Rabbi Charles P. Sherman
Amira Feldman Bat Mitzvah
September 21, 2002
Sukkot: The Jewish Declaration of Dependence
This is an old story, but surely it has a message for us on this first day of Sukkot, our People's fall harvest festival.
Two men, both seriously ill, occupy the same hospital room. One of them was allowed to sit up in bed for an hour each afternoon in order to help drain fluid from his lungs. That man's bed was adjacent to the only window in the room.
The other man had to spend all of his time lying flat on his back, doctor's orders. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke about their wives and families, their hopes, their jobs, their military exploits, where they had vacationed and every other topic under the sun. But every afternoon, when the man in bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.
The man in the other bed, who was flat on his back, began to live for those one-hour periods when his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the scene beyond their room. The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water, while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm-in-arm amidst flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape. The fine view of the city skyline could also be seen just in the distance.
As the man by the window described all of this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and image the picturesque scene. One warm afternoon, the man by the window described a parade passing by and, although the other man could not hear the band, he could see it in his mind's eye as it was described to him.
And that is when it happened. Totally unexpectedly, a sinister thought entered the mind of the man who was lying flat on his back. Why should the other patient experience all of the pleasure of seeing everything, while he himself never got to see anything? It just did not seem fair. First, the man felt ashamed to have these thoughts. But, as the days passed and he missed seeing more sights, his envy eroded into resentment and soon turned him quite sour. He began to brood and found himself unable to sleep. A gnawing and unworthy idea presented itself more and more powerfully to him. His bed should be by that window.
Late one night, as he lay staring at the ceiling, his roommate man by the window began to cough. It turned out that he was choking on the fluid in his lungs. The man watched in the dimly-lit room as the struggling patient by the window groped for the button to call for help. Listening from across the room, he never moved, never pushed his own button which would have brought the nurse running in. In less than five minutes the coughing and choking stopped, as did the sound of breathing. Now there was only silence, deathly silence.
The following morning, when the day nurse arrived to bring them fresh water, she found the lifeless body of the man by the window. She was saddened and summoned the hospital attendants to take him away. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch and, after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone there. Slowly, very painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at that world outside. Finally he would have the joy of seeing it for himself. As he strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed, he was shocked and dumbfounded to discover that the window faced a blank wall. The man asked the nurse what could have possibly compelled his deceased roommate to describe such wonderful things outside this window.
"Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you," said the nurse, "or perhaps he just wanted to encourage himself."
"But he was lying," said the man in an accusatory tone of voice.
"He was not lying," said the nurse, "he was blind."
Blind people, those who cannot see the outside world, see inside out. What is our excuse? Are not too many of us blind to what we have? This festival of Sukkot comes to kick us in the pants, to help us towards a greater appreciation of the blessings of life and its beauty. In order to teach this lesson, Sukkot sometimes has to confront some basic American views. You see, one of the things we treasure about this country is its spirit of independence. Our nation, in fact, began with the Declaration of Independence in 1776 and, for the next 150 years, life on the frontier encouraged an independent and self-reliant spirit.
This spirit has been romanticized in American literature, in western movies and by TV programs. The independent businessman who begins a small enterprise and makes a success by his own efforts remains the American ideal. Even though the development of international conglomerates has made it difficult for the small businessman to compete successfully with the multi-national or the chain store, nonetheless, the self-made man is still a hero in American life.
Sukkot has an entirely different, in fact, almost an opposite emphasis. It might seem that the Jewish farmer, having completed his year's work and having harvested the fruits of his labor would take pride in having mastered the task of production and feel himself to be an independent entrepreneur, as does his American counterpart. But Sukkot never stressed this aspect of the harvest. Rather, Sukkot tried to impress upon the Israelite farmer that he was dependent on many factors for his success. He was dependent on the sun, on the rain, on the wind and on the dew; and, when the farmer looked beyond nature, he recognized his dependence on God.
