviathan – is tamed and refined, then the righteous will bask in the Succa made of that fishy substance and become the foundation of a new society dedicated to G-d’s service, when the remaining nations gather to serve G-d in Jerusalem, when He will be One and His name acknowledged as One.