Well, yes. That is indeed the point. When I arrived in Great Neck five years ago, I was so pleased to find that so many members of Temple Israel build their own sukkot. I am not aware of a single member of our community, however, who actually moves out of the house and into the sukkah for seven days. (And that includes your humble rabbinic correspondent and his family.)
And the reason, of course, is not just to recall the forty years of desert wandering. If that were the case, would sukkah-dwelling be required? After all, we recall the nighttime Exodus from Egypt over dinner during Pesah; no need to actually vacate the premises or part the waters of the neighbors’ swimming pool. No, the reason is much deeper. It is to remind us that cushioned accommodations are temporary, and that our comfortable lives can be quickly turned upside-down, so we should not take our shelter for granted.
When I first wrote these remarks, a few hours after the end of Rosh Hashanah, my home sat entirely dark except for a few candles. Our electricity went out late in the afternoon on the second day of 5773, and seven hours later I was fortunate to have a laptop with juice (although lamentably no wi-fi). The tornado watch had already passed, but I heard from my wind-up radio that there were over 5,000 homes on Long Island without power. I continued to hear the sirens of emergency vehicles going by on Old Mill Road, and I prayed that nobody was in danger. I was also hoping that the power would come back on before all the food in my refrigerator spoiled; unfortunately, some Rosh Hashanah leftovers had to be tossed.
But this brings me back to an even greater reason to live in sukkot for a week. This is the second time this summer, and the latest in a handful of weather events of the past few years that included tornado conditions in our region, something that never used to happen in the New York area. It is (admittedly anecdotal) evidence that our climate is changing, that the so-called “greenhouse gases” that we all produce are affecting weather patterns all over the world.
The average American, through our energy and food consumption habits, produces nearly 20 tons of carbon dioxide per year. That is twice the rate of that produced by the Japanese and the Europeans, and four to ten times what average Chinese, Brazilians, and Indians produce. Sukkot is a reminder that (a) we can live without some of our energy-intensive creature comforts; and (b) that someday we may have no choice, because continued consumption at our current rate is not sustainable.
OK, so I won't be moving out into the sukkah this year. But as bigger issues have pushed the environment off the political agenda this election season, I welcome this festival’s gentle reminder that our climate is changing, and that it is not yet too late to solve this problem. We may not need to live in simple huts just yet, but if the idea of living with less might help us prevent tornados in major urban centers, that is surely a Sukkot message that we all need to hear.
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