Rabbi Zechariah Wallerstein zt”l

The Four Horses

There was once a man who owned a magnificent carriage, and set out to find the finest horses to pull it. He traveled far and wide, first traveling to Arabia and purchasing a stunning Arabian horse for $100,000. Then, he ventured to Kentucky and bought a prized thoroughbred for another $100,000. Next, he visited Italy and secured an Italian steed for $100,000. Lastly, he wound up in Spain, where he bought a superb Spanish horse for the same amount. In total, he spent $400,000 on four of the most exquisite white horses he could find.

Proud of his magnificent team, he hitched them to his carriage and set off on a journey. As he rode through the forest, they suddenly hit a bump, and the carriage plunged into a deep pit of mud. His beautiful horses struggled, but none could pull the carriage free. Desperate, the man whipped the Arabian horse. It tried to move, but the carriage remained stuck. He whipped the Kentucky horse, but again, nothing happened. Each horse was whipped, yet the carriage stayed trapped.

At that moment, a farmer appeared, riding a broken-down wagon pulled by four donkeys. Seeing the man’s predicament, the farmer offered some advice. “Sir,” he said, “whipping those horses won’t work. They’ll never get you out of the mud. But my donkeys can pull you out in no time.”

The rich man was incredulous. “Are you serious? You think your four donkeys, worth maybe $200, can do what my $400,000 horses can’t?”

The farmer nodded. “Unhitch your horses and let me show you.”

With no other choice, the rich man unharnessed his valuable horses and hitched the farmer’s four donkeys to his carriage. To his amazement, as soon as the farmer raised his whip, the donkeys surged forward in unison, pulling the carriage out of the mud with ease. The rich man was astonished. “How did you do that? My horses couldn’t move it, but your donkeys did.”

The farmer explained. “Your horses came from different places—one from Arabia, one from Kentucky, one from Italy, one from Spain. They don’t know each other, and they don’t care about one another. When you whip the Arabian horse, it tries to pull, but the others don’t bother to help. They think, ‘That’s not my problem.’ But my donkeys? They were born and raised together in the same barn. They’ve been pulling my wagon since they were foals. They eat together, walk together, and work together. When I lift my whip, they don’t wait for me to strike. The other three are so close to each other that they won’t allow the first one to suffer. They pull together to spare each other pain.”

This story, though a simple mashal (parable), carries a profound message. When the Jewish people feel each other’s pain, we can overcome anything. When Hashem lifts the metaphorical whip to bring suffering upon one person, if all Jews felt the pain of that individual, we could prevent the suffering from happening altogether. We could lift each other out of the mud of galus (exile) and be redeemed.

The problem is that we can sometimes act like the rich man’s horses—each coming from a different place, each focused on our own life. One Jew lives in one country, another in another country, one belongs to this shul, another to that one. We don’t feel the pain of those suffering in other communities. When Jews in one city face hardship, it doesn’t always resonate with those elsewhere. As a result, when we face challenges like assimilation, or when Jewish communities around the world struggle, we remain stuck.

But the truth is, we all share the same history. We came out of Mitzrayim (Egypt) together. We survived the Holocaust together. We suffered the destruction of the Beis HaMikdash together. We were born in the same "barn" and have been pulling through this exile together. If we could feel the pain of another Jew, like the farmer’s donkeys, we could prevent the suffering and, together, pull ourselves out of galus.

So let’s do it.

Rabbi Yehuda Zev Klein

The Secret to Joy

Each holiday has its own unique theme and message. So, what is the central theme of Sukkos? One could argue that it lies in the abundance of mitzvos. When you consider it, no other Yom Tov is as packed with mitzvos as Sukkos. We are commanded to build a Sukkah and dwell in it for seven days, take the Four Species (Arba Minim), celebrate the Simchas Beis HaShoeva, perform the taking of the Aravah, and observe Hoshanah Rabbah.

Yet, there is one overarching theme that weaves through all of Sukkos, and that is the mitzvah of simcha—joy. We are instructed to be joyous on every holiday, but Sukkos is specifically called, “Zman Sim’chaseinu—The season of our joy.” The Torah states that we are obligated to rejoice. But this raises a question: how can one be commanded to be happy? Joy is an emotion, not a choice. Either someone feels happiness naturally, or they don't.

To shed light on this, let me share a profound insight from the Or HaChaim HaKadosh.

Where do we see the Torah explicitly command someone to be happy? In the mitzvah of Bikurim (the first fruits), the Pasuk says that the farmer bringing his first fruits to the Beis Hamikdash must rejoice in all that Hashem has given him. But, again, how can a person be commanded to feel joy? What if he had a poor harvest, or simply isn’t predisposed to happiness? After all, even wealthy and successful individuals often struggle to find joy.

