The Roof (“gog”) of the World…..The Pamir Plateau

 

MUST SEE THIS,

🌍 The Roof of the World: Pamir Plateau 🏔️✨ #shorts #pamirhighway#pamirmountains #mountains #travel

Hidden high above the clouds lies one of the most breathtaking places on Earth — the Pamir Plateau, a land so extreme and beautiful that it feels like another planet. 🌌🏔️ Rising around 13,000 feet above sea level, this incredible high-altitude world is surrounded by massive snow-covered peaks reaching over 23,000 feet. ❄️⛰️ Standing here feels like you are touching the edge of the sky. ☁️✨ What makes the Pamirs truly unique is that five legendary mountain ranges meet in this region — the Himalayas, Karakoram, Tian Shan, Kunlun, and Hindu Kush. 🏔️🌎 It is a place where nature has built one of the greatest mountain fortresses on Earth. Because of its unmatched scale and beauty, explorers have called the Pamirs the “Father of All Mountains.” 🌄🔥 A world of endless peaks, ancient landscapes, and untouched wilderness — the Pamir Plateau reminds us how powerful and mysterious our planet truly is. 🌍💫 Would you ever dare to explore this incredible corner of the Earth? 🏔️🚶‍♂️✨  

MUST SEE https://www.youtube.com/place/m_02hp2t/shorts

Rabbi Josh Wander: Do We Really Want Transformational Change?

 Wander

There is a fundamental question that I think we need to ask ourselves honestly: do we actually want transformational change, or would we prefer to remain safely ensconced in the good old exile? Normalcy bias is a fascinating human condition. We naturally assume that tomorrow will resemble yesterday and that the structures surrounding us are permanent. Even when the familiar is deeply flawed, we often prefer it to the uncertainty of transformation.

There may be no better example than the Jewish People. At the end of Yom Kippur and the Pesach Seder we proclaim, לשנה הבאה בירושלים — “Next year in Jerusalem.” We pray three times every day for the rebuilding of Jerusalem, the restoration of the Davidic kingdom and the return of the Divine Presence to Zion. We speak about Moshiach, the Messiah, sing about Moshiach and teach our children about Moshiach. Some even declare, “We want Moshiach now!” Yet behind all these declarations lies an uncomfortable question: do we really?

It is easy to desire Geulah, redemption, as an abstract theological concept. It becomes considerably more difficult when redemption begins interfering with our lives, because Geulah, by definition, means change. Institutions created to preserve Jewish life under conditions of exile may have to confront an entirely different reality when the Jewish People return to their Land. Questions that remained theoretical for two thousand years suddenly become practical, and portions of Torah that could safely be relegated to the distant future begin knocking on our door.

Let me make something absolutely clear. When I speak about transformational change, I am not advocating a reformation of Torah. I am not suggesting that we modernize Torah, dilute Torah, abandon our mesorah, our sacred tradition, or reshape Judaism to accommodate contemporary sensibilities. Quite the opposite. I am suggesting להחזיר תורה ליושנה — “to restore Torah to its former fullness.” We need to rediscover dimensions of Torah life that became dormant or impractical during nearly two thousand years of exile. The transformation I am describing is not a movement away from authentic Judaism, but a movement back toward it.

Over the centuries, we developed an extraordinarily powerful instinct for preservation, and for good reason. We endured persecutions, expulsions, forced conversions, pogroms and relentless attempts at assimilation. The surrounding world constantly demanded that we surrender pieces of our identity, so we learned to resist change. That instinct helped preserve us, but there is a danger that we eventually confused the emergency measures of Jewish survival with the ideal Jewish condition itself.

Perhaps nothing illustrates this more powerfully than Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai’s famous request as Jerusalem faced destruction: תן לי יבנה וחכמיה — “Give me Yavneh and its sages.” Yavneh represented the genius of Jewish survival. When Jerusalem was being destroyed, Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai ensured that Torah would survive the catastrophe. But Yavneh was never Yerushalayim. We have taken a בדיעבד — bedi’eved, a necessary response to circumstances that were far from ideal, and risked forgetting the לכתחילה — lechatchila, the ideal situation we were always meant to strive for. Yavneh was what we needed when Jerusalem was lost; it should never cause us to forget what Jewish life is supposed to look like when Jerusalem is restored.

Even our Torah learning reflects the consequences of exile. The Talmud Bavli, the Babylonian Talmud, became overwhelmingly dominant in Jewish learning and halachic discourse, while the Talmud Yerushalmi, the Jerusalem Talmud produced in Eretz Yisrael, the Land of Israel, receded from ordinary study. There were powerful historical and halachic reasons for this, and the Bavli is obviously one of the monumental foundations of Torah Shebe’al Peh, the Oral Torah. But the symbolism is striking: we became extraordinarily proficient in the Torah of Bavel, Babylonia, while becoming comparatively unfamiliar with the Torah of Yerushalayim, Jerusalem. What was historically necessary became normal.

The same phenomenon appears in our relationship with Jerusalem. We leave an unfinished square in our homes as a זכר לחורבן — zecher leChurban, “a remembrance of the Destruction,” place ashes upon the head of a groom beneath the chuppah, the wedding canopy, and break a glass at a Jewish wedding. Yet human beings can normalize almost anything. We eventually stop noticing the unfinished square, and seconds after the glass shatters everyone shouts “Mazel Tov!”, the music begins, and we dance. The broken glass was never supposed to make us comfortable with a broken Jerusalem, and the unfinished wall was never supposed to make incompleteness feel complete. Perhaps we have become better at remembering the Churban, the Destruction, than imagining the Geulah.

When we cannot imagine how the transformation could actually happen, we reach for a convenient solution: Eliyahu HaNavi, Elijah the Prophet, and Moshiach will take care of it. Somehow Eliyahu will arrive, Moshiach will appear, all unresolved questions will be answered, every institution will fall into place, and Jewish history will instantaneously move from one reality to another. This allows us to pray for an entirely different Jewish reality while assuming virtually no responsibility for preparing ourselves to live in it.

But is that really how Jewish history works? Long before the Jewish People crossed the Jordan, they first had to cross the Yam Suf, the Sea of Reeds. They stood at the water’s edge while the mighty Egyptian army—the terrifying embodiment of the Galut, the exile, they had supposedly just escaped—came charging toward them from behind. They had witnessed the Ten Plagues and experienced Yetziat Mitzrayim, the Exodus from Egypt, yet now they stood trapped between Egypt and the sea, waiting.

