Sukkot- True Happiness
By Rabbi Avraham Gindi
Sukkos, True Happiness
It’s palpable in the air. That time of year has come. An absolute joy-filled frenzy erupts as we drag wooden boards across our driveways, untangle decorations that sat too long, and all at once, the entire nation moves out into makeshift huts of wood and bamboo. Yet amidst such elation, we can’t help but notice a paradox of sorts.
The Paradox of Joy
Each of our holidays is unique, filling our lives in such beautiful ways. And throughout the year, our lives are filled with excitement. We clean vigorously for Pesach, when we sit at a seder like true royalty. The Omer is a countdown to Shavuos, our pinnacle of excitement when we receive the Torah. During Av we yearn for the Bais Hamikdash, and right after comes Elul, a month of closeness with Avinu Malkenu. Tishrei induces such a high, as we feel enveloped in Hashem’s embrace. And in the dark of winter, Chanukah and Purim bring so much light.
Life is filled with variety and meaning. There’s a reason to be busy and excited all the time.
Yet despite all this excitement, there is only one zman simchaseinu. Specifically, the one week of the year we spend inside four shaky walls, chasing napkins and brushing leaves off plastic tables. This is the time when we are ach sameach, utterly filled with absolute joy.
The Puzzle of the Sukkah
This is so difficult to understand. The materialism in our life isn’t just a nice detail. It’s a critical component of vesamachta bechagecha. As the Shulchan Aruch teaches us, in honor of the chag, “A man must buy his wife jewelry and clothing, and for himself, meat and wine.” As Yidden we elevate the mundane. But we certainly utilize it to make us happy.
So why is the week that we leave our beautiful homes with all their luxuries and comforts, the time of the year that we are happiest of all?
A Fish Out Of Water
As a young adult, I would attend Rabbi Zechariah Wallerstein Zatzal’s class on Tuesday nights. It was late at night, ending close to midnight, but I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
One week, the Rabbi showed up with an interesting exhibit. A lone goldfish sitting in its bowl, with a powerful lesson to give us all.
He brought it in, placed it on the table, and the shiur began.
“It must be so hard for him,” said Rabbi Wallerstein. “Stuck in this small bowl, with no pleasure or excitement.”
So the Rabbi did the fish a favor. He took a little net, and lifted him out of his tank - plopping it on the table in a grand display. Suddenly, this fish, who we could have mistaken for dead just moments before, jerked awake. He was jumping, dancing, and full of life.
After the fish had its fun, he quickly scooped it up, and returned it to the bowl. Then, he told us a mashal as timeless as it was wise.
The Party That Wasn’t
“In the depths of the ocean, was a school of fish. One grade in the school was filled with energy, wild and curious about the world.
One day, their teacher warned them sternly, ‘Don’t ever go close to the surface! It’s dangerous. If you get too close, there are big scary boats which can take you away.’
The lesson finishes, and very quickly, the most active of the group reacts in scorn. ‘I’m not listening. He just wants to stop us from having fun! Let’s go up to the surface right away, and find out for ourselves what these boats have to offer.’
His buddies quickly grin, and in no time at all they reach the surface. ‘Now bop me into the air so I can see the boats,’ the head of the group tells his friends, ‘and I’ll tell you what’s really going on.’
They quickly oblige. And moments later, the fish returns into the water, utterly ecstatic. ‘You have no idea what we're missing!’ he tells his friends. ‘This isn’t any old boat. This is a party boat! Everyone’s jumping and dancing! There’s thousands of fish having the time of their lives! We’re missing out!’
He barely finishes his sentence, when a big net comes down, scoops them up, and drops them onto the deck. Now they too are jumping, but not because they’re at a party. They aren’t excited. They aren’t having the least bit of fun. Because there’s no fun in jumping when they are gasping for air.”
Not Out Of Sight
There is an interesting way in which Sukkos differs from Pesach. On Pesach, we do away with chometz completely. We can’t see an ounce, or even a morsel.
Yet on Sukkos, although we are commanded to move out, we keep our homes. As we sit in the sukkah, our luxuries and all that they provide are just two steps away.
And that distinction - having it, yet being able to walk away - is the one detail making all the difference.
What Changed?
A rabbi I know relayed a story which we can all relate to. As a child, there was a pizza store he would salivate over. Whenever he went to that store, he would cherish every bite.
Then, as an adult, he was passing by the same area where he had grown up, when a wave of nostalgia washed over him. He wanted that exciting experience once again. So he went inside, and ordered his favorite slice, reminiscing the sensation as he waited for it to arrive.
And how disenchanted he was when he took his first bite.
So he approached the owner, half joking, but deep inside, disappointed. “Did you change the recipe?” he asked. “This used to be so much better.”
“The recipe hasn’t changed,” came the reply. “But you did. After tasting the many delicacies this world has to offer, you will never get back that initial delight.”
An Endless Chase
That’s the strange truth about pleasure: luxuries delight precisely because that is what they are. But when they become a baseline necessity, they’re barely a joy. Like that fish out of water, we suddenly panic and jump if they are out of our reach.
And although pleasure and happiness are interconnected, this is the place where they don’t collide. If you jump because you can, it’s amazing. Nothing is more euphoric than the utter joy at a simchas Beis Shoevah. In that moment, we’re not searching for air. We are simply expressing the sensation that we hold inside.
But if someone is jumping towards things that they expect, rely on, and feel that they need- then even when they have it, they lose it completely.
This is what Chazal meant when it said, מי שיש לו מנה, רוצה מאתיים. יש לו מאתיים, רוצה ארבע מאות “One who has a hundred wants two hundred. And if he has two hundred, he wants four hundred.” A billionaire is missing far more than a simpleton. Because a person with a billion, needs a billion more, just to feel okay. While the one who has a simple life, with a simple home, is missing far less.
True Happiness
And that point precisely signifies why Sukkos is the base, and the symbol, of all of our happiness. Because if you want to break that cycle, of forever running towards more, and actually live in the moment, you need a Sukkah. You need to sit in the simplest of structures, under Hashem’s loving gaze.
Like Yaakov Avinu, we too need that moment where we can say, “Yesh Li Kol,” I have it all. Yaakov didn’t have more than Eisav. But unlike his brother, he could step away. He could appreciate it all. Therefore, it was more than he could ever need.
And during this week, that is the message that we send. We’ve left the comfort of our homes, yet there they remain. We have the most delicious food, perched upon plastic tables. Our clothes are elegant, our jewelry dazzles, but they don’t produce a pressure of searching for forever more.
We are not out there in the world. We are here, sitting in our Sukkah, with all that we could ever need.
Because we get it. We know that happiness isn’t found by chasing every delicacy, jumping for air, and grasping for more. Happiness is the ability to use it all, but to remain disconnected. Something you can only show if you can walk away.
And so we walk. From a world that never stops jumping, and into a Sukkah, built from pure undiluted joy. In a grand display, we proclaim that with all that we have, this is all we could ever need. Everything else is just a tool, elevating us, until deep in our hearts, we feel that, “Yesh Li Kol. Hashem, here in this Sukkah, I am Ach Sameach. Purely happy.”
“Because sitting here with you, I have everything that I need.”