The Or HaChaim addresses this. On the verse, "You shall rejoice in all the good," he reveals the key to happiness: the ultimate "good" (tov) is the study and toil in Torah. True happiness comes not from external possessions or successes, but from immersing oneself in Torah. As the Or HaChaim writes, if people truly understood the value of Torah, they would chase after it with incredible passion, far surpassing any desire for material wealth. All the pleasures of the world would pale in comparison to the joy derived from Torah study.

But what if someone says, "I’ve tried learning Torah, and it didn’t bring me joy"? Rabbi Tzaddok offers a profound answer. He compares Torah learning to any worthwhile endeavor—it doesn’t always provide immediate gratification. Just as one may plant seeds today without seeing the fruit right away, so too is Torah learning. The sweetness of Torah may not be felt immediately, but if one persists in studying day after day, eventually they will realize that nothing compares to its joy.

Torah learning may feel like hard work at first, but it’s an investment in future happiness. A person may not feel pleasure from it now, but by keeping the long-term benefits in mind, one can find satisfaction even in the present. In the end, there is no greater source of joy than Torah.

There’s a story told about a very wealthy man who visited Rav Chaim Kanievsky zt”l. He proudly described the enormous mansion he built in Brooklyn, boasting about its four floors, penthouse, and 28 rooms. Rav Chaim listened, but he seemed unimpressed. After a while, Rav Chaim simply asked, "How do you check such a big house for chametz?" The man’s $20 million mansion meant nothing to Rav Chaim. His focus was entirely on the Torah commandment of Bedikas Chametz—searching for leavened bread before Pesach. Rav Chaim embodied the essence of true happiness, living fully in the world of Torah.

And that is the secret to happiness.

Rabbi Dovid Goldwasser

The Blackened Esrog

The Torah instructs us to take the Lulav along with the Erog, the Hadassim, and the Aravos, binding them together in celebration before Hashem. The Zera Shimshon asks a significant question: What is the deeper message behind the Arba Minim (the Four Species)? What do they allude to, and what can they teach us in our avodas Hashem (service to God)?

He explains that the Esrog symbolizes the person on the first day of the year, the first day after the cheshbon ha'vanos (accounting of sins) during Yom Kippur, when we are pure and cleansed. It represents the ideal state we should strive for—a person who is adam ha'shalem, complete and righteous in all their actions, not only for the present day but for the entire year. A person should remain unwavering on the path of righteousness (derech ha'yosher), just as the Esrog remains on the tree from year to year, unblemished, with no discoloration or imperfections.

The Esrog, being perfect, is what we use in our avodas Hashem. Similarly, after Yom Kippur, we should aspire to maintain the elevated spiritual level we have reached. Our thought, speech, and action should all be dedicated to Hashem. The Esrog, which is often compared to the heart, reminds us to offer our hearts entirely to Hashem.

Even if the Esrog has a few small marks or spots, it still remains kosher, and one can fulfill the mitzvah of ul'kachtem lochem (taking the Four Species) from the Torah with it. In the same way, even if a person has committed some minor sins or failed in certain areas, they are still one hundred percent worthy and capable of achieving great spiritual heights in both this world and the next.

I recall an incident from several years ago during the first day of Sukkot Simchat. An elderly man, who had recently come from the former Soviet Union, was davening beside me. When I took out the Lulav and Esrog, he stared at the Esrog for a long time and then began to cry. I gently asked him why he was so emotional.

He explained in Yiddish. "I have never seen such a beautiful etrog." When I asked what he meant, he shared that during his time in the Soviet Union, by the time he had the opportunity to use an Esrog, it would be blackened. "Everyone would kiss and handle the Esrog so much," he explained, "that it would turn black from all the warmth and hands."

For the first time, he was seeing a pristine, yellow Esrog—an image that moved him deeply. With Hashem’s help, may we all merit to maintain our purity and connection to Hashem, just like the Esrog in its unblemished state.

Rabbi Aryeh Kerzner

Returning Lost Souls

I want to share with you a profoundly moving story I recently heard with Rebbetzin Batsheva Kanievsky a”h. It’s a lesson about how helping others can sometimes bring about one’s own salvation (yeshua).

A woman came to Rebbetzin Batsheva, desperately seeking a bracha (blessing) to have children. She had been suffering from infertility for many years, enduring immense pain and heartache. Rebbetzin Batsheva, listening to her plight, offered an insight based on a teaching from the Ohr HaChaim HaKadosh that she believed could help this woman find her yeshua.

The Rebbetzin began by explaining a well-known mitzvah, Hashavas Aveida—the commandment to return a lost object to its rightful owner. On the surface, this mitzvah involves finding something lost and returning it to the person who owns it. But, as the Ohr HaChaim teaches, there is a much deeper meaning hidden within this mitzvah.