The Torah’s response is extraordinary. Moshe cried out to Hashem, and Hashem answered: מַה תִּצְעַק אֵלָי דַּבֵּר אֶל בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְיִסָּעוּ — “Why do you cry out to Me? Speak to the Children of Israel and let them journey forward!” There is a time for tefillah, prayer, and there is a time when the answer to our prayer is ויסעו — “Let them move forward.” Chazal, our Sages of blessed memory, describe Nachshon ben Aminadav entering the water and thereby capture the idea beautifully. It was not enough to believe that Hashem could split the sea or to pray that He would do so. Someone had to move toward the obstacle. The miracle was Divine, but the movement had to become human.

Standing still was not neutrality. Egypt was racing toward them from behind while redemption lay ahead through an apparently impossible sea. They could move into the terrifying uncertainty of Geulah or remain frozen before it. That same pattern appeared again when the generation of the Exodus approached Eretz Yisrael. The Meraglim, the spies sent to scout the Land, saw fortified cities, powerful inhabitants and enormous obstacles, and the nation recoiled. Yehoshua and Calev urged them forward, but the generation that had physically left Egypt was not psychologically prepared to enter the Land.

Forty years later, when their children stood at the Jordan under Yehoshua, water again separated the Jewish People from their destination. The Kohanim, the priests, carrying the Aron, the Ark, advanced until their feet entered the Jordan, and only then did the waters stop. At the Yam Suf and at the Jordan, the miracle came from Hashem, but human beings still had to move toward it. The pattern repeats itself: when we stand on the precipice of Geulah, we pause, pray and wait for the miracle that will carry us across, while perhaps Hashem is waiting for us to move. Sometimes the command comes while the sea is still directly in front of us: דבר אל בני ישראל ויסעו — “Speak to the Children of Israel and let them journey forward.”

There may be no more powerful physical illustration of this paradox today than the Western Wall itself. It is much easier to stand at the Kotel, the Western Wall, and pray, as Jews have done for centuries, than to contemplate the monumental leap—albeit geographically only a few feet—to the other side. We can stand before the Wall yearning for redemption and pleading for the restoration of what once stood beyond it, while psychologically remaining perfectly comfortable where we are. It is almost as though thousands of Jews are waiting for a miracle in which they will somehow be picked up and magically deposited on the other side, without having to confront the enormous religious questions and responsibilities that such a transition represents.

Perhaps there is something evocative here in the Torah’s language concerning the Korban Pesach, the Passover offering, and the person who is בדרך רחוקה — “on a distant road.” Chazal debate what constitutes that distance, and one approach allows a person to be physically very close and nevertheless remain outside the relevant boundary. The symbolism is striking. Sometimes the greatest distance is not measured in kilometers. Sometimes it is the few feet separating where we have become comfortable standing from where we have spent generations praying to arrive.

That may describe our predicament remarkably well. We can touch the stones of Yerushalayim, walk its streets and stand before the retaining wall of Har HaBayit, the Temple Mount, yet physical proximity does not necessarily eliminate psychological or spiritual distance. From the Yam Suf to the border of Eretz Yisrael, from the Jordan to Yerushalayim, and perhaps even from the Kotel to the other side of the Wall, the question keeps returning: are we waiting for Hashem to perform a miracle so that we will finally move, when perhaps Hashem is waiting for us to move so that the miracle can unfold?

Geulah may also require thousands of smaller changes that force us to distinguish between eternal Torah and the cultural circumstances through which Torah traveled during Galut. It could be something as mundane as clothing. A Jew whose ancestors dressed for the freezing winters of Poland or Russia might ask whether every element of that clothing must remain unchanged under the blazing sun of Eretz Yisrael. A Chassidic Jew might become physically more comfortable in different clothing while becoming philosophically very uncomfortable with the change.

That discomfort is instructive because clothing communicates identity and connects us to our fathers and grandfathers. There is something beautiful about that continuity. But we must still be capable of asking which parts of our identity are Torah and which are the historical clothing in which Torah traveled through exile. This is not a call to discard minhagim, customs, or reinvent Judaism. If something is Torah, we preserve it because it is Torah. If it is a sacred minhag, we treat it with reverence. But we should also be capable of recognizing what developed in response to particular historical circumstances.

Nor should we judge another Jew’s holiness by appearances. Perhaps the simple Jew wearing an almost transparent kippah possesses greater yirat Shamayim, fear and awe of Heaven, emunah, faith, and sincerity than someone dressed in a long black coat with a beard and payot, sidelocks, or perhaps the reverse is true. We cannot know. Clothing is visible, but the neshamah, the soul, is not.

The Arba Minim — ארבעת המינים, “the Four Species,” teach this beautifully. Chazal saw the four species as representing different kinds of Jews. Some possess Torah and good deeds, some possess one but not the other, and some appear to possess neither. Yet we do not discard the seemingly inferior species; we bind them together. The aravah, the willow, has neither the taste nor fragrance attributed to the other species, yet without it we cannot fulfill the mitzvah, the commandment. We cannot construct Geulah by deciding that holiness belongs exclusively to those who resemble us.

None of this means erasing communities or producing a homogeneous new Israeli Jew. A Chassid should remain a Chassid, a Sephardi should preserve his mesorah, a Yemenite should treasure his traditions and an Ashkenazi should preserve his. The objective is not uniformity. It is recognizing the difference between preserving our mesorah and fossilizing Galut.

This is why להחזיר תורה ליושנה — “to restore Torah to its former fullness” is so important. I am not speaking about reforming Judaism; I am speaking about restoration. I am not suggesting that we remove things from Torah because they make modern people uncomfortable. I am asking whether we are prepared to restore parts of Torah that make us uncomfortable precisely because we have not lived them for two thousand years. Geulah does not mean replacing Judaism with something new. It means allowing Judaism to become whole again.

Our ancestors built an extraordinary Judaism capable of surviving without sovereignty, without Jerusalem, without the Beit HaMikdash, the Holy Temple, and, for most Jews, without Eretz Yisrael itself. That achievement preserved us through extraordinary circumstances, and we should approach it with enormous gratitude and humility. But survival was never the final destination. The Nevi’im, the Prophets, repeatedly describe the ingathering of the Jewish People, the rebuilding of the Land and the restoration of Jerusalem. Our tradition itself demands transformation.

