Debbie Young: Organic Holiness
Sukkot two years ago, I was invited with some friends to sit in a Sukkah in Kilburn. This Sukkah was the finest I had ever sat in, and in fact it was one of the first times I had sat in a Sukkah in someone’s home as opposed to one connected to a synagogue. Beautiful oriental lamps were hanging next to pictures painted anything from 5 hours ago to 15 years ago. Sukkot from years past remained with my hostess, as guests were welcomed in for the first time or the 10th. We were a gathering of Sephardim and Ashkenazim, Liberal, Orthodox, Masorti and Reform Jews, and trainee Rabbis from Orthodox and Progressive seminaries. This was the Sukkah of my friend Ester (z’l) and her mum Angela, and I will never forget it.
Preparing for Sukkot this year has been strange, because I know I will not sit with Ester in her Sukkah again. She tragically died shortly before Yom Kippur, and I have felt this loss acutely in all I have done since. But I have also erected my first proper Sukkah (not counting the joke of a ‘safari Sukkah’ we tried last year!) and as I decorated it, I felt a need to recreate what Ester and Angela were able to create — a safe, warm, cosy spot, where holiness was organic, and so was the food, all were welcomed, and there was a true sense of Am Echad, one people. I have felt a tremendous sense of impermanence and fragility ever since Ester’s death — there was no need for a Sukkah to tell me this. But as my husband and I scurried about last Thursday and Friday desperately trying to ready our Sukkah and home for ourselves and for our guests, the impermanence found a home in the Sukkah. As I hung fruit in net bags, and remembered how Ester and Angela had horded net bags all year round one year to keep them going for Sukkot in the future, I had a real sense of how encompassing the Jewish year and Jewish life can be. While I am overburdened trying to cope with High Holy Days, a huge number of assignments from college, my teaching commitments, and trying to grieve for my best friend, I also must cling onto why I am here at LBC — to help create sustainable, joyful, enriched and empowered Jewish lives, and to bring people together in celebration of God’s blessings, and for strength when dealing with the world’s cruelties. Although it was hard to find the time, creating a Sukkah in which my friends and family can sit, celebrate, eat, talk and sing is, right now, the best way I can think to celebrate both my Judaism, and all that Ester was able to bring to it.
Let’s use this festival, and all those to come this year, to bring people together, to talk, tell stories, and celebrate. Rather than only having full synagogue’s on Yom HaShoah and Yom Kippur, let’s try to have our Sukkot and Purim parties full, and let’s make time to ensure our Jewish calendars don’t get subsumed by all the other commitments we have — it’s important we have that time to just be with others, and not just our books, however difficult that may be with our work loads. In Ester’s honour, I want to endeavour to fill my Sukkah with peace and love to do it with a sense of openness, pluralism, justice and the sheer enjoyment of what Judaism and Ester have brought to my life.
May this be God’s will.
Venomar Amen.
Preparing for Sukkot this year has been strange, because I know I will not sit with Ester in her Sukkah again. She tragically died shortly before Yom Kippur, and I have felt this loss acutely in all I have done since. But I have also erected my first proper Sukkah (not counting the joke of a ‘safari Sukkah’ we tried last year!) and as I decorated it, I felt a need to recreate what Ester and Angela were able to create — a safe, warm, cosy spot, where holiness was organic, and so was the food, all were welcomed, and there was a true sense of Am Echad, one people. I have felt a tremendous sense of impermanence and fragility ever since Ester’s death — there was no need for a Sukkah to tell me this. But as my husband and I scurried about last Thursday and Friday desperately trying to ready our Sukkah and home for ourselves and for our guests, the impermanence found a home in the Sukkah. As I hung fruit in net bags, and remembered how Ester and Angela had horded net bags all year round one year to keep them going for Sukkot in the future, I had a real sense of how encompassing the Jewish year and Jewish life can be. While I am overburdened trying to cope with High Holy Days, a huge number of assignments from college, my teaching commitments, and trying to grieve for my best friend, I also must cling onto why I am here at LBC — to help create sustainable, joyful, enriched and empowered Jewish lives, and to bring people together in celebration of God’s blessings, and for strength when dealing with the world’s cruelties. Although it was hard to find the time, creating a Sukkah in which my friends and family can sit, celebrate, eat, talk and sing is, right now, the best way I can think to celebrate both my Judaism, and all that Ester was able to bring to it.
Let’s use this festival, and all those to come this year, to bring people together, to talk, tell stories, and celebrate. Rather than only having full synagogue’s on Yom HaShoah and Yom Kippur, let’s try to have our Sukkot and Purim parties full, and let’s make time to ensure our Jewish calendars don’t get subsumed by all the other commitments we have — it’s important we have that time to just be with others, and not just our books, however difficult that may be with our work loads. In Ester’s honour, I want to endeavour to fill my Sukkah with peace and love to do it with a sense of openness, pluralism, justice and the sheer enjoyment of what Judaism and Ester have brought to my life.
May this be God’s will.
Venomar Amen.
posted by Ester memories at 4:44 pm
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