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As I watch the devastating pictures from North Carolina and Florida, I am reminded again of the power and fury of nature. Amidst the destruction and the heartbreak, there is an understanding that begins to emerge when considering as well the rhythm of Jewish time. Having completed the towering days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we find ourselves presently celebrating the festival of Sukkot with all of its informality and intentionality.

The chief command of this festival is for us to live not in our sturdy homes but in frail, temporary huts known as sukkot. According to tradition, these structures are to be made so that they will be unable to withstand a strong wind or a heavy downpour, for if they could, then they would no longer be considered temporary, and a sukkah would become a bayit, a house. It reminds us that not everything is in our hands, that nature is, in many ways, beyond our control. Just as a mere wind can knock down a sukkah so, too, a storm can lift a home off its foundations. 

On Sukkot we read from the biblical book of Ecclesiastes, called in Hebrew Kohelet. The book opens with the stark words: “Utter futility!—said Kohelet—Utter futility! All is futile! What real value is there for a man in all the gains he makes beneath the sun?” The book reinforces the message that all is like a mere breath. Even the homes to which we devote so much time and energy and expense are fleeting.

What, then, is the Jewish response to this fragility and angst? Embrace it. Build a temporary structure. Eat your meals there. Sleep in the sukkah. Rejoice in your festivals. 

Celebrate…despite all of life’s vulnerabilities. No wind or rain, storm or flood, can ever banish a song from our hearts. 

Recall that the heart is far more sturdy than even the most well-built homes.