Galut can become remarkably comfortable. We can build magnificent shuls and yeshivot, synagogues and Torah academies, kosher supermarkets, schools, mikvaot, ritual baths, and entire neighborhoods in which one can live a completely Jewish life. After enough generations, however, the temporary begins to feel permanent, and we risk confusing the preservation of Judaism during exile with the preservation of exile Judaism itself. Our ancestors carried the flame through the darkness, but surely the purpose of carrying a flame through a tunnel is eventually to emerge from the tunnel, not to become so attached to the tunnel that daylight itself begins to seem threatening.

Our challenge, therefore, is not to choose between tradition and transformation. That is a false choice. Our challenge is to distinguish between what is eternal and what was an adaptation to exile. Torah is eternal, but Galut is not. Our mesorah is sacred, but our historical circumstances are not. Yavneh saved us when we lost Yerushalayim, but the success of Yavneh was never supposed to make us forget Yerushalayim.

Torah speaks about much more than the synagogue, study hall, home and community. It speaks about agriculture, government, armies, courts, national life, pilgrimage, korbanot, offerings, the Beit HaMikdash and the relationship between a sovereign Jewish nation and the nations of the world. For generations, much of that reality existed primarily in our books. Now we have returned to Eretz Yisrael. Hebrew is once again spoken by millions of Jews. Jewish sovereignty has returned. Jewish soldiers defend Jewish cities, and Jerusalem is once again filled with Jews. Whatever one believes about precisely where we stand in the redemptive process, Jewish history is clearly no longer standing still. The question is whether we are.

We have become remarkably comfortable praying for things whose actual arrival might profoundly disrupt us. We ask Hashem to gather the exiles, but what happens when that means leaving the countries in which we have built comfortable lives? We pray for Jerusalem, but what happens when Jerusalem requires something from us? We pray for the restoration of Jewish national life, but what happens when that requires rebuilding institutions dormant for centuries? We pray for Moshiach, but what happens when redemption stops being a song and becomes a responsibility? Perhaps we do not fear Geulah itself as much as we fear what Geulah might require us to change.

Perhaps this is one of the great spiritual challenges of our generation. We inherited Yavneh, but we have returned to Yerushalayim. We inherited a Torah preserved with extraordinary courage throughout the four corners of the earth, but we have brought that Torah home. Now we have to ask what that means, not by abandoning what our ancestors preserved, but by completing what they began; not by reforming Torah, but by להחזיר תורה ליושנה — restoring Torah to its former fullness; and not by rejecting the Judaism that carried us through Galut, but by asking what that Judaism was carrying us toward.

We have spent nearly two thousand years saying לשנה הבאה בירושלים — “Next year in Jerusalem,” and the question is no longer merely whether we remember Jerusalem, but whether we are prepared for Jerusalem to become real. We have spent nearly two thousand years praying for transformational change, mourning what we lost and dreaming about what will return. Perhaps the lesson of the Yam Suf is that there eventually comes a moment when another prayer is not enough, when standing still is itself a decision, and when the response from Heaven is מַה תִּצְעַק אֵלָי… דַּבֵּר אֶל בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְיִסָּעוּ — “Why do you cry out to Me? Speak to the Children of Israel and let them journey forward.” After all those prayers, all those tears and all those generations, perhaps the most fundamental question we can ask ourselves remains the simplest: Do we actually want it?

https://geulamovement.substack.com/p/do-we-really-want-transformational?

This doesn't always happen! Thousands of people rushed to the Western Wall! First day of Sukkot 🍋🌴

 

Jerusalem. An amazing atmosphere at the Western Wall 🍋🌴

 

Sukkot celebrations in the Jewish Quarter of Jerusalem and at the Western Wall, Israel

 

Netanyahu at the UN: A Prophecy of the End of Days

 

🎶היו מרקדין: שמחת בית השואבה בקהילת דברי שיר בראשות המרא דאתרא הגרי"א דינר והגר"מ שטיינמן

 

🚨ALERT: The Temple Mount Just CHANGED on SUKKOT! and a priestly blessing on the Temple Mt Area

 

Something extraordinary happened this morning on the Temple Mount. Before dawn, I picked up Rabbi Lawrence Hajioff, and together we made our way to Jerusalem for our first ascent to Har HaBayit, accompanied by Rabbi Josh Wander and Rabbi Yehuda Levy.

Hundreds of Jews were on the Temple Mount as we walked the entire area, prayed Musaf, recited Birkat Kohanim, and experienced moments that were deeply moving. The Musaf prayers themselves look toward the restoration of the Temple service, making this an especially powerful moment on Har HaBayit. For me, this was unlike anything I had ever experienced before.

After leaving the Temple Mount, we returned to my family’s sukkah in the Old City and sat down together to process what had just happened, what it means for the Jewish people, and why the Temple Mount and the rebuilding of the Third Temple are becoming such central conversations in our generation.

Featuring Rabbi Lawrence Hajioff, Rabbi Josh Wander, and Rabbi Yehuda Levy. ‪@RabbiHajioff‬ ‪@IsraelTorah‬ ‪@RabbiAronSokol‬

The Priestly Blessing from the Western Wall (Jerusalem)

 

🎧 סוכת שלום – נעימות לסוכה ללא מילים | Sukkat Shalom Sukkot Instrumental Music No Vocals

 

Sukkat Shalom – Sukkot Melodies Without Words

A special high-quality collection of Sukkot songs, Hallel songs and diverse piyutim from all corners of the Jewish people

A musical meeting between Chassidic, Mizrahi, Jerusalemite and Moroccan styles – just like the Sukkah of Peace spread over us

Performed on gentle flute, violin and piano, with subtle percussion accompaniment – warm and moving instrumental arrangements

A spiritual soundtrack for the days of the holiday, Ushpizin and Simchat Beit HaShoeva

IN CELEBRATION FOR THE MITZVAH OF SIMCHA, FOLLOWING IS A TAPESTRY OF MUSICAL DELIGHTS

חג סוכות שמח

 עם  (Yisrael)

כל הצדיקים

שיר משמח ומקפיץ, תגלית מוזיקה היהודית, והלחן והמילים נולדו לי בסליחות חודש אלול וימים הנוראים

 

דאנס סוכות - אברהם עזר & אליהו לייפער & מאיר בריקמן

A Beautiful Voice

Chaim Freund – A Sukkahle | א סוכה’לע | Official Music Video

 

