The Architecture of the Sukkah
Is the physical sukkah meant to be built like a permanent house or a flimsy tent? Is the experience of sitting in the sukkah meant to evoke feelings of stability or fragility? These questions animate many debates among the Tannaim (Rabbis of the mishnah) and Amoraim (Rabbis of the Gemara). Each side of the debate reflects a different theological position regarding God’s relationship to this world. While the agaddah–the theological and emotional–may be able to accommodate both/and, the halakha has to make a decision regarding building materials and height of the sukkah.
The very first mishnah of Masechet Sukkah debates the maximum (and minimum) height of the sukkah. According to the majority position of the Sages, the sukkah may not be higher than twenty amot (which measures around 33 feet tall). However, R. Yehuda permits the sukkah to be even higher.
On the first page of the masechet, the gemara brings three Amoraic explanations for the majority position that does not allow the sukkah to be so tall. The third answer, from Rava, is that a home with a very tall roof must be considered a “permanent dwelling,” whereas a lower roof implies a more “temporary dwelling.” Rava says, “For the entire seven days [of the holiday] you should leave your permanent residence and dwell in a temporary residence.” This approach makes it clear that, according to the majority of the chachamim (Sages) the sukkah is meant to be a flimsy hut that evokes fragility.
However, what does Rava’s understanding of the chachamim mean for R. Yehuda? It turns out that according to R. Yehuda the sukkah is intended to be a more permanent structure–even one that is three or four stories high–designed to feel like a real home.
Indeed, the mishnah in the second chapter of Masechet Sukkah (mishnah 9) says explicitly, “All seven days of Sukkot, a person renders their sukkah as a permanent residence and their house as a temporary residence.” The Gemara understands this to mean that one should use nice dishes and vessels when eating and that one should spend their down time lounging in the sukkah. On the face of it, this approach aligns with R. Yehuda’s understanding of the architecture of the sukkah and goes against Rava’s read of the chachamim.
There is a second position of R. Yehuda’s that reflects his view of the sukkah as permanent. The Gemara in Yoma 10a quotes another debate of R. Yehuda and the chachamim. Because the chachamim take for granted that the sukkah is meant to be an impermanent structure there is of course no reason to put a mezuzah on the entryway into the sukkah. On the other hand R. Yehuda claims, somewhat shockingly, that in fact a sukkah requires a mezuzah. Only if the sukkah is really understood as a permanent home does R. Yehuda’s approach make any sense.
The image of R. Yehuda’s sukkah–a four story building with a mezuzah– is very different from the experience to which we are accustomed. He in fact goes even farther and claims that just as food brought into your home becomes obligated in certain tithes, so too does food brought into the sukkah (see mishnah, Ma’asrot 3:7). It seems that for the seven days of the holiday your sukkah is your permanent home in every way possible for R. Yehuda.
Physical Huts or the Divine Clouds of Glory
I would like to argue, based on a wonderful essay of Rav Chaim Kohen’s zt”l (known as the chalban, the milkman, see the first essay in the Talilei Chaim on Sukkot) that the debate between R. Yehuda and the chachamim goes much deeper. Beneath this halakhic dispute regarding the architecture of the sukkah lies an important aggadic debate. It is not very common for the written Torah to express a particular intention or reason for observing an individual commandement. At the end of the 23rd chapter of Vayikra (verse 43), we are given a specific goal for the mitzvah of sitting in the sukkah for seven days: “So that your generations will know that in sukkot I caused the People of Israel to dwell when I took them out from the land of Egypt…” At first blush, this seems relatively straightforward.
However, there is a fundamental debate between R. Akiva and R. Elazar as to what exactly the word “sukkot” means in this verse. According to R. Akiva the word sukkah means the physical booths in which we dwelled upon leaving Egypt. However, R. Elazar claims that the word sukkah in this verse refers to the divine clouds of glory that protected us in the desert (See Masechet Sukkah 11b. The positions of R. Akiva and R. Elazar are switched in different versions of this debate. See the Sifra there.)
The debate between R. Akiva and R. Elazar lies at the heart of the holiday of Sukkot. When the chachamim and R. Yehuda argue over whether the sukkah is meant to be a temporary or permanent structure, they are actually reflecting this very question. If the word sukkah in the verse refers to the physical booths we built in the desert, those were, no doubt, temporary, flimsy structures designed to be moved on a regular basis. If, on the other hand, the word sukkah is meant to evoke the divine clouds of glory, what could be a more permanent presence in the lives of the Jewish People in the wilderness?
The Bach (R. Yosel Sirkis), in his opening comment on in Hilkhot Sukkah (siman 625), notes that the Tur seems to wax a bit more philosophical in this siman. The Bach goes on to explain that understanding the correct meaning of the word sukkah is part of making Kiddush in the sukkah at night. This position takes on a long tradition in the history of halakha (See Magen Avraham 625:1, Peri Megadim there, Mishnah Berura 625:1 and Aruch ha-Shulchan 625:5). Here we see directly the way in which the agadda defines the parameters of the halakha.
The Theology of Sukkot
Let’s go one step deeper. The flimsy sukkah (chachamim) which reminds us of the actual booths (R. Akiva) built in the desert are a natural, human phenomenon. People need to build shelter in order to live their lives. The permanent dwelling (R. Yehuda) which reminds of the divine clouds of glory (R. Elazar) is fundamentally miraculous in nature.
The holiday of Sukkot has two overarching themes–a harvest festival and a reminder of the Exodus. The harvest is a natural event that farmers engage in every year just as they must build huts in the field. Recalling the Exodus echoes the miraculous crossing of the sea that led us into the divine clouds of glory as a means of protection.
The holiday of Sukkot really has two competing theological messages. On the one hand, the permanence of the divine clouds of glory remind us that God is always present in our lives. At the very same time, the temporary nature of the huts that we live in for seven days reminds us of the fragility of life. We want to hold onto the ones we love. We want them to stay in this world. And yet, we all know that life comes to an end.
If we reflect this tension towards God, we are taught that those postures are also both true in the vertical direction. We yearn for a grounding in divine immanence and permanence, only to falter in the reality of divine distance and fragility. Perhaps the debate between R. Yehuda and the chachamim is meant to codify the awareness of competing postures in our relationship with God
Rabbi Jeffrey S. Fox, Rosh HaYeshiva and Dean of Faculty at Maharat, was the first graduate of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah. Upon graduation he served as the Rabbi of Kehilat Kesher: The Community Synagogue of Tenafly and Englewood for seven years. In Rabbi Fox’s tenure at Kesher, the community grew three-fold from 30 families to nearly 100. During that time Rabbi Fox also taught at Yeshivat Chovevei Torah as well as in the Florence Melton Adult Education School in Bergen County. He also served on the board of the Synagogue Leadership Initiative of the UJA of NNJ. Rabbi Fox was a Senior Rabbinic Fellow of the Shalom Hartman Institute and has also been a member of the faculty of the Drisha Institute, the Florence Melton Adult Education School in Westchester County, and Hadar.