He expounds on the Pasuk from the Torah which says, "You shall not see your brother’s ox or sheep wandering and ignore them; you must return them" (Devarim 22:1). The Ohr HaChaim explains that the "lost ox" or "sheep" symbolizes Jews who have become disconnected from their faith, those who feel spiritually lost and far from Yiddishkeit. Just as an animal without direction can wander aimlessly, so too can a Jew who lacks spiritual guidance. The mitzvah of Hashavas Aveida doesn’t only apply to returning physical objects—it’s a call to return lost souls to their rightful place, back to Hashem.

Rebbetzin Batsheva emphasized this powerful idea. If you see a fellow Jew who is distant from Torah and mitzvos, it’s your responsibility to reach out, offer a kind word, extend an invitation, and gently help them reconnect. The Ohr HaChaim teaches that the phrase "you must return them" is a directive to bring such individuals closer to Yiddishkeit, to gather them into your home or community, and offer them the warmth and sanctity of a Jewish environment.

The Ohr HaChaim explains further that the Torah’s instruction to return the lost “ox” or “sheep” ultimately refers to Hashem’s lost children—souls who have strayed from the path. By bringing these individuals closer, by inspiring them to rekindle their connection to Yiddishkeit, we fulfill the deeper essence of the mitzvah of Hashavas Aveida.

With this teaching in mind, Rebbetzin Batsheva gave the woman a special segulah (merit): "Go and help other Jews who are spiritually lost. Invite them into your home for Shabbos, bring them to your community events, show them love and kindness. If you return Hashem's lost souls to Him, Hashem will, in turn, return your lost souls to you. Midah k’neged midah—measure for measure. Just as you help others, Hashem will open the gates for you to receive the blessing you seek."

When we reach out to others in need, whether spiritually or physically, we tap into a tremendous source of Divine compassion and blessing. Just as we help restore Hashem's children to their rightful place, He will bless us by returning the precious things we have been yearning for in our own lives.

Mr. Charlie Harary

Come Back Home

We are entering one of the most significant and joyous periods in the Jewish calendar, the festival of Sukkot, referred to as Zman Simchaseinu, the time of our rejoicing. Yet, this holiday raises an important question: why is it celebrated now, following the High Holidays, rather than in the spring, closer to Pesach? After all, Sukkos commemorates the Ananei HaKavod (Clouds of Glory) that shielded and protected the Jewish people as they journeyed through the wilderness. These clouds were a manifestation of G-d's constant presence, controlling the temperature and safeguarding the nation from the harsh desert environment. It seems logical that such an event would be celebrated shortly after Pesach, when the Jews were freed from Egypt. Why then is Sukkos observed in the Fall, and why does it seem to crowd the calendar immediately after Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur?

The Sages offer an explanation. The Ananei HaKavod were not just a practical protection against the elements. They were not simply a means toward the end of safety and security. They symbolized G-d's profound connection to His people, enveloping them in a Divine embrace. When we sit in the Sukkah today, it is a reminder of those clouds and, by extension, G-d's encompassing care and presence. But why, again, is this celebration reserved for this time of year?

To illustrate this, let me share a personal story.

Some years ago, a close friend of mine experienced a painful period in his marriage. After some reckless behavior and selfish decisions, his wife decided she could no longer bear his actions and asked him to leave the house. Despite his deep regret and realization of his mistakes, it was too late, and their relationship was strained to the point of breaking. They began attending therapy together, and during one particular session, my friend came to a stark realization: he had never fully embraced the responsibilities of being married. He was still living as if he were single, and in doing so, he had deeply hurt his wife.

In that session, with tears in his eyes, he apologized sincerely, articulating the pain he had caused and expressing profound remorse. His wife listened quietly and, after some reflection, told him she forgave him. There was a moment of relief, but when my friend asked if he could return home, her response was heartbreaking: “I forgive you,” she said, “but I’m not sure I want you back.” Despite her forgiveness, she was unsure whether she wanted to rebuild their life together.

That period of uncertainty was agonizing for him. In time, however, after continued effort and reflection, his wife did invite him back, and they eventually rebuilt their marriage, stronger than it had been before.

Such a dynamic encapsulates the spiritual journey of the Jewish people and the deeper meaning of Sukkos. When the Jews left Egypt, it wasn’t merely a physical exodus—it was the beginning of a Divine relationship, often likened to a marriage between G-d and His people. At Mount Sinai, the covenant was sealed, symbolized as a sacred union, a wedding of sorts. Many of our customs surrounding weddings, such as the chuppah, have their origins in the Giving of the Torah at Sinai. That moment was a profound unification of G-d and Israel.

Yet, just forty days after this extraordinary event, the Israelites committed the sin of the Golden Calf. The Gemara (Shabbos 88b) describes this betrayal in terms akin to a bride being disloyal under the chuppah, a profound and heartbreaking breach of trust. The Ananei HaKavod, the protective clouds, disappeared, symbolizing the rupture in the relationship. The Jewish people were left in the wilderness, alone and vulnerable, feeling the weight of their error.