A small sukkah made of simple, mismatched boards and covered with a bit of schach. The cold wind blows through the cracks and puts the candles out, yet somehow his little lights burn perfectly still. For almost two thousand years that sukkah has kept standing, and we're still waiting for the day Hashem raises up the fallen Sukkah of David. Chaim Freund's rendition of a classic Yiddish Sukkos song, brought to life in a handmade papercut world. Gut Yom Tov & Chag Sameach! 🍋🌿 🎵 Lyrics / Translation א סוכה’לע א קליינע, מיט ברעטעלעך געמיינע A little sukkah, small, of simple boards האב איך מיר א סוכה’לע געמאכט I built myself a little sukkah באדעקט דעם דאך מיט א ביסעלע סכך I covered the roof with a bit of schach זיץ איך מיר אין סוכה’לע ביינאכט And I sit in my little sukkah at night א ווינט א קאלטן בלאזט דורך די שפאלטן A cold wind blows through the cracks עס לעשן זיך די ליכטעלעך פיל Many little candles go out עס איז מיר א חידוש ווי איך מאך מיר קידוש It's a wonder to me, as I make kiddush און די לעכטעלעך זיי ברענען גאנץ שטיל How the little lights burn perfectly still זיי נישט קיין נער, האב נישט קיין צער Don't be foolish, don't be sad זאל דיר די סוכה נישט זיין באנג Don't feel bad about your sukkah עס איז שוין גאר באלד צוויי טויזנט יאר It's already almost two thousand years און די סוכה’לע זי שטייט נאך גאנץ לאנג And the little sukkah is still standing strong אוי הרחמן הוא יקים לנו את סוכת דוד הנופלת May the Merciful One raise up for us the fallen Sukkah of David 🎬 Credits Music & Vocals: Chaim Freund Lyrics: Avrom Reyzen (Abraham Reisen), adapted from his Yiddish poem "In Suke" Melody: Traditional Recording Studio: Number 9 Audio Group Video, Concept, Art Direction & Animation: Lavi Klein

אש קודש! הרבבות בית שמש מקבלים כעת את פני מנהיג הדור מרן הרב לנדו ומרן הרב הירש בכניסתם למעמד האדיר

 

מחרוזת סוכות שמחה 🎶 | ושמחת בחגך • אתה בחרתנו • מפי אל • סוכה ולולב | Keisar Studio

 

מחרוזת סוכות ושמחת תורה | כמנהג יהודי כורדיסטן

 

V'harenu - Shea & Avrumi Berko - Yeshiva of Spring Valley

 

מחרוזת חג סוכות "סוכת שלום" - אומני בית שמש #2

 

סוכות מירושלים - וְשָׂמַחְתָּ בְּחַגֶּךָ: ענקי הזמר המזרחי והחסידי בסוכתו של ראש העיר משה ליאון

 

סוכה ולולב - A Tapestry of Sounds

 

איך אפשר לצוות על האדם להיות שמח? | הגאון הינוקא בהילולת רבי נחמן – דברי תורה, שמחה וניגונים בסוכה

 

שיר לסוכות בזכות האושפיזין בגרסת מיקס

 

💥היושב בסוכה ללא אישור בטיחות לא מקיים מצוות סוכה: האזינו להכרעה הדרמטית ממרן הרב זילברשטיין שליט"א

 

🔥זו מערכה של התורה בעצמה! מנהיג הדור מרן הרב לנדו פותח את מערכת הבחירות הגורלית במעמד האלפים באלעד

 

Rebbetzen Tziporah: Succos

 Dear friends,

As Sukkot approaches, I’ve been thinking about something that struck me in the very first place where the Torah mentions a sukkah.

It is when Yaakov returns home. The Torah tells us that he builds a bayit for himself, but makes sukkot for his animals.

I find that distinction fascinating. Yaakov needs a house for himself – a place that is solid, stable and protective. But the animals get a sukkah.

Animals have an important place in Torah thought. We draw close to Hashem through the animal world; after all, animals are what we bring as korbanot. There is something very deep about taking the animal part of creation and directing it upward.

But there is another side to it. We also have to be careful that the “animal self” doesn’t end up directing us instead of the other way around. Perhaps this is part of what we are thinking about during Sukkot, when the seventy bulls decrease day by day until, at the end, there is only one. We move from the many nations toward the one nation that has its own particular relationship with Hashem.

So perhaps there are two things happening at once: the bayit that Yaakov builds for himself symbolizes strength and protection, while the sukkah reminds us that even the animal part of ourselves can be brought into the relationship with Hashem.

And that made me think about a different question: What actually protects a person?

I’ve been thinking about three foundations: metziut Hashem – Hashem’s presence and reality; Torah; and hashgachah pratis.

They are really three different dimensions of living with Hashem.

First: Metziut – Hashem is really there

The first thing we need is the most basic thing of all: the awareness that Hashem is not an idea. He is there.

That sounds obvious, but perhaps it is the hardest thing to live with consistently.

There are times when Hashem’s presence is easy to feel. There are moments of beauty, of unexpected kindness, of tefillah that suddenly feels real. And then there are other times when the world seems almost designed to make His presence difficult to see.

Water is a wonderful metaphor for this. It has no fixed form. It moves, changes shape and refuses to be held in place.

Sometimes life feels like that. We know what we thought Hashem was going to do, and then He does something completely different. We ask, “Where is He?” Not because we have stopped believing, but because the reality in front of us doesn’t look anything like the reality we expected.

Moshe asked questions. Rabbi Akiva had to confront a world that seemed impossible to understand. The fact that we have questions does not mean that Hashem has disappeared. Perhaps one of the deepest forms of emunah is learning that His presence does not depend on my ability to see what He is doing.

The sukkah itself is an interesting response to this. We leave the house – the place where we feel that we are protected by walls, locks, furniture and all the things we have arranged ourselves – and sit in a structure that is deliberately temporary.

And somehow, that is where we are supposed to feel safe.

Second: Torah – Hashem has something to say to us

But knowing that Hashem exists is not enough.

If Hashem is there, the next question is: What does He want from me?

That is where Torah comes in.

The midbar is almost the opposite of water. Water is everywhere but has no form. The midbar is a place where there seems to be nothing. No civilization, no obvious resources, no comfortable infrastructure.

And yet that is precisely where we received the Torah.

Perhaps one of the challenges of living in the modern world is the feeling that Torah is somehow impossible. We look around and see a society with completely different assumptions about what matters, what is desirable, what constitutes success, and even what it means to be a good person.

Sometimes the question isn’t, “Does Hashem exist?”

It is, “Can I actually live according to what He asks of me?”

The answer of the midbar is that Torah doesn’t depend on the environment being friendly to it.

The Torah was given in a desert.

And perhaps that is why the Torah is not merely a book of information. It is a way of turning the awareness of Hashem into a way of life. It tells us what to do with our hands, our money, our speech, our relationships, our appetites, our anger, our time and our homes.

