Netivotgirl
Shilo Musings
05 October 09
The crisp autumn air blew through our schach and the multi-colored decorations in our Succah swung back and forth in the gentle breeze. Succot in Eretz Yisrael is a unique experience. In the States, I recall that only Orthodox Jews building a Succah. Not so here in Israel.
Even the marginally traditional here in Netivot opt for erecting some kind of Succah, whether it be made from wood or merely some sheets thrown haphazardly around the "pargula" covered porch. (A "pargula" is a special hand constructed latticed covering over a porch which I've never seen outside of Israel.) There are markets for the Arba Minim in many cities, and again, you can see chassideshe Jews standing next to men without tzitzit at the same stand checking out the wares.
I had an extremely moving moment this year during Succot, as I sat outside with my husband, and several children and grandchildren. The air was crisp and singing came from some neighboring Succot while music piped in from tapes came from others. The evening had just began—that hour when sunset has heralded the end of a day, yet the moon has yet to put in an appearance.
I looked around our table sated with joy at the presence of so many beloved family members, and suddenly I was thrown back almost forty years. I recalled a Succot holiday spent in upstate N.Y. (I grew up in the borscht belt.) Although it was Succot, I, alas, had no Succah that year. My parents were on the verge of becoming frum, but had not yet made that final leap of faith that requires changing of lifestyle, an incredibly difficult step to take in one's middle age. I felt absolutely bereft. Succot without a Succah, without Yom Tov meals; no decorations; no singing….. absolutely nothing. I never felt more alone or bereaved in my entire life. I was in mourning, for the Succos that never was. Or at least, not yet part of my newly Shomer Shabbos life.
I pushed aside the beige curtains and peeked outside in the twilight, the witching hour, at the mountain across from our home. My eyes took in the red, orange, purple, and yellow autumn foliage high above near Sam's Point and in the trees surrounding my home. I raised my tear-filled eyes to the sky and prayed, "Hashem, please let me have the zechus of marrying a Ben Torah and raising frum children who will never lack for a real Yom Tov or Shabbos! Please, Hashem, allow me to build my home in Eretz Yisrael!" Yes, even then barely Bat Mitzva, I knew that only Israel would sate my thirst for a truly Jewish lifestyle.
Time spiraled forward, and I found myself thrown back into my Succah in Netivot, filled with incredible angst and upset, feeling the desperation and frustration of that previous Succos holiday of yesteryear. I burst out crying. My husband was taken back and asked what was wrong. "Nothing," I answered. "Nothing at all!" Sitting together with him, our children and their children in Eretz Yisrael in OUR Succah, I could honestly answer him, "Nothing is wrong. Baruch Hashem, on the contrary….. !"
Even the marginally traditional here in Netivot opt for erecting some kind of Succah, whether it be made from wood or merely some sheets thrown haphazardly around the "pargula" covered porch. (A "pargula" is a special hand constructed latticed covering over a porch which I've never seen outside of Israel.) There are markets for the Arba Minim in many cities, and again, you can see chassideshe Jews standing next to men without tzitzit at the same stand checking out the wares.
I had an extremely moving moment this year during Succot, as I sat outside with my husband, and several children and grandchildren. The air was crisp and singing came from some neighboring Succot while music piped in from tapes came from others. The evening had just began—that hour when sunset has heralded the end of a day, yet the moon has yet to put in an appearance.
I looked around our table sated with joy at the presence of so many beloved family members, and suddenly I was thrown back almost forty years. I recalled a Succot holiday spent in upstate N.Y. (I grew up in the borscht belt.) Although it was Succot, I, alas, had no Succah that year. My parents were on the verge of becoming frum, but had not yet made that final leap of faith that requires changing of lifestyle, an incredibly difficult step to take in one's middle age. I felt absolutely bereft. Succot without a Succah, without Yom Tov meals; no decorations; no singing….. absolutely nothing. I never felt more alone or bereaved in my entire life. I was in mourning, for the Succos that never was. Or at least, not yet part of my newly Shomer Shabbos life.
I pushed aside the beige curtains and peeked outside in the twilight, the witching hour, at the mountain across from our home. My eyes took in the red, orange, purple, and yellow autumn foliage high above near Sam's Point and in the trees surrounding my home. I raised my tear-filled eyes to the sky and prayed, "Hashem, please let me have the zechus of marrying a Ben Torah and raising frum children who will never lack for a real Yom Tov or Shabbos! Please, Hashem, allow me to build my home in Eretz Yisrael!" Yes, even then barely Bat Mitzva, I knew that only Israel would sate my thirst for a truly Jewish lifestyle.
Time spiraled forward, and I found myself thrown back into my Succah in Netivot, filled with incredible angst and upset, feeling the desperation and frustration of that previous Succos holiday of yesteryear. I burst out crying. My husband was taken back and asked what was wrong. "Nothing," I answered. "Nothing at all!" Sitting together with him, our children and their children in Eretz Yisrael in OUR Succah, I could honestly answer him, "Nothing is wrong. Baruch Hashem, on the contrary….. !"
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