For weeks, they lived with the uncertainty of whether their relationship with God could ever be restored. Imagine the regret and remorse they must have felt, knowing they had forfeited the Divine protection that had surrounded them. But then, on Yom Kippur, Moshe Rabbeinu descended from Mount Sinai with a new set of tablets, a sign of G-d's forgiveness. The people were overjoyed, believing the relationship had been mended. Yet, the Clouds of Glory did not return immediately. Hashem had forgiven them, but He had not yet fully reconciled with them.

The following days were filled with anticipation and uncertainty. The Jewish people began constructing the Mishkan (Tabernacle), a physical dwelling place for G-d's presence. It was only on the 15^th of Tishrei, the date we now celebrate as Sukkos, that the Ananei HaKavod returned, signifying that the relationship had been fully restored. Not only had G-d forgiven His people, but He had also drawn them close again, enveloping them in His Divine embrace, as He had before.

This is why Sukkos is celebrated now, explains the Vilna Gaon, in the Fall season, right after the intense spiritual work of the High Holidays. It marks the return of G-d's presence, symbolized by the Clouds of Glory, and the renewal of our intimate bond with the Divine. It is not just a commemoration of the past, but a celebration of the reconciliation that follows Yom Kippur, a time when we renew our connection with G-d and He, in turn, welcomes us back into His embrace.

On Yom Kippur, we reach for the heavens, striving to be like angels, fasting and praying, seeking to transcend our physical selves. But on Sukkos, we are invited to bring that connection into our everyday lives. We sit, eat, and sleep in the sukkah, engaging in the ordinary activities of daily life, while surrounded by a tangible reminder of G-d's presence. Sukkos teaches us that holiness is not confined to the synagogue or moments of spiritual elevation—it is woven into the fabric of our daily routines, our meals, our conversations, our moments of relaxation.

The joy of Sukkos lies in this integration of the sacred and the mundane, in knowing that G-d is with us not only in moments of prayer but also in the regular rhythms of life. When we sit in the Sukkah, we are once again enveloped by the Clouds of Glory, a physical and spiritual reminder that G-d is with us, not just in times of grandeur, but in the simplicity of our daily existence.

This is the essence of Sukkos—the joy of knowing that our relationship with G-d is not limited to moments of spiritual intensity, but is part of the very fabric of our lives. As we enter this joyous time, let’s take the opportunity to deepen our connection to G-d, bringing Him into every corner of our lives, from our meals to our moments of rest. Let’s embrace the happiness that comes from knowing we are surrounded by His love, every day.

Rabbi Jeremy Golker

Our Welcomed Guests

One of the elements of the Sukkah, which we recall all throughout the holiday, is the Ushpizin, the spiritual guests we invite into the Sukkah. In light of gaining an appreciation and connecting to this auspicious and significant practice, a passage in the writings of the Michtav Me’Eliyahu might help us all.

The Zohar (Parshas Emor) discusses this in depth, citing how Rav Hamnuna the Elder would excitedly stand at the entrance to the Sukkah and invite into the Sukkah the Ushpizin. But what is the underlying meaning behind such an invitation?

The Vilna Gaon (commentary to Shir HaShirim) writes that the celebration of Sukkos is ultimately a celebration of the return of the Annanei HaKavod (Clouds of Glory), and thereby represents our connection with Hashem. When you seek to connect with someone, it is best accomplished by gaining a deep understanding and knowledge of them. And more so, when it comes to our relationship with Hashem, it means to emulate His ways. The Gemara (Sotah 14a), in fact, instructs us to “be similar to Hashem.” How can this be accomplished if Hashem is not physically constituted, and moreover, is depicted as a ‘consuming fire’? Through emulating His ways.

The Ushpizin, the seven exalted guests, embody qualities that align with the Sefiros, the Divine attributes. As such, by inviting these guests into our Sukkah, we strive emulate these Divine qualities, and thereby draw closer to Hashem.

Each night of Sukkos corresponds to a different guest, starting with Avraham, who represents chesed, loving-kindness, on the first night. This continues with Yitzchak, who represents gevurah, strength, on the second night, and so on through the week.

For example, Avraham’s chesed reminds us to be generous and kind, and Yitzchak’s gevurah teaches us the importance of self-discipline and strength of character. Yaakov, representing tiferes or harmony, comes next, showing the synthesis of the previous two qualities, leading to balance in our lives.

Ultimately, the Sukkah itself is a symbol of this immersion in holiness. It’s not just a structure we sit in, but a space that encompasses our whole being, allowing us to fully engage with the mitzvah, just as the Ushpizin guide us to engage with the Divine qualities they represent. When we welcome Avraham, Yitzchak, Yaakov, Moshe, Aharon, Yosef, and David into the Sukkah, we’re not merely acknowledging their presence; we’re connecting with a specific energy, focusing on a particular dimension of self-refinement, and aligning ourselves with that quality.