It takes the belief that Hashem is there and turns it into something concrete.

Third: Hashgachah pratis – and Hashem is there in my particular life

But there is still one more step.

It is possible to believe that Hashem created the world, that He gave us the Torah, and still feel that somehow my little life is just one tiny piece of an enormous machine.

That is where hashgachah pratis comes in.

Yerushalayim and the Beit HaMikdash give us a beautiful picture of this.

Thousands of people could be standing in the same place, looking at the same Mikdash, participating in the same avodah – and yet each person stood there as an individual.

Hashem’s relationship with us is not only with “the Jewish people” in some abstract sense.

It is with me.

My particular life. My particular circumstances. The people I happen to meet. The opportunities that come my way. The disappointments I didn’t plan. The things that open unexpectedly. The things that don’t open no matter how hard I try.

Hashgachah pratis is the belief that my life is not just a collection of unrelated events.

That doesn’t mean that I understand the reason for everything that happens. Quite the opposite. Very often I have absolutely no idea why something happened.

But I don’t have to understand the whole picture in order to believe that there is a picture.

And perhaps this is where the three ideas come together.

Metziut tells me: Hashem is here.

Torah tells me: Hashem has something to say to me.

Hashgachah pratis tells me: What happens in my particular life is not outside the relationship.

Together they create a very different way of seeing the world.

And perhaps that is what bitachon really means. Not that I know that everything will turn out the way I want. Not that I can predict what Hashem is going to do. Rather, I can live with the conviction that I am not alone in the world.

Hashem has given us a world that can be used. Everything that comes toward us can somehow become part of our relationship with Him. We can take what happens to us and, instead of allowing it simply to happen to us, direct it toward Him.

And that may be one of the beautiful lessons of the sukkah.

We leave the solidity of our houses and sit under something temporary and vulnerable. We deliberately put ourselves into a place where we cannot pretend that we are completely in control.

And yet we are not abandoned. 

We are sitting under the schach.

Under the clouds of glory.

Even the animal self has a place there.

Maybe that is why Sukkot feels so different from the other Yamim Tovim. There is something wonderfully physical about it. We don’t just think about bitachon. We sit in it. We eat in it. We talk in it. We invite people into it. We sleep in it.

For seven days, we make our temporary shelter into our home.

And perhaps Yaakov’s two structures capture something we all need.

We need a bayit – a place of strength, stability and protection.

But we also need a sukkah – a place that reminds us that ultimately our security does not come from the walls we have built.

Maybe real security is not knowing exactly what is going to happen.

Maybe it is knowing Who is with us while it happens.

Anyway, these are some of the thoughts that have been wandering around my head as Sukkot gets closer.

And now I’d love to hear from you.

What does your sukkah look like this year? Is it the same one you’ve had for years, or did something change? Is it beautifully decorated, completely simple, or somewhere in between? Is there one thing in it that somehow makes it unmistakably your sukkah?

And when you sit there – especially in those quieter moments when everyone has finally stopped talking – what do you find yourself thinking about?

Wishing all of you a beautiful, peaceful and very happy Sukkot.

May we all have the privilege of sitting in our sukkot with the people we love, enjoying the extraordinary mitzvah of simply being there – and feeling, at least for a little while, that we are sitting under Hashem’s protection.

Much love,

Tziporah

And for Sukkot Simcha Sweetness……

 For your reading pleasure from myrtlerising:

What the Discontinuation of Sunkist Fruit Gems  Probably Implies I'm not a big candy freak, but I did ENJOY these as they were very FLAVORFUL  and easy to chew. Not so fond of crunchy shugary junk.

https://myrtlerising.weebly.com/blog/what-the-discontinuation-of-sunkist-fruit-gems-probably-implies>

הרב יעקב בן יצחק זצ"ל

 

Yaakov Ovinu zt"l

הרב יעקב בן יצחק זצ"ל

Tishrei 15 , 2256

Father's Name: Yitzchok Ovinu

(ca. 1655 – B.C.E. – ca. 1505 B.C.E.) Known as the "chosen one" of the "Avos," the "Founding Fathers" of the Jewish People, son of Yitzchak father of the Twelve Tribes.  He was the third Avos of the Jewish People.
Yaakov Avinu is described in the Torah as “a wholesome man who sat in the tents,” meaning that he learned Torah in the Academy of Shem and Ever. When he was 15, he bought the right of the first born from his twin brother Esav and later succeeded in receiving the blessing from his father Yitzchak. His brother wanted to kill him because of that and he fled to Charan where he married the daughters of his uncle Lavan – Rachel and Leah. He also had two concubines, Zilpah (Leah's handmaiden) and Bilhah (Rachel's handmaiden).
He was in Charan for 20 years and fathered the 12 Shevatim and a daughter, Dina. Due to a famine in the Land of Canaan, he and his family, numbering 70 souls, went down to Mitzrayim, where he passed away. He asked his son Yosef, the Viceroy of Egypt, to bury him in Meoras Hamachpeila in Chevron next to his wife Leah.

https://breslev.com/259087/

19 Powerful Kavanos for the Mitzvos of Sukkos

 

New York Jewish Communities ……..

Being stubborn and unknowledgable about coming Home to Eretz Yisrael is alarming! Time to rethink what HKB”H wants from you!

הגעגוע בוער: ימים הנוראים וחג הסוכות במחיצת המנהיג מרן הגר"ח קניבסקי זצוק''ל - צפו בתיעוד נורא הוד

 

SHOCKING: Zechariah 12 Points DIRECTLY to What Happened at the UN

 

12 Singers in One Sukkah! 🍋 | "Sukat Shalom" The Ultimate Sukkot & Simchat Beit HaShoeva Medley! 🌿🔥

 

Eliezer Meir Saidel: Star Wars – Sukkot

הַשִּׁעוּר מֻקְדָּשׁ לִרְפוּאַת שִׂמְּעוֹנָה בַּת שָׂרָה

כִּי יִצְפְּנֵנִי בְּסֻכֹּה בְּיוֹם רָעָה יַסְתִּרֵנִי בְּסֵתֶר אׇהֳלוֹ בְּצוּר יְרוֹמְמֵנִי. (תהילים כז, ה)

Last week I read a news item about the USA developing new space weaponry against Russia and China "The US has confirmed it deployed a space weapon in Earth's orbit, the first time it has acknowledged such offensive capabilities … China responded … warning against an 'arms race' in space." (BBC, 15 Sep 2026).   

