For some, the very idea of religion is paradoxical. On the one hand, we want to experience G-d, to soar to great spiritual heights. But on the other hand, we are often taken aback by the seemingly picayune details of our rituals: the precise quantity of wine necessary for the kiddush cup; the exact phrase to be substituted in our prayers during

We are often taken aback by the seemingly picayune details of our rituals.

the Ten Days of Repentance - thousands of laws affecting every aspect of our lives. On the festival of Sukkot, the most universal of all Jewish celebrations, this paradox is muted, if not totally resolved.


The Bible commands us to take "four species" on Sukkot, which the midrash classifies as to their taste and fragrance attributes. The etrog has both good taste and fragrance (Torah and good deeds), while the lulav's fruits, dates, have taste, but no fragrance (just Torah). The hadas (myrtle) has an excellent aroma (good deeds), but no taste at all. And the arava, the weeping willow, has neither taste nor fragrance.


When we make our blessing over them, these species are to be held together; even the weeping willow-Jew is included, and given an honored place together with his siblings, in one bond, aguda ahat. The commandment of the four species recognizes how all Jews, from the most learned to the most ignorant, from the most pious to the most removed from traditions, are part of a fundamental, and even halachic connection.


The physical structure of the sukkah itself reflects the same principle. Its walls may be comprised of virtually any material - wood, metal, brick - objects that can become ritually defiled. But the roof may consist of only vegetation, matter which can never become ritually impure; an innate holiness, so to speak.


Thus, in the sukkah's construction, we see the necessity of relying on two different elements working together, those born into holiness who are never defiled, and the more common reality of those whose lives risk potential defilement.


The story is told that Rebbe Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev would invite all types of Jews into his sukkah, simple people, beggars, even scoundrels. But the more established members of the community, the learned and the wealthy, felt uncomfortable around this motley crew. Rebbe Levi Yitzchok explained that Jewish tradition records that in the World to Come, the holy Jews of all the generations would be gathering inside the sukkah of Leviathan, led by Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Moses would be speaking words of Torah, Aaron would conduct the ritual and the songs of praise would be sung by King David.


But if the doorkeeper would demand to know by what right Levi Yitzchok thought he could enter (because, after all, he was hardly of the caliber of the aforementioned spiritual giants of our nation), then he would answer that since he invited everyone, including the "lesser lights," into his sukkah, wouldn't these true masters of our faith open their hearts and invite him into their sukkah?


On Sukkot, we include everyone because we want G-d to include us. In effect, just as we forgive others (which is what placing all Jews in one bond means), G-d also forgives us. But there is another, more profound dimension to Sukkot - a celebration of nature and all

All Jews... are part of a fundamental, and even halachic connection.

of its implications.


Exposed to the elements, under the sky, a sukkah is a nomad's hut. For seven days, the Torah commands us to leave our homes and enter the world of the ancient Israelites - a temporary dwelling where we eat, study Torah and even sleep.


In giving up the comforts of home and shedding rigidity, we sense a different part of our being; in a fragile hut, we become more fragile and see how everything in nature has its place and purpose. Invariably, the perfection of creation helps us look differently upon those Jews who run from the sight of a synagogue, universal spirits who often feel constrained by walls and pews. We understand better Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook's teaching that the Messiah will come because of Jews who may not keep the external details of the commandment, but who are nevertheless deeply committed to the internal national bond of all Jews. (Letters, No. 555.)


Rabbi Kook exhorts us to learn from every human being, even those who look like sinners. In the early years of this century, when faced with hard-working farmers freeing the soil, the Chief Rabbi of Israel embraced them all into his concept of spirituality. In his work Arpelei Tohar ("Clouds of Purity"), Rabbi Kook speaks of the highest sanctity being the "sanctity of silence," a sanctity that transcends words (even the words of prayer), a sanctity that encompasses every aspect of life, from the inanimate to the life that pulses through the veins of every human being. This sanctity reaches into the depths of every creature, expressing the bond of all with, and within, all.


But a collision was inevitable. If the person who feels "this universality of holiness," Rabbi Kook continues, "this sanctity of silence, the sanctity of universalism... will then descend into the narrow service of the particular ritual, to prayer, to even a word of Torah, to any kind of narrow and restricted emphasis on a detail of the law, he will suffer and become depressed; he'll feel that his soul, which is filled with the sanctity of all existence, is being depressed by pincers... forced into a certain narrow road at a time when all of the roads seem opened before him in the way of sanctity, all of them filled with light."


Placing these non-observant pioneers on a pinnacle of spiritual excellence was revolutionary. Obviously, Rabbi Kook saw a light that most observant people could not see. But on Sukkot, we can all catch a glimpse of Rabbi Kook's vision. We understand that the Torah encompasses every human being, every idea, every emotion, all of

This is the deepest joy of Torah, the Torah of Sukkot.

creation. This is the deepest joy of Torah, the Torah of Sukkot, in which there is room for the pure and the impure, the good and the not-so-good, from the smallest weeping willow-Jew to the greatest sages of the age.


Still, what do we say to a great soul who cannot be burdened with 'bureaucratic' religious details? The following analogy may help.


On a clear night, I can often manage to see stars hundreds of light years away, but on a cloudy night I may not be able to see anything at all. However, if I learn the laws of optics and build a telescope, I will see much further and clearer. But acquiring a telescope has its price. There are many facts to learn regarding its proper use, and an object comprised of countless details is placed between the eye and the world. But just look at the added vision it provides.


The laws of the Torah are like this telescope (or microscope) into reality. It seems constrictive, but it's really liberating. On Sukkot, we embrace the stargazers who shun telescopes, we open our hearts and invite them into the sukkah, but at the same time, we know how much sharper our vision is when we look at the stars through the gaps (required by halacha) in the roof of the sukkah.