For example, Avraham’s chesed is more than just kindness; it’s an expansive love, a generosity of spirit that extends without limits. When we invite Avraham into our Sukkah, we’re inviting the opportunity to extend ourselves beyond our usual boundaries, to give more, to love more, and to open our hearts. It’s a reminder that the Sukkah itself is a space of openness, where we welcome not only our spiritual guests but also our physical guests, sharing our joy and blessings with others.

Yitzchak, the second guest, brings the energy of gevurah, which is often translated as strength or restraint. But gevurah is more than that; it’s about setting boundaries, about knowing when to say no, when to hold back, when discipline and self-control are necessary. In our modern world, where indulgence is often encouraged, Yitzchak teaches us the value of limits, of holding firm to our principles, of focusing inward to cultivate strength of character.

On the third night, we welcome Yaakov, who represents tiferet, the beauty that arises from the balance between chesed and gevurah. Yaakov embodies the harmony between love and strength, compassion and discipline. His life was one of struggle and reconciliation, weaving together the threads of his father’s strictness and his grandfather’s kindness. When we invite Yaakov into the sukkah, we’re reminded that life is about synthesis—about finding balance in the midst of opposing forces, about integrating the different aspects of ourselves and our relationships into a unified whole.

Then comes Moshe, representing netzach, endurance or victory. Moshe’s life was defined by his unwavering commitment to his mission, his perseverance through trials, his ability to lead and sustain the Jewish people through the wilderness. Netzach is about resilience, about seeing things through to the end, about the long game. Inviting Moshe into our Sukkah is a call to tap into our own sense of purpose, to remain steadfast in the face of challenges, and to understand that true victory often comes from endurance, from continuing to move forward even when the path is difficult.

Aharon, the next guest, brings the energy of hod, beauty, or humility and gratitude. Aharon’s greatness lay in his ability to step back, to recognize that his role was to support others, to bring peace and harmony. Hod teaches us that there is strength in humility, that by acknowledging the greatness of others, we grow in our own right. When we invite Aharon into our Sukkah, we embrace the idea of humility as a strength, recognizing the beauty in service and the grace in gratitude.

On the sixth night, we welcome Yosef, representing yesod, foundation, or connection. Yosef was the one who connected his family, who maintained his integrity in the face of exile, who built bridges between individuals and between nations. Yesod is about relationships, about the foundational bonds that connect us to others and to the divine. When we invite Yosef into our Sukkah, we reflect on our own connections—our family, our community, our relationship with G-d—and the importance of strengthening these bonds.

Finally, on the seventh night, we welcome Dovid, who embodies malchus, kingship, or leadership. Dovid’s kingship was not about power for its own sake, but about responsibility, about leading with humility, about serving the people and Hashem. Malchus represents the culmination of all the other sefiros, where everything comes together in action, where all the qualities of love, strength, harmony, endurance, humility, and connection manifest in the world through leadership and service. When we invite Dovid into our Sukkah, we’re called to step into our own roles as leaders—whether in our families, our communities, or in our own personal lives—leading with integrity, compassion, and a sense of responsibility.

This progression through the Ushpizin mirrors our own spiritual journey during Sukkos. Each day of the festival gives us the opportunity to work on a different aspect of our character, to refine ourselves in the image of these great figures, and to draw closer to Hashem by emulating His Divine qualities. The Sukkah becomes a place not just of physical shelter, but of spiritual transformation.

And that brings us back to the essence of Sukkos itself. The Sukkah is more than a temporary dwelling—it’s a space of connection, of holiness, of Divine presence. The Ushpizin remind us that we’re not alone in this space; we’re surrounded by the spirits of those who have walked this path before us, who have embodied these Divine attributes, and who inspire us to do the same.

As we sit in the Sukkah, enveloped by its walls and its sanctity, we’re reminded that our entire being is absorbed in this mitzvah. Just as the walls and the floor of the sukkah create a complete, enclosed space, so too does the mitzvah of Sukkah envelop every part of us—physically, spiritually, and emotionally. It’s a rare mitzvah where our whole essence is engaged, where every limb, every thought, every action is part of the fulfillment of this commandment.

This is the beauty of Sukkot: it’s a celebration of total immersion in holiness, of connecting to the Divine not just through isolated actions, but through our entire being. And as we invite the Ushpizin into our sukkah, we’re reminded that this connection is not just for the seven days of the festival, but something that we carry with us throughout the year, shaping our lives and our character in the image of these Divine qualities.

Rabbi Daniel Glatstein

When Beauty Meets Beauty

The concept of beautifying mitzvos, described as an expression of Zeh Keli v'Anveihu, holds a central place in our understanding of how we honor Hashem. We are taught that every mitzvah should be performed with hiddur mitzvah, an emphasis on doing it in the most beautiful, elevated manner possible. But there’s something unique when it comes to Sukkos—a special emphasis on beautification that we don’t find in other mitzvos. Why is it that this principle, which applies to all mitzvos, seems to have an even stronger connection to the mitzvah of Sukkah (see Sukkah 10a)? Why, of all mitzvos, does the idea of Zeh Keli v'Anveihu feature most prominently here?