This sparked many TV interviews with "experts" in space warfare, one of whom explained that there are three main "arenas" of space warfare. A. Space-to-Space, i.e. one satellite attacking another satellite orbiting the earth – either by firing missiles/lasers at it or using a cyber-attack, B. Space-to-Earth, i.e. satellites launching missiles/lasers from space at targets on earth, or C. Earth-to-Space, i.e. launching missiles/lasers or cyber-attacks from earth against satellites in orbit.  

If a country faces the threat of being hit by a missile or laser from outer space (or from anywhere else), they will certainly develop contingency plans to protect themselves, or at least their leaders and "top brass". They will build nuclear proof bunkers buried deep in the earth, like those in Pickaxe Mountain in Iran. They certainly will not protect themselves by building a…  Sukkah!

In our passuk above in Tehillim (from לְדָוִד ה' אוֹרִי, that Ashkenazim say from Rosh Chodesh Elul until Hoshana Raba, and some Sefardim say year-round) David HaMelech says that HKB"H is protecting him in His Sukkah. The Mefarshim on this passuk - שֶׁלֹּא תַּשִּׂיגֵנִי יָד אוֹיְבַי (רד"ק), and בְּיוֹם בּוֹא הָאוֹיֵב הִסְתִּירַנִי בְּסוּכָּתוֹ וְלֹא יָכְלוּ לִי (מצודות דוד).  

In other words, the place that David HaMelech feels most protected from his enemies, is in a Sukkah. Not in a cave 100m underground in the hills of Judea, or in a Jebusite fortress, מְצוּדַת צִיּוֹן (which subsequently became עִיר דָּוִד), with its thick walls and fortifications. David HaMelech prefers a flimsy, ramshackle, temporary structure, that the wind can blow away.

First of all, we need to understand which enemies David HaMelech is referring to – physical enemies (פְּלִשְׁתִּים, מוֹאֲבִים, שָׁאוּל, וכו'), or spiritual enemies.

From the pshat, it could be either. 

Two psukkim prior it says בִּקְרֹב עָלַי מְרֵעִים לֶאֱכֹל אֶת בְּשָׂרִי צָרַי וְאֹיְבַי לִי הֵמָּה כָשְׁלוּ וְנָפָלוּ. אִם תַּחֲנֶה עָלַי מַחֲנֶה לֹא יִירָא לִבִּי אִם תָּקוּם עָלַי מִלְחָמָה בְּזֹאת אֲנִי בוֹטֵחַ. This seems to be referring to physical enemies, in a war setting. 

However, the Ibn Ezra says that the "Sukkah" in question is actually referring to the Beit HaMikdash in Yerushalayim, בְּסֻכֹּה – הוּא יְרוּשָׁלַיִם, כְּמוֹ "וַיְהִי בְּשָׁלֵם סֻכֹּה" (תהילים עו, ג). In other words, it is a spiritual protection, in the place where HKB"H's Shechinah resides. In fact, the passuk preceding our passuk above is אַחַת שָׁאַלְתִּי מֵאֵת ה' אוֹתָהּ אֲבַקֵּשׁ שִׁבְתִּי בְּבֵית ה' כׇּל יְמֵי חַיַּי לַחֲזוֹת בְּנֹעַם ה' וּלְבַקֵּר בְּהֵיכָלוֹ. 

Rashi brings an interesting twist to the Beit HaMikdash association from Seder Olam, that it is specifically referring to the historical case of one of David's descendants יוֹאָש בֶּן אֲחַזְיָה (the father of יָרָבְעָם from last week's shiur on Yonah) who sought refuge in the "attic" of the Kodesh HaKodashim from queen of Yehudah עֲתַלְיָה, the daughter of אַחְאָב, who wanted to wipe out Malchut Yisrael.

The Midrash Tehillim (כז, ה) also brings that this is talking about spiritualprotection כִּי יִצְפְּנֵנִי בְּסֻכֹּה בַּיּוֹם רָעָה – בַּיּוֹם רָעָתָהּ שֶׁל בַּת שֶׁבַע, from David's sin with Bat Sheva.

In this shiur I would like to explore an interesting theme, how the various components, dimensions and layout of the Sukkah symbolize protection against both types of enemies, physical and spiritual.  

Let's start with a nice gematria, the word סֻכָּה in gematria is בִּיטָּחוֹן and also אֵפֹד(as in אֵפֹד מָגֵן).

We have two main components of the Sukkah, the walls, דְּפָנוֹת, and the סְכָךְ. The דְּפָנוֹת symbolize protection from the surrounding, lateral directions - against physical enemies, while the סְכָךְ on top, protects from spiritual enemies above.

A halachically acceptable Sukkah requires at least three - or more accurately - two and a tefach (plus a bit) walls. This leaves ample space open as a kind of an "escape hatch". If you are surrounded by four walls with only one entrance/exit, you are trapped. Rachmana litzlan, this is what happened on October 7^th in many of the secure rooms in the kibbutzim in עוֹטֵף עַזָּה where many met their deaths. 

The configuration of "two and a bit" דְּפָנוֹת resembles the letter ה, which has two openings, one below and one on the side. This is a kind of an "escape hatch" from spiritual enemies. If our main enemy – the yetzer hara - causes us to sin, we fall into the abyss down the lower opening. However, if we do teshuva, we have another opening to return, from the side so that we are sitting on top of the 3^rd "partial wall" which resembles a letter yud י (symbolizing Olam HaBah).

The third partial wall also symbolizes our effort in combating our yetzer hara. HKB"H does not require our effort to resemble a "full wall", we do our hishtadlut, however incomplete it may be and HKB"H is מַשְׁלִים, as if it constitutes a full wall. 

The walls of a Sukkah cannot be higher than 20 amot and lower than 10 tefachim. Why specifically those dimensions? 

The Gemara (סוכה ב, ע"א) says that higher than 20 amot - לָא שֶׁלָּטָא בָּהּ עֵינָא, it is so high, that it is already outside our "consciousness". We don't perceive that to be a "roof over our heads". On average, most domestic dwellings have a roof that is between 2.5 - 3m above the floor. 20 amot is about 10m. Imagine building a home with a roof 10m above the floor - it would be like living in Grand Central Station, it doesn't "psychologically" give the feeling of protection from above. Above 20m is also a kind of יוֹהֲרָה, an arrogance, as if we are "competing" with HKB"H, like in Migdal Bavel.

