Truth in advertising. Some of this repeat a d’var torah I did on Sukkot in 2010. It is still relevent today with some additions. 

To everything…turn turn turn
There is a season…turn, turn, turn…
And a time for every purpose under heaven…
A time to be born, a time to die… 

We know this quote. We know this book. Ecclesiastes, Kohelet. We just read excerpts of it. We know it from popular literature—and music. Shakespeare. Lincoln. Tolstoy. Thomas Wolfe. The Byrds. Turn, turn, turn.  There is nothing new under the sun, so says Kohelet. 

But read on Sukkot? Surprising, no? Here comes this book that seems like such a downer, right in the middle of “the time of our joy.” Why? 

They say that every rabbi writes the sermon they need to hear. With someone who has a middle name Joy, who is fascinated by the character Joy in Inside Out, the new Disney animated film, I’ll be costumed as Joy at the police Halloween extravaganza next week. So, let’s talk about joy.  

We know that we can’t command an emotion. Your feelings are your feelings. What happens then we we say, “Be Happy, It’s Adar” for Purim, or like my coaster says, “Choose joy,” and we just can’t get there. Are there times when it is impossible to feel joy? There is much being written about this as we approach Simchat Torah. This year, while we will be dancing, it will feel different. Our grief will be mingled with our joy. I expect it will be palpable. That’s OK.  

The book’s name in English comes from the Greek ekklesiastes, a translation of of Kohelet, meaning something like “one who convenes or addresses an assembly”. In fact, the book’s opening verse tells us that it was written by Solomon in his old age. The rabbis agreed that it was Solomon. This is not the Solomon of his youth when tradition says he wrote Song of Songs. Here, he sounds like an old, cranky, bitter man.  (My husband, older than I am disagrees with that analysis) 

Of course, this is Judaism, so there is an alternative reading. That this was written or edited by Hezekiah. The same king who may have also written Isaiah, Proverbs and Song of Songs. Because of the Persian loan words and some Aramaic it cannot be “really” be earlier than 450BCE and since Ben Sira quotes from it in 180 BCE it cannot be later. 

And while I get fascinated by linguistics, I am not sure I really care. This is beautiful and important poetry. Poetry and wisdom we need to wrestle with the meaning. 

Why is it read during Sukkot? I think it is like why we recite Yizkor during the Pilgrimage festivals, Sukkot, Passover, Shavuot. At the times of our greatest joys we are keenly aware of those we miss. At a wedding we break a glass to remind us of the sadness we feel, that our world is not yet complete. The Israelites picked up the shattered pieces of the tablets of the 10 Commandments and put them In the Ark to remind them of their dreams not yet fulfilled. Kohelet is like that. We need to remember not to get too caught up in the joy, in the festivities and to carry over the joy we do have to the rest of the year. 

This book makes that clear. It tells us that it is better to go to a house of mourning, a shiva if you will, than a house of feasting, a house of celebration. Why? It tempers our joy. Perhaps, it also about being needed at a shiva. Your presence provides comfort, continuity, community, connections. It seems particularly appropriate this year where we at CKI have had a number of shivas. Just show up is what Rabbi Sharon Brous argues in the Amen Effect. And you did. Mourners don’t forget who showed up. 

In the most difficult year that I can remember in Israel, people showed up at shiva minyans. All over the county. People showed up. And there are still sukkot standing, waiting for their loved ones to come home. There were still weddings, there were still babies being born. Even in the midst of trauma and tragedy, there was still joy. 

It says in the Talmud that if a funeral procession and a wedding procession cross in a town square, the wedding procession goes first. I sometimes need to teach this if the bride or groom has recently lost a beloved relative. This year I have taught it frequently. Life continues. Life goes on. There is a time for everything. 

We want that sense of joy. We need it.  

We also crave the sense, the knowledge that we are loved. Part of the reason this seems like a bitter old man is the translation we use. We just read, “Futility, futility, all is futility.” Other translations, including the one Thomas Wolfe used is “Vanity, vanities.” That doesn’t sound very encouraging. 

But what if we go back to the Hebrew. Hevel. Breath. All is breath. That is much more encouraging. Sure, breath seems to flutter away. It was a cold morning. Who saw their their breath today? I hope so! It’s a good thing. My mother had COPD, a chronic lung disease. Every breath was precious. She even had a t-shirt, “Remember to breathe.” Breath brings joy. Breath is life. Breath is G-d. Breath is everything. Without breath, there is no life. No ability to praise G-d. 

Our liturgy is filled with these connections to breath. Elohai neshama… O my God, the soul which You have given me is pure. You breathed it into me. 

Kol haneshma, Let every living soul, everything that has breath praise G-d. Nishmat kol chai, The soul of every living being shall bless Your Name. 