A profound insight is offered by the Avnei Nezer (cited in the Sefer Ne’os Deshe, Vol. III). On the words, “Zeh Keli v'Anveihu,” Onkelos translates it as, "This is my G-d, and I will build Him a Sanctuary." This refers to the actual building of the Beis HaMikdash, where Hashem’s presence would dwell. But there’s also a second interpretation. The Gemara (Shabbos 133b) teaches that Zeh Keli v'Anveihu means, "I will beautify myself before Him with mitzvot." This refers to performing each mitzvah in the most beautiful way possible. But here’s where it gets interesting: both of these interpretations—building the Beis HaMikdash and beautifying mitzvos—are interwoven in the mitzvah of sukkah.

We know that the sukkah itself is a powerful symbol. The Sukkah is a remez, a hint, to the Beis HaMikdash. The Pasuk states, “Va’yehi b’shalem Sukko—Then his Sukkah was in Jerusalem” (Tehillim 76:3), which the Targum explains to be symbolic of the rebuilding the Beis HaMikdash. The sukkah, then, is not just a temporary dwelling; it is a representation of the holiness of the Beis Hamikdash itself.

There’s something fascinating when we look at Parshas Re’eh, which discusses the pilgrimage festivals, the shalosh regalim. For Pesach and Shavuos, the Torah instructs us to go up to Yerushalayim, to the place where Hashem chose for His presence to rest—the Beis HaMikdash. But when it comes to Sukkos, it simply says to go up to Yerushalayim, without explicitly stating that the Shechina, the Divine Presence, will be found in the Beist HaMikdash at that time. Why is this, asks the Meshech Chochmah? Because, on Sukkot, explains Rav Yerucham Olshin, the Shechina doesn’t reside solely in the Beis HaMikdash. It resides in your sukkah. The Sukkah itself becomes a miniature Mikdash. The Divine Presence fills your Sukkah, just as it once filled the Beis Hamikdash.

This ties into a teaching of the Vilna Gaon (commentary to Shir HaShirim), who explains why we sit in the Sukkah. It’s not merely to commemorate the presence of the Ananei HaKavod, Clouds of Glory, which protected the Jewish people in the desert. Sukkot is actually a celebration of the return of the Ananei HaKavod. When the Jewish people left Egypt, they were enveloped by these miraculous clouds, but after the sin of the Golden Calf, the clouds departed. That was a devastating blow. The loss of the clouds signified a loss of Hashem's favor.

But then, something miraculous happened. Moshe ascended Har Sinai once more, following the breaking of the first set of Luchos, and after forty days of pleading on behalf of the nation, he descended on Yom Kippur with Hashem’s words of forgiveness, Salachti k’dvarecha. But for Bnei Yisrael, forgiveness alone wasn’t enough. They wanted more than atonement—they longed for a sign that Hashem’s love had fully returned. They wanted the Ananei HaKavod back.

Hashem instructed Moshe to begin the building of the Mishkan. On the 11^th of Tishrei, the day after Yom Kippur, Moshe announced the command, and the people began bringing donations for the construction on the 12^th, 13^th, and 14^th. Then, on the 15^th of Tishrei, when the donations were completed and the construction began, the Ananei HaKavod returned. That day was the first day of Sukkos.

So, Sukkos is a celebration of the return of Hashem’s favor, His ratzon. And where did those clouds return to? They returned to the Mishkan, to the place where Hashem’s presence would dwell. That’s why the Sukkah is compared to the Mishkan. The Sukkah represents the restoration of the connection between Hashem and His people, just as the Mishkan did.

With this, explains the Avnei Nezer, we can understand the deeper connection between Zeh Keli v'Anveihu and the mitzvah of Sukkah. When we build a Sukkah, we are symbolically rebuilding the Mishkan. Just as Zeh Keli v'Anveihu means, “I will build for Him a Sanctuary,” so too, our Sukkah is a reflection of that sanctuary. And, at the same time, we fulfill the second interpretation of Zeh Keli v'Anveihu by beautifying the sukkah, just as we would beautify the mitzvah of building the Beis HaMikdash. The mitzvah of Sukkah combines these two ideas: building a dwelling for Hashem and beautifying the mitzvos we perform.

This explains why hiddur mitzvah is so strongly emphasized during Sukkos, more than with any other mitzvah. The Sukkah isn’t just a temporary hut; it is, in essence, a miniature Beis HaMikdash, a place where the Divine Presence rests. And because the Sukkah symbolizes the return of Hashem’s love and protection, we beautify it with all our effort. By doing so, we fulfill the dual interpretation of Zeh Keli v'Anveihu: we both build a sanctuary for Hashem and we glorify Him through the beautification of mitzvos.

