Image of the Week: Moonrise in the Sukkah
© D. Yael Bernhard
There are moments in life when you just feel a sense of grace. Especially in the aftermath of a great effort, a certain peace arises. Whether at the top of a mountain after a vigorous climb or in the silence that follows a symphony, stillness arises from its opposite, and with it, a moment of perfection that feels effortless.
In just this way, the holiday of Sukkot follows the inner exertion of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur – the Yamim Nora'im, as they're known, or Days of Awe. For this is when the gates of heaven are thought to open, offering redemption and renewal. We are commanded to search our souls and take an unflinching moral inventory as we make amends for last year's errors and set intentions for the new year.
Then comes Sukkot, with eight days of relaxed celebration in a sukkah – a homemade, temporary shelter. This year, it begins Monday evening at sundown. In ancient times, the Jewish people brought the first fruits of their harvest to the Temple in Jerusalem. Here in the Northeast, the weather is often cold by the time Sukkot comes around, sometimes ripping down my humble sukkah with fierce October winds, or plastering it with fallen leaves and drenching rain. To commemorate our ancestors' crossing of the Sinai desert, these makeshift huts are open to the sky, symbolic of the rigors of the spiritual journey, and of the nomadic lifestyle our ancestors lived as they made the transition from slavery to nationhood. Sukkot also speaks to the ephemeral nature of existence; and our individual faith in the shelter of the stars above. With its emphasis on impermanence, Sukkot comes close to Buddhism. With its ritual shaking of bundled plants called lulav in the six directions (east, west, north, south, heaven and earth), it's similar to Native American ritual. We are all spiritual nomads, crossing through the Unknown on our journey as humans, surrendering to something larger than ourselves, taking joy in the fruits of our labors and the temporary condition of our lives.
But beyond these intellectual connections, I find the sukkah itself magical. I didn't grow up with Sukkot, but somehow creating a special hut of bedspreads, branches, and twine reminds me of my childhood. It brings back memories of wrapping myself in a blanket to watch a meteor shower outside on the cold grass; or going up on the roof of an apartment building as a teenager to watch the night lights of Manhattan. It reminds me of the makeshift spaces I created with my kindergarten playmate Alice, with sheets and pillows and stuffed animals. Somehow those sagging little caverns became enchanted, infused with an imaginary reality all their own. That's how I feel in my sukkah, as intention and imagination give the enclosure a special feeling of dwelling in a place of both mystery and comfort. This childlike perspective is also reflected in the concept of t'shuvah – Hebrew for "return" – indicating a return to the nascent state of being that we strive for on Yom Kippur.
All of this crystalized for me in this sublime moonrise that graced the first night of Sukkot two years ago. The holiday always begins with the full moon, two weeks after the new moon of Rosh Hashanah – but the sky is not always clear. On this night, not only the sky but my mind cleared, suffusing the clouds with pearlescent moonlight and my soul with an abiding sense of perfection and grace.
Like the sukkah itself, the moment didn't last – but I captured it in this painting. How ironic that the original oil painting sold even before this year's Jewish Eye calendar of art was published, with Moonrise in the Sukkah as the opening image. The person who bought it isn't Jewish – just in transition from one home, one chapter in her life, and another. She hung the painting in her RV as she made her way across country from NY to California. Open up the roof, I thought, and it would make a perfect sukkah on wheels. And why not? In every generation and each culture, Jewish tradition is renewed, just as in every new year so are we.
The Jewish Eye 5782/2022 Calendar of Art is available in my webstore and on Amazon. If you're local, you can find it at the Woodstock Jewish Congregation, and at The Tender Land gift shop in Phoenicia.
Gmar Chatimah Tovah to all my Jewish readers – may you be inscribed for a good year in the Book of Life; and Chag Sukkot Sameach – Happy Sukkot!