As a child growing up in Waterford, Connecticut, my family went to shul for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and celebrated Chanukah and Purim with childlike zeal. In fact many people still feel that I was the best seven-year-old Mordechai they'd ever seen in the annual Ahaveth Chesed synagogue's Purim play!
But in all my years I had never seen, let alone set foot in, a sukka. So one of the more extraordinary experiences of my adult life was helping build the Chabad Community Sukka in Wilmington, Delaware.
I can vividly remember building that sukka. About a week before the start of the holiday, Rabbi Vogel asked for volunteers to help erect the shul's community sukka. I had enjoyed a lot of firsts since discovering Chabad of Delaware so I figured, why not.
Later that day, six of us gathered at the Rabbi's home and began constructing the sukka. Despite the fact that our ancestors had been building these temporary structures for over 3300 years, this was the first time I had ever joined the construction crew. Together, our team hoisted large wooden panels into place, bolted them together and created a four-walled free standing temporary dwelling.
Since I am 6'3" tall, I was placed on s'chach duty. What is s'chach you ask? Hey, I couldn't pronounce it either. Rabbi Vogel informed me that s'chach are the fresh branches that help form the roof of the sukka. I had the honor of placing the s'chach on the bamboo poles that served as the roof support structure.
It only took about twenty minutes to place the entire load of s'chach on the sukka roof but it has taken me four years to even come close to pronouncing the word properly. No matter how I try, I can't get the word out of my mouth!
After all the time and effort we put into building the sukka I couldn't wait for the holiday of Sukkot to arrive. I could almost smell the Shabbat meal we were going to enjoy within the cozy confines of our temporary dwelling. There promised to be lots of the Rebbetzin's world-famous kugel and the best matzo ball soup this side of Jerusalem.
That Shabbat I arrived at the Vogel's, wearing my best Shabbat clothes, and proclaimed for all to hear that I was ready to eat in the sukka. After we said the evening prayers, everyone moved to the sukka and the Rabbi said the Kiddush blessing over the wine. Half- way through Kiddush I heard the distinctive sound of rain. I looked at the Rabbi, the Rebbetzin and the Vogel kids and no one appeared to pay the slightest bit of attention to the rain. I figured they were confident the s'chach would form an impenetrable barrier and keep us dry throughout the night's festivities.
Moments later, the Rabbi completed Kiddush and we all went to ritually wash our hands before saying the Hamotzi blessing over the challa. When we returned, a powerful storm was raging just outside the confines of our cozy temporary dwelling. Rabbi Vogel handed me a piece of challa and I said the blessing and took a bite. I had barely put the challa in my mouth when an enormous drop of water hit me right on the bridge of my nose. A few moments went by and more and more drops began to fall from the roof. I looked around the table and no one was paying any attention to the rivers of water freely falling from the "ceiling."
The Rebbetzin served the soup and suddenly a little piece of fresh s'chach plopped right down into the middle of my bowl. To my chagrin, the downpour in the sukka began to increase in intensity. My clothes were soaked, but worst of all my challa was a bloated mass of soggy mush! Holding the limp slice out to the Rabbi I asked if it might not be time to take the "party" inside where it was warm, dry and comfortable.
Rabbi Vogel picked up a slice of waterlogged challa, and pointing it in my general direction said, "Shloma Yakov, no one ever said a mitzva had to be easy. For 3311 years your ancestors have been performing the mitzva of 'dwelling' in a sukka. In Alaska right now it's ten degrees below zero and 'the frozen chosen,' as Alaska's Chabad Rabbi Yosef Greenberg calls his congregation, are celebrating Shabbat in the sukka with joy and vigor. Take your mind off the rain and concentrate on the joy of fulfilling G-d's mitzva of eating in the sukka and honoring the memory of your ancestors who lived in dwellings just like these for forty years." He waited a moment for his words to sink in and then added, "But... if the rain really bothers you, feel free to go inside."
I was contemplating his words when another big, fat drop defiantly deposited itself on the tip of my nose, daring me to go in the house with the faint of heart. Seated next to me was the Rabbi's youngest son Sholom. He was oblivious to the rain as he happily played with his soggy challa and kugel. Finally I came to the conclusion that if a five year old could take it, so could I. I stayed.
Despite the fact that the rain continued to beat a steady drum on the s'chach, we went on with the festive meal. The Rabbi and I shared a little "l'chaim," we ate some more water-logged kugel, sang more than a few songs and thoroughly enjoyed the evening together. The rain never did stop that night and when I went home I was drenched to the bone. But once I stopped thinking about the rain and focused on the joy and delight of the mitzva, the moment and the holiday, the discomfort quickly gave way to a warm feeling of joy and contentment.
Once again I thanked G-d for bringing me to Chabad, where lessons are learned in a hundred different ways. Sometimes we learn from studying Torah. Sometimes we learn at a farbregen (Chasidic gathering) and sometimes we learn by eating a soggy piece of kugel in the middle of a leaky sukka. Oh yeah, I also learned that even a soggy piece of kugel is better than no kugel at all!
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