The Sukkah is therefore not just about the physical structure—it’s about what the Sukkah represents: the restoration of the Divine connection, the return of Hashem’s love, and the fusion of the physical with the spiritual. And through this, we fulfill our role in glorifying Hashem in the most beautiful way possible.

Rabbi Paysach Krohn

A Warm Melody

I’d like to share a story with you, a personal one, that happened to me a number of years ago. It was Shabbos, and I had to be away in a place called Wesley Hills, which is in Monsey. I was invited to speak at a certain shul, and a very nice fellow graciously offered to host me in his home. Everything seemed perfect, but I hadn’t anticipated what was to come.

By Friday night, a terrible snowstorm hit. The snow had piled up so high, it was nearly impossible to navigate through it. The man felt bad that I’d have to walk almost half a mile in such conditions to get back to his house. So, he kindly suggested an alternative. He said, “You know, there’s a shortcut. If we go around the back of my house, through someone else’s backyard, we can cut the distance significantly. It’s a bit up a hill, but we’ll save time.”

Now, I must admit, I wasn’t prepared for what lay ahead. That hill—what can I say?—was just so difficult. It was slippery, steep, and challenging. To make matters worse, I didn’t have gloves, and my hands were freezing. I kept slipping, falling down multiple times. We were only halfway up the hill when the fellow turned to me and said, “You know, Rabbi Krohn, I think we’re going to have to go back down. We’ll take the longer route around, but at least we’ll be on the main street where it’s a bit safer.”

And so, we retraced our steps, walking the long way around. By the time we reached his house, I don’t think I had ever felt my hands so cold and numb. I literally couldn’t pick up a siddur to say Shalom Aleichem, nor could I hold the kos to say Kiddush. We had to wait a good 20 minutes for my hands to warm up before I could even feel my fingers again.

Now, fast forward six months later. I had to go back to that same shul for a bris. This time, I was determined not to go through what I had experienced before. So, I decided we would stay close to the shul. My wife and I stayed at the home of Rabbi Yisrael Zev Chesir, the Rav of that shul.

Friday night, after davening, something amazing happened. Rabbi Chesir has seven sons, and as soon as we came home, they began to sing Shalom Aleichem, followed by Askinu Sudasa and Kol Mekadesh. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Their voices—such harmony! It felt like I was transported to a place of Kedusha. The father joined in the singing as well, and it was nothing short of magnificent. I’ve only heard singing like that in one other place, and that’s in my daughter’s home. She has five children, and when they sing together, it’s otherworldly.

But the story doesn’t end there. On Motzaei Shabbos, my wife approached Rebbetzin Chesir and said, “You know, I think it would be a great idea for your son to go out with my granddaughter.” Now, it didn’t happen immediately, but, you know what? Eventually, it did happen, and sure enough, they got married.

At the wedding, and later at the Sheva Brachos, the singing from both families was nothing short of remarkable. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever heard.

Looking back, I couldn’t help but reflect. When I was climbing up that snowy hill, slipping and falling, I thought to myself, “This is one of the worst things I’ve ever had to go through. What good could possibly come from this?” Well, I’ll tell you what good came from it. Hashem orchestrated it all. Because of that difficult experience, I decided not to stay at the same place the next time. Instead, I stayed with Rabbi Chesir, and through that, my wife was able to suggest a shidduch for our granddaughter. And now, I have a new grandson—Shmuel Baruch Chesir.

And let me tell you something: you should hear him sing. It’s truly inspiring.

This story is a reminder that sometimes, when we’re going through difficult situations, we might wonder why Hashem is putting us through them. But often, those very challenges lead to something much greater, something we couldn’t have foreseen. And now, every time I hear Shmuel Baruch sing, I’m reminded of that snowy night and how it led to such a beautiful outcome.

Rebbetzin Chaya Sora Gertzulin

Of Succot and the Iron Dome

Every day, from Rosh Chodesh Elul through Shemini Atzeres, we recite Psalm 27, “L’Dovid, HaShem, Ori V’yish’ee, HaShem, is my light and my salvation, meemee eerah, whom shall I fear?” We are living the words of the psalm today. The psalm continues: “Though an army would besiege me, my heart would not fear, though war would arise against me, in this I trust. Kee yitzpehnaynee b’succoh b’yom ra’ah, He will hide me in His shelter on the day of evil.” Dovid so eloquently writes that often, when he is in danger, HaShem’s succah, His shelter protects him.

