Sukkot—The Narrow Bridge
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman
October 18, 2019
The Hassidic master Rabbi Nachman of Breslau taught: The entire world is but a narrow bridge, and the most important thing is not to be afraid.
But bridges have always been sources of anxiety. Will they hold? Or will we—God forbid!—plunge into the swirling waters and void beneath? We pay tolls to those who will ferry us across, or taxes to the state—which, hopefully, has inspected the bridge and found it sound and travel-worthy.
Bridges are awe inspiring, great architectural and engineering feats. Functional and beautiful at once, even from a distance they can take our breath away.
Some bridges are almost impossible to cross: Take those glass bottom bridges in China. Though many tourists brave them, some find themselves overtaken with terror and fall to their knees, unable to take another step forward or back.
Bridges can be fun tourist attractions. Some, like the Brooklyn Bridge and the Golden Gate Bridge, even become subject of myth and lore.
Bridges can be symbolic, representing journeys and even existence itself. That is what Rabbi Nachman refers to in his wise teaching: Bridges as a symbol for life, spanning over the null and void, a passage from one point in existence to another.
In yet another metaphor, one used so often that it has become cliché, we have come to think of life itself as a journey. A case in point is the Israelites’ forty years of wandering in the Wilderness of Sinai. Some might think of the Exodus as the birth of the Jewish Nation, but it really isn’t. The parting of the Red Sea, for all the imagery it represents, is not a birth, but rather a re-birth. The Sea closes behind us, but unlike newborn babies, the freed slaves carry their memories and traditions with them: As they depart Egypt, the Israelites remember to carry with them the remains of Joseph, Jacob’s son, in fulfillment of the oath Joseph made his brothers take at his deathbed, not to leave him behind when God redeems them from bondage. The stories of the past, along with the promise of future Redemption, are what sustained the Israelites during the 400 years of slavery in Egypt. That is the cultural heritage they took with them.
That promise, that oath, that heritage, accompanied us throughout our history. It’s a promise we made to ourselves, to our ancestors as well as to our children.
Our journeys were never carefree. Though there were times when, protected by a local governor, duke or king, we lived comfortably and in relative security, yet at various times throughout our history—and no less so today than ever before—we woke up to see hateful messages or symbols, reminding us of our painful history.
Somehow, however, despite the many times when our lives and very existence as a people were threatened (and how close to extinction have we come these many times!), we are still here today. Obstinately, we refuse to disappear. Even when, at times, we stray, still we return to our roots, certain within our heart of hearts, that we are walking on a narrow bridge—yet not without oversight from above.
The holiday of Sukkot embodies this journey. Timed precisely for that time of year when fall makes its presence felt, the Sukkah—that flimsy hut that offers shade from the sun but no protection from rain or snow, that is open to the breezes but tumbles without warning at an expected gust—reminds us of the fragility and uncertainty of life. Our physical journey through the days or years allotted to us out of God’s eternal time is punctuated by the seasons and the holidays. Sukkot is the festival that, more than any other, symbolizes our spiritual journey, from darkness to light, from slavery to freedom, from fear to faith.
Sukkot is like that narrow bridge that Rabbi Nachman spoke of. Offering us barely enough space for comfort, promising no certain security, it’s all about transitions, those phases in our life that are most tenuous and fragile.
And this festival also reminds us of God’s presence in our lives.
In the Torah, Sukkot represents the midpoint between two other major holy days: Passover, a reminder of the Exodus and the beginning of our journey, and Shavuot, which celebrates the giving of the Torah to the Israelites. Sukkot is there to recall the path leading from the one to the other. It helps us remember not to be afraid, to rely on God’s protection. What the s’chach—the thatched, leafy roof that barely gives us shade from the beating sun—can’t do, God can and does for us.
Fear is a legitimate emotion. It’s an invisible but real line that we dare not cross. It protects us from harm and danger—a good thing to know and have as part of our human makeup.
But then, so is Faith. How much safer we feel when a strong, guiding hand holds our frail one! Trust strengthens our resolve; it gives us courage.
Our reliance on God as we traverse time and space, from Egypt to the heights of Sinai and beyond, has sustained us throughout our existence.
And what do we owe in return? How do we say thanks to God?
By celebrating the gift of life itself. By decorating the moment and surrounding ourselves with samples of life’s beauty and bounty. By eating festive meals surrounded by family and friends. By remembering our traditions and inviting even our most ancient ancestors—Ushpizin—to sit with us and accompany us along our journey.
Fear can be a debilitating emotion. But it can be overcome with joy and faith. And that’s what the festival of Sukkot has to teach us. The world may be a scary place; but as a community of faith, we don’t need to be afraid. God is holding our hand as we cross this bridge.
Mo’adim l’simcha! Happy Sukkot!
© 2019 by Boaz Heilman
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