Sukkot Sermon, 5774

There is an old joke that I heard in Montana – perhaps a little too real to be funny – but that seems to often be the case with the jokes that are worth using in a sermon.

A couple, recently married, are very much in love.  They own an Ford pickup with those old bench seats that allow the two to sit arm and arm, shoulder to shoulder in the truck.  As they drive by, all see the loving couple sitting next to each other and smile.

Twenty years later, after the relationship has naturally changed in the course of time, the partner in the passenger seat has a moment in a small argument that the two are having while driving and says, “Hey, why don’t we sit next to each other anymore?”  The partner that is driving replies, “Well, I haven’t moved.”

It is not just that we seem to have an illusion that change in a relationship is bad, it is that when we notice that change has taken place – sometimes profound change – it is hard to deal with this without anger, sadness and disappointment.  It is so easy to accuse “Why have you changed so much?” and use the accusation as ammunition.

But isn’t change absolutely integral to relationships?  To look at this through the lens of an extreme example, think of the relationship of a five-year-old child to a parent.  In a healthy family, this relationship can feel ideal.  The child looks in wonder at the parents that, although occasionally stern, are the perfect paragons of protection, strength and wisdom.  To the parent, the child – completely and utterly trusting and dependent on them – fulfills deep pools of the need to be needed and seen in such a trusting way.  Yet when the child is fifteen and there is absolutely no change in perception or relationship manifestation for either parent of child, would we consider that relationship to be healthy?  What about when the child is 25?  Is this still an ideal relationship or a desperate cry for therapy?

I think that this seems so clear as to be absurd – yet if this is truly so absurd, why do we treat our adult relationships so differently?

So often in marriage counseling I hear some variation of “We have lost our romance.”  It is a very easy way to say things are very different now 5, 15, 25, 55 years after a relationship began.  Yet as adults, don’t we as a normal course of existence constantly change?  Perhaps the change between 25 and 45 is not as profound as between 5 and 25, yet somehow we have the expectation of change for the latter but in a relationship are terrified for the change in the former.

Clearly, the five-year-old needs to grow up.  And that change can indeed be terrifying.  So often the next level of maturity comes only through pain, disappointment and alienation.  All are experienced when a child realizes that the parents are not perfect, likewise when the parent realizes they are no longer the center of their child’s existence.  Yet without this, life cannot exist.  It is terrifying, but so necessary that without this society cannot function.

So finally we arrive at Sukkot.  Without naming today’s festival, I have tried to explain why it is so necessary.  The path of least resistance for most of us is at any time maintaining the fantasy that nothing is changing.  Everything is fine.  But every year, we build the very symbol of impermanence and make it the centerpiece of one of the longest festivals in the Jewish calendar.  Sukkot is the breaking of the illusion that life as it is, is not necessarily life as it shall be.  Our fantasy walls of permanence are for a week made of materials we hope will not blow over in a strong wind.

We treat our religion in quite the same way as we treat our relationships.  We build so much of our understanding of G-d and prayer and community by how we interact with them when we are five.  G-d is that perfect father figure that provides us comfort when we are scared and our synagogues (and churches and temples and mosques) remain our childhood houses to which we run when danger lurks outside.  Yet what do we do when we learn as well that our religions are not perfect—when we have to reconcile our religion with how the religious often act or even our G-d when we encounter such as the holocaust. We demand, “How could you allow that to happen?” instead of demanding of ourselves if it is our ideas and understanding of G-d that need to change.  Our tradition is full of change and the pain of change but it is so hard to see through our desire that nothing should change.  G-d spoke very differently to Adam than to Noah, Abraham, Moses, the Prophets and our sages.  Our sages made radical changes to laws of the bible and built in processes by which we could change our laws as society evolved and change was required.  And here we have Sukkot, a holiday that celebrates impermanence!  It is as if our tradition reaches out and says, “I know how terrifying this can be, but if we celebrate impermanence and embrace it rather than demanding that nothing around us change, then we are more able to not be destroyed by the change that is completely inevitable.”

If we lock our ideas into the perspective of a child looking for the protection of a father, then we will never allow ourselves the deeper joy of adult relationships, in our personal relationships or our relationships with our places of worship, our worship, our clergy and yes even our G-d.  The secret of Sukkot is the mitzvah that that we must rejoice!  That adult relationship has so much more potential to move the soul and inspire us to greatness then being the completely dependent child.  Sukkot rehearses this every year that we are willing to accept and understand the necessity of change – and through this experience the joy that only the more mature relationship can bring.

Chag Sukkot Semeyach!