Kee yitzpehnaynee b’succoh… Our enemies, particularly Hezbollah and Iran, continue to attack us with thousands of rockets, drones and missiles. Unfortunately, we have suffered injuries, including some seriously injured, and even, rachmana litzlan, a few fatalities. Yet, any rational person realizes that we are witnessing nissim, true miracles, as HaShem shelters us, protecting our people and our land from more catastrophic results. All three of Israel’s missile defense systems were put to work – Iron Dome, David’s Sling and Arrow. Each one designed to intercept a specific type of enemy drone, tactical ballistic missile, medium to long-range rocket and cruise missile. What a miracle that all three systems worked together. That a majority of the missiles were intercepted, and so many fell upon open spaces. We, having emuna and bitachon, recognizing that these systems are not merely military equipment, but are our hishtadlus, our efforts, which through HaShem’s guiding hands served as succahs to protect His people. Just as Bnei Yisroel were protected from their enemies by their succahs in the desert, and Dovid felt HaShem’s protection when he was threatened, we too, are protected by HaShem’s miraculous “succah”.

On Succos, we welcome the Ushpizin, Aramaic for guests, to our succahs. The holy neshamaos of the Raya Mehemna, Seven Faithful Shepherds, leaders of our people, Avrohom, Yitzchak, Yaakov, Yosef, Moshe, Aaron, and Dovid.

There is a beautiful welcoming tefilla that is recited upon entering the succah: “ Tivu, tivu ushpizin iloyin, Be seated, be seated, exalted guests; Be seated, be seated holy guests, Be seated, be seated guests of faithfulness, be seated in the shade of the Holy One, blessed is He.” While the neshamos of all seven ushpizin grace our succah, there is a different honored leader from amongst them for each night. The first night, Avraham, the second night Yitzchok, and so on.

It is written in the Zohar that when we leave our home and enter the succah “l’shem Shomayim – for the sake of Heaven” (with the intention to fulfil a mitzva), we merit that the Shechina, Divine Presence and all seven exalted shepherds join us in the succah. Some have a custom of preparing an “ushpizin seat”. They decorate a chair and place sefarim, holy books, upon it, welcoming the honored guests to their succah.

Succos is the only Yom Tov called Z’man Simchaseinu, Festival of our Joy. The ushpizin, our holy guests descend from Gan Eden and rejoice together with us, bringing blessing to our succah. On Succos, we connect to our past. We recall how our nation lived in succahs during their forty years in the desert. They traveled to the unknown, trekking through uncharted desert sands. How did they survive? From where did they muster their added strength? They were fortified with emuna and bitachon, faith and trust in HaShem. Although they didn’t know what lay ahead of them, their connection to HaShem remained strong and steadfast.

Each of the ushpizin had their own personal life journey. Journeys that gave them the strong foundations needed to become leaders of Am Yisroel. Avraham answered HaShem’s call of “Lech Lecha – Go for Yourself”. He left everything familiar behind him, and went on a journey of self-discovery and connection to HaShem. A journey that led him to become the father of the Jewish nation.

Yitzchok’s journey was to Har Moriah – site of the Akeida. He was ready to sacrifice himself to serve HaShem. A strength which became embedded in our spiritual genes. Yaakov had to live life “on the run”, escaping from his brother Eisav. His journey led him to the house of Lavan, eventually becoming the father of the Shivtei Kah, the Twelve Tribes. Yosef had his own difficult life journey. As a young boy, he was sold as a slave, ending up in Egypt. By uncompromisingly clinging to his faith, and always having the d’yukno shel aviv – the image and teachings of his father before him, he rose to become viceroy to the Pharaoh.

Moshe and Aaron journeyed through the desert with Am Yisroel, each one a leader in his own right. Moshe was chosen by HaShem to liberate the nation from Egypt. He became Moshe Rabbeinu, a teacher and mentor for generations. Aaron was the first kohein gadol, and had the special virtue of being an ohev shalom, a lover of peace, and a rodeph shalom, a pursuer of peace. Dovid had to run and hide from Shaul, and ultimately became the progenitor of the Malchus Dovid, the Davidic Dynasty. Dovid HaMelech’s life journey came with challenges and difficulties. Despite it, or precisely because of it, Dovid composed Tehillim, which to this day gives comfort to so many.

On Succos, we recall the faith and fortitude of the generation of the Exodus. We remind ourselves of the inner strength and trust of the ushpizin. We leave our secure, comfortable homes for just a little while, and enter the succah. As we gaze through the schach to the heavens above, we are reminded that HaShem is watching over us, as a father watches over his children, and we have nothing to fear.

It is a year since October 7, the start of the Simchas Torah war. While our nation has experienced miracles, we have also experienced immense hardships. As of this writing, there are still some 100 hostages being held by Hamas in Gaza. This Yom Tov, as we sit in our succahs and welcome the ushpizin, let’s say a special tefilla, asking our holy exalted guests to be melitzei yesharim, to intercede with Avinu Sheh’bashomayim, our Heavenly Father to bring this bitter war to an end, to see the safe return of our hostages, and shower blessings and shalom upon His holy land and the Jewish people worldwide.