Sonia Redman – Year 11 2017

Sukkot

The following Devar Torah was shared by Sonia with her peers during our High School Assembly on Chol haMoed Sukkot.

Imagine that all people suddenly disappeared from our planet. Several hours after we vanish, lights all around the world would start to shut down. Roadways would become rivers, subways would flood, weeds and vines would cover dilapidated structures. Metal objects would rust away and wood constructions would be downed by termites or fires. But despite the loss of our man-made structures, our footprint on the natural earth would remain for a long time.

As we celebrate Sukkot, I urge you all to think about the impact of humanity on our planet. Why? Sukkot is traditionally known as the holiday when Jews are mandated to dwell in temporary structures, an imitation of the Israelites’ homes during their 40 years wandering the desert. In modern times, this festival has become a perfect vehicle for Jews concerned with human impact on the environment. Sukkot forces us to experience what most of humanity historically already has – the elements, the outdoors. It reminds us that our man-made structures are temporary.

I personally am struck by the value of this holiday of exposure, and how attuned one can be to the world by leaving the safety of a house for a fragile structure, rendered kosher only when it is able to be blown down. It is a constant reminder of our environment and its fragility. Considering all the scientific advances of the last millennia, we still understand relatively little about the origins of life on Earth, and how and why natural phenomena occur. But there are some things we do know. The Torah teaches that all life is sacred and, knowing that, we are charged with tending to the Earth’s wellbeing. Bal tashchit, or “do not destroy,” a key Jewish principle, compels us to serve as protectors of the land.

However, there is an imminent sense of futility that still exists. While Sukkot is a chance to revisit our environmental footprint and think of what we wish to incorporate from our temporary dwellings into our daily lives (think of our energy-draining homes and vehicles), the sad part for humans in the industrialised world is that even when we attempt to live lower-impact lives, our huge global warming and environmental problems still remain. These realities are alarming, particularly on Sukkot, a holiday where we stand in awe and gratitude of nature. We build a sukkah to remember the importance of the environment which humanity has corrupted. We remind ourselves of the ecological integrity of our land and water that is fundamental to our own perspectives as humans and as Jews, and the quality of our air which, of course, is vital to our existence. We cannot exploit the Earth for short-term gains at our long-term expense.

Life is fleeting, as is our time spent in the sukkah. Thankfully, we are able to rebuild this structure each year, so that we may celebrate the joy of the holiday once again. The environment, however, cannot be disassembled like a sukkah nor reconstructed in the same way. We have seen what humans are capable of doing to our planet, standing by while species become extinct, while drinking water is contaminated and while we pollute the air with chemicals. Let’s take this Sukkot to think about how we can coexist with our earth, how we as individuals can be the tenders of our planet.

I want to leave you with one last thought. The sukkah is a frail shelter that can easily be buffeted by rain and wind, but the liturgy specifically instructs us to “sit there.” Why should we be enjoined to sit in an inadequate shelter? The answer is because true shelter resides not in stronger walls, not in more square metres, but in being in harmony with what is, in feeling connected to life, and its inevitable processes. We “sit there” as well to understand nature — and to understand our duty to our planet.