10 tefachim is about 80cm. That is approximately from the ground to our waist. The lower part of our bodies is considered טָמֵא while the upper part is considered קָדוֹשׁ. This is why the Kohen in the Mikdash wears an אַבְנֵט, a belt to separate the upper body from the lower body, and why many Chassidim wear a "gartel" in shul for the same reason. The part of our body which should primarily be in our consciousness is the קָדוֹשׁ part, above 10 tefachim. 

In other words, the acceptable halachic height of the Sukkah reflects the space around us which is "in our consciousness". A sense of protection only exists when we are conscious of it, when we feel protected.

The floor space in the Sukkah must be at least seven tefachim by seven tefachim - 56cmX56cm (שו"ע או"ח תרלד, א), according to the Gemara (סוכה ג, ע"א) so that a person's head may fit in, most of his body and his table - שֶׁתְּהֵא מַחְזֶקֶת רֹאשׁוֹ וְרוּבּוֹ וְשׁוּלְחָנוֹ. 

As we said above the (spiritually) important parts of the body are the upper half and the head. There has to be enough space in the Sukkah to accommodate those and … the person's table, which is likened to a Mizbeach -ר' יוֹחָנָן ור' אֶלְעָזָר דְּאָמְרִי תַּרְוַיְיהוּ בִּזְמַן שֶׁבֵּית הַמִּקְדָּשׁ קַיָּים מִזְבֵּחַ מְכַפֵּר עַל אָדָם וְעַכְשָׁיו שֶׁאֵין בֵּית הַמִּקְדָּשׁ קַיָּים שׁוּלְחָנוֹ שֶׁל אָדָם מְכַפֵּר עָלָיו (מנחות צז, ע"א. Entering a Sukkah and meriting HKB"H's protection requires a certain mindset – placing the emphasis on the part of us that is pure and קָדוֹשׁ and in being prepared to "sacrifice" fleeting worldly pleasures. The number seven is indicative of the seven days of Sukkot, the seven Ushpizin and the שִׁבְעָה רְקִיעִים. Therefore, the floorspace in the Sukkah is a multidimensional structure both down here and also one which stretches up through the seven layers of Heaven to the כִּסֵּא הַכָּבוֹד.

The Rema (שו"ע או"ח תרל, א) says that one should not make walls for the Sukkah that have a bad smell. When someone builds a house to protect them from the physical elements, or a weapons system to defend them from enemies – they should not have a "bad smell", they should be acquired honestly and devoid of any "hanky panky" or corruption. 

One of the walls of your Sukkah can be - your friend! (שו"ע או"ח תרל, א).  The Mechaber adds that on Yomtov (the first day) the only condition that your friend can act as one of the walls of your Sukkah, is if he doesn't know he is the "wall". During Chol HaMoed though, even if he knows that he is acting as a wall, it is OK. This teaches us that sometimes our best protection from physical harm can be – a friend, as Shlomo HaMelech said טוֹבִים הַשְּׁנַיִם מִן הָאֶחָד (קהלת ד, ט).

Let's move on to the סְכָךְ.

The halachic requirement for סְכָךְ is that it must be גִידוּלֵי קַרְקַע תלוּשִׁים שֶׁאֵינָם מְקַבְּלִים טֻמְאָה. It must be something living that grew from the ground, but is no longer attached to the ground and is not crafted into some form of vessel that can become טָמֵא. One would think that you could obtain better protection from above by covering the Sukkah with a hard substance like metal, which is also "natural" and found in the ground. How about a reinforced steel roof? That might be effective against physical enemies, however the protection from above is against - spiritual enemies, so reinforced steel is not going to work. 

One of the strongest weapons in the yetzer hara's arsenal is the concept of כֹּחִי וְעֹצֶם יָדִי עָשָׂה לִי אֶת הַחַיִל הַזֶּה (דברים ח, יז). A person might think "It is all me! I planted that vineyard from seeds, I pruned it, I irrigated it, I harvested the grapes, I created the cabernet sauvignon wine that won an international prize." 

On top of a Sukkah, HKB"H wants the covering to be from things that grow from the ground, but are not connected to the ground, instead, their direct connection is toHeaven. Nothing may separate the סְכָךְ from the sky (שו"ע או"ח תרכו). The סְכָךְ must be directly "connected" to HKB"H. Therefore, if someone builds a Sukkah on top of another Sukkah (like a double story Sukkah) – only the topmost Sukkah is Kosher.

The profound lesson of the סְכָךְ is that - things don't "grow" from the ground. We mistakenly perceive that things grow from the ground – i.e. that the ground is responsible for this wine, or that we are responsible. In truth everything "grows" from HKB"H above, not from us below. This is the true orientation of all creation, it ALL comes from Above, not the other way round. It must not be a wooden vessel we crafted, but the raw, unaltered wood, to minimize our involvement in it as much as possible. This understanding and acknowledgement of Who runs things - is one of the most powerful protections against the yetzer hara.

 Wow! What does that say for Donald Trump's "Star Wars" program? What does that say for our own Kipat Barzel and Chetz missile systems? The only true protection is recognizing Who is really providing the protection – HKB"H. This is not to say that we should not do our hishtadlut and build such weapons systems, but chas vechalila we should ever mistakenly believe it is they that are protecting us from our enemies. Only HKB"H protects us from our enemies, we make the effort (build the "partial third wall") and HKB"H is מַשְׁלִים. 

Have you ever wondered why so many ex-IDF generals are radical left-wingers, fighting with all their being to make peace with the Arabs, as the "only" solution to the Middle East conflict? It is because only they have the classified, insider knowledge and truly understand the fallibility of their weapons systems, how inherently flawed they truly are. They have no belief in HKB"H whatsoever, all they have is flawed weapons systems as their last line of defense. Their inescapable conclusion is – you can never win. The only resort is to make peace. Same with Trump. Why do you think he repeatedly prefers to negotiate with Iran instead of defeating them? Because he lacks faith in G-d and the righteousness of his cause. All he knows is what his generals and advisors tell him about their fallible military options. They are not lying to him – all human-made weapons are fallible. 

The סְכָךְ has to have more צֵל, shade than חַמָּה, sun. 