Even the secondary meaning Jewish tradition gives the Sukkah - that it symbolizes the portable home of the Israelites during their 40 year desert sojourn - challenges super-power American notions of independence. Our ancestors knew that even the life of their nation was neither secure nor permanent. An enemy could sweep across the border, destroy their cities, end the nation's independence and even force the population into exile. As Jews observed Sukkot, they understood how dependent they were on outside forces and imponderable factors for their prosperity, their security, and even their lives.
Sukkot also challenges American independence by teaching that we are reliant upon the next person, a lesson the man in the hospital bed did not like to learn. Compare his reaction to that of Charles Plumb, a United States Naval Academy graduate. Plumb was a jet pilot in Viet Nam. After 75 combat missions, his plane was destroyed by a surface-to-air missile. Charles Plumb ejected and parachuted into enemy territory. He was captured and spent six horrible years in a Communist Vietnamese prison cell. Somehow he survived that ordeal and now lectures on lessons learned from the experience. One day when Charles Plumb and his wife were sitting in a restaurant, a man from another table suddenly came up to him and said: "You're Charles Plumb. You flew jet fighters in Viet Nam from the air craft carrier Kitty Hawk didn't you? You were shot down."
"How in the world did you know that," asked Plumb.
"I know because I packed your parachute," the man replied.
Plumb gasped in surprise and gratitude. The man pumped his hand and said, "I guess it worked." And Charles Plumb assured him: "It sure did. If your chute had not worked, I would not be here today."
That night Charles Plumb could not sleep, thinking about that man. And Plumb says: "I kept wondering what he might have looked like in a Navy uniform. A white hat and bib in the back and bell-bottom trousers. I wonder how many times I might have seen him and not even said 'good morning, how are you' or anything because, you see, I was a fighter pilot and he was just a sailor."
Plumb thought of the many hours that sailor had spent on the long wooden table in the bowels of the ship carefully weaving the shrouds and folding the silks of each chute, holding in his hand each time the fate of someone he did not know. Now, lecturing as he does before various groups, Charles Plumb poses this question to his audience. "Who's packing your parachute?"
Sukkot is the Jewish "declaration of dependence." It seeks to teach us that we do not live alone, by and for only ourself. We are dependent on other people, as we are dependent on God. But we are dependent, not as a young child is dependent on a parent, but rather as a full partner in a common enterprise. And whether that enterprise is a business, a marriage, a family, a community, a nation, or a community of nations - each of us must learn that we depend on others for life, for liberty, for happiness.
We all have reason to be grateful, yet too infrequently are. Sukkot is that precious time of the year which, with its fragrance of the booth and its colorful lulav and etrog, stirs us toward gratitude and thanksgiving. It comes each year as an annual invitation to open our eyes to the beauty of our surroundings and the magnitude of our personal harvest, made possible not through our own efforts alone, but with the help of God and many of our fellow human beings.
A man whispered: "God speak to me," and a meadowlark sang but the man did not hear.
So the man yelled: "God speak to me!", and thunder rolled across the sky, but the man did not listen.
The man looked around and said: "God, let me see You," and a star shined brightly, but the man did not notice.
And the man shouted: "God, show me a miracle!", and a life was born, but the man did not know.
So the man cried out in despair: "Touch me and let me know You are here!", whereupon God reached down and touched the man, but the man brushed the butterfly away and walked on.
Friends, let's not miss out on a blessing because it is not packaged the way we expect it to be. Let's not be like that man who, finally securing his place at the window, was still too blind to see the magnificent vista that lay beyond his own, puny, self-centered world.
The message of Sukkot is very simple - Hodu Ladonai Kee tov, give thanks unto God for God is good; God's mercy endureth forever. Therefore, God has made us all partners in the great adventure of building God's dominion here on earth. Amen.
I've incorporated lessons of
Rabbis Kassel E. Abelson and Edward Paul Cohn and am grateful to them.