One of the things that we know about breath is that is fragile. So too is peace. Our liturgy says “Ufros Aleinu Sukkat Shlomecha. Spread over us the shelter, the fragile shelter, that fragile sukkah of Your peace.”  

Last year, just after the war started, I was coming back from the JUF rally at Northshore Congregation Israel to a Coalition of Elgin Religious Leaders meeting. My co-president and I had decided in light of the war that we would look at prayers for peace from a variety of religious traditions. Every religious tradition has a reading, a prayer, a hope for peace. However, one of our members, another rabbi, felt that we could not pray for peace at this time. Citing Kohelet he reminded everyone that there is a time for everything, a time for war and a time for peace. This, he said is a time for war.  

I did not agree with him. While I believe strongly that Israel has a right to defend herself, the ultimate goal must be peace. Our tradition demands it. We are taught to “Seek peace and pursue it.” (Psalms 34:14) The desire, the hope, the very prayers for peace are sprinkled throughout our liturgy.  

With my very last breath, that G-dly breath, I will use it to praise G-d and work for peace.  

A Guided Meditation:

We were going to take a couple of minutes and do something different. We were going to concentrate on that breath and the sukkah. I have taken a guided meditation by Shimona Tzukernik who writes for Chabad.org and expanded it to emphasize breath. Sit comfortablyy, you can do this on your own. 

Close your eyes. Breathe in deeply. Breathing in, breathing out. It is a cold morning. You can see your breath. Notice how it floats away. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in love. Breathe out stress. Everything is breath. 

U-lekachtem lachem ba-yom ha-rishon pri eitz hadar, kappot temarim, va-anaf eitz avot, ve-arvei nachal 

“You shall take for yourselves on the first day of Sukkot) the magnificent fruit of a tree, the fruit of a a goodly tree, what we call an etrog, together with the leaf of a date palm, fragrant boughs myrtle and willows of the brook.” (Leviticus 23:40) 

Imagine that you are sitting in a sukkah. Its walls are panels of fragrant wood. On the floor beneath you dance patterns of light and shade, cast by the sechach, the scented roof of leaves above your head. Take another deep breath. Imbibe the peace within your sukkah’s walls. Ufros aleinu sukkat shlomecha. God spreads over you a gentle sense of peace. Breathe in that peace. 

The sechach, the roof through which you can see the sun, the moon, the stars, is a shadow cast by a heavenly tree. It is ancient, wide, alive. Nestled within the inner branches, you notice a fruit—a citron, an etrog. It is the heart within the heart of the Tree of Life, and pulsates with G‑d’s infinite love—for you. 

You long to internalize this love. Breathe in deeply. Feel your spine stretch and open. Sit up straight and tall. It is the shape of a palm frond, a lulav. Its pointed tip tapers beyond you, transcending your rational mind, reaching above you, beyond the sechach, into the heart of the tree. Feel the point quiver as the lulav and etrog make contact. G‑d’s love begins to flow down your lulav-spine: downward between your shoulder blades, down, down to its base of your spine, Breathe in that love. 

You feel the warmth of that love at the base of your spine. The love begins to rise up. Radiating. Filling you. It reaches your heart. Look inward at the ventricles of your heart, the corners you reserve for love and hatred, forgiveness and grudges, abundance and stinginess; surrender your need to control the myriad emotions of life to a Higher Being, to the Divine Being, to the Shechinah. Feel the love of the lulav penetrates your heart, as it pieces your heart, your very soul. It awakens you to your higher self. It allows you to let go of the pockets of darkness you use in defense of your ego-I. The darkness gives way to light and love . . . 

Your heart has become one. Whole. Complete. It too is an etrog pulsating with love—for G‑d, for the G‑dly spark within your soul and for the world. Joy surfaces as this hidden, innate love is released. Breathe in that wholeness, that sense of peace 

The love and joy flow outwards, filling your lungs, enabling you to breathe deeply. Rising upward toward your mouth. Your lips are the shape of a willow leaf. Silent leaves fluttering on the winds of love and joy. You have no need to speak; simply being bespeaks the loftiness of your soul. 

The energy flows ever upwards, entering your eyes and seeping into the center of your forehead. Illuminated myrtle eyes. Take a moment to envision your life through the lens of abundance and joy. Observe the way you awaken in the morning, interact with others, the way you pray and play when drenched in love and joy. 

Elohai neshoma. The soul that You, O God have given me is pure. You breathed it into me. 

Sit in your sukkah, spray of etrog, palm, willow and myrtle. You are in a circle of love; you are a bouquet of joy. Breathe in that sense of love, joy, peace, hope. Everything is breath. It is not futile. It is not vain.