The word צֵל reflects HKB"H's protection. A few examples, בְּצֵל שַׁ-דַּ-י יִתְלוֹנָן (תהילים צא, א), ה' צִלְּךָ עַל יַד יְמִינֶךָ (תהילים קכא, ה), בְּצֵל כְּנָפֶיךָ תַּסְתִּירֵנִי (תהילים יז, ח), etc. We would much prefer being under HKB"H's protection than have him angry against us and casting us out, reflected by the word חֵמָה. Some examples. כִּי יָגֹרְתִּי מִפְּנֵי הָאַף וְהַחֵמָה אֲשֶׁר קָצַף ה' וכו' (דברים ט, יט), שְׁפֹךְ חֲמָתְךָ עַל הַגּוֹיִם (ירמיהו י, כה), ה' אַל בְּאַפְּךָ תוֹכִיחֵנִי, וּבַחֲמָתְךָ תְיַסְּרֵנִי (תהילים ו, ב), etc. 

However, סְכָךְ cannot be so dense that it hermetically seals from above – some sunlight must pass through and at night it must be possible to see the larger stars (שו"ע או"ח תרלא, ג). In order for HKB"H to protect us, we need to leave space open (in ourselves), as it says פִּתְחוּ לִי פֶּתַח אֶחָד שֶׁל תְּשׁוּבָה, כְּחוּדָה שֶׁל מַחַט, וַאֲנִי פּוֹתֵחַ לָכֶם פְּתָחִים שֶׁיִּהְיוּ עֲגָלוֹת וּקרֹנִיּוֹת נִכְנָסוֹת בּוֹ (שיר השירים רבה ה, ב).

Let us now talk about the Sukkah as a whole. 

The Mishna (סוכה ב, ג) brings four examples of "interesting places" to build a Sukkah – on the deck of a ship (סְפִינָה), on the back of a camel (גָּמָל), on top of a tree (אִילָן) and on top of a wagon (עֲגָלָה). The question is why the Mishna brought thosespecific four examples and not, say, on top of a donkey, on top of a pole, on top of a whale, or on top of a bush?

The answer לע"ד is because these four examples are referring to the four Avot. 

Avraham is the "captain" of the סְפִינָה. When Avraham died, all the kings of the world gave a hesped וְאָמַר רַב חָנָן בַּר רָבָא אָמַר רַב: אוֹתוֹ הַיּוֹם שֶׁנִּפְטַר אַבְרָהָם אָבִינוּ מִן הָעוֹלָם, עָמְדוּ כָּל גְּדוֹלֵי אוּמּוֹת הָעוֹלָם בְּשׁוּרָה וְאָמְרוּ: אוֹי לוֹ לָעוֹלָם שֶׁאָבַד מַנְהִיגוֹ, וְאוֹי לָהּ לַסְּפִינָה שֶׁאָבַד קַבְרִינְטָא (בבא בתרא צא, ע"א).

Yitzchak is the גָּמָל. Numerous psukkim associate the גָּמָל with Yitzchak.  בְּיוֹם הִגָּמֵל אֶת יִצְחָק (בראשית כא, ח), וַיֵּצֵא יִצְחָק לָשׂוּחַ בַּשָּׂדֶה לִפְנוֹת עָרֶב וַיִּשָּׂא עֵינָיו וַיַּרְא וְהִנֵּה גְמַלִּים בָּאִים (בראשית כד, סג), וַתִּשָּׂא רִבְקָה אֶת עֵינֶיהָ וַתֵּרֶא אֶת יִצְחָק וַתִּפֹּל מֵעַל הַגָּמָל (שם סד).

Yaakov is the אִילָן, the tree that stretches from the earth to the sky, like in the dream of the Sulam וַיַּחֲלֹם וְהִנֵּה סֻלָּם מֻצָּב אַרְצָה וְרֹאשׁוֹ מַגִּיעַ הַשָּׁמָיְמָה (בראשית כח, יב). Yaakov also used branches from different trees to multiply his sheep while he was staying with Lavan וַיִּקַּח לוֹ יַעֲקֹב מַקַּל לִבְנֶה לַח וְלוּז וְעַרְמוֹן (בראשית ל, לז).

Yosef (who is considered one of the Avot, which is why his sons Ephraim and Menashe are Shevatim) is the עֲגָלָה. After Yosef reconciled with his brothers, he sent gifts back with them for Yaakov on … wagons וַיַּרְא אֶת הָעֲגָלוֹת אֲשֶׁר שָׁלַח יוֹסֵף (בראשית מה, כז). The last Gemara Yosef was studying with Yaakov before he was sold into slavery in Egypt was עֶגְלָה עֲרוּפָה (בראשית רבה צד, ג).

There are two connections between a Sukkah and the Avot. 

The first is that Am Yisrael is protected because of זְכוּת אָבוֹת. We repeatedly play the Avot "trump card" (not the "Trump" card) when we ask HKB"H to forgive our sins and redeem us, not because we are worthy, but because He promised our Forefathers. 

The second reason is that the tents of the Avot resembled a Beit Mikdash. As the Ramban, in his introduction to sefer Shmot says - the candle that never went out, the blessing in the dough and the cloud that hovered perpetually over the tent, were later duplicated by the Menorah, Shulchan and Ohel Moed in the Mishkan. As we said above, another name for the Beit Mikdash is a Sukkah וַיְהִי בְּשָׁלֵם סֻכֹּה (תהילים עו, ג).

OK, based on the above hypothesis, the Sukkah is a kind of "safe room" where we merit HKB"H's protection from physical and spiritual enemies. However, does this Sukkah protect anyone who is in it? 

The answer is that it only protects those who are worthy, those who are sin-free. This is why Sukkot follows immediately after Yom Kippur. On Yom Kippur we are forgiven for all our sins so that we can sit in the Sukkah sin-free. 

Instead of studying electro-optics, electronics, steel reinforced bunker technology, those designing defense systems for Am Yisrael should be studying the Sukkah and learning its secrets. The Sukkah has more to teach us about real protection than Trump's "Star Wars" program. 

When we enter the Sukkah, it should be with the awe and reverence of entering a Beit Mikdash. Our behavior in the Sukkah should reflect this, how we speak, how we conduct ourselves, how we treat each other, how we spend our time.

We have learned the lessons of October 7. We have learned that it is no longer sufficient to rely on technology and כֹּחִי וְעֹצֶם יָדִי, safe rooms in our houses, missile defense systems, hi-tech barriers and surveillance systems between us and Gaza. We now understand that in order to be safe, we need to model our security around that of a Sukkah, addressing vital areas that technology does not, like the connection between unity and national resilience, like the connection between spiritual values/heritage and national resilience.

Sukkot is the time to reconnect with these fundamentals and "recharge our batteries" for the upcoming year and ensure that it will be a blessed year for us individually and for all of Am Yisrael and the world.

Chag Sameach 

Eliezer Meir Saidel

Machon Lechem Hapanim

www.machonlechemhapanim.org