Zionism and the Sukkah: Humility, Unity and the Soul of the Jewish State

If you had to pick one Jewish symbol that would become the official emblem of the first Jewish state in 2,000 years, what would you choose?

This question was on the table just a few months after Israel’s historic declaration of independence in May 1948. The official flag had already been designed, and now it was time to pick an official emblem for the State of Israel. In contemporary language: Israel’s official emoji.

On Nov. 1, 1948, Rabbi Ben Zion Meir Hai Uziel, the first Sephardic Chief Rabbi of the State of Israel, penned a memo to Prime Minister David Ben-Gurion, outlining his suggestion for Israel’s official “Semel Ha’Medina” (State Emblem):

“To the Honorable Prime Minister and Minister of Defense, Mr. David Ben-Gurion (may God protect you),

“As the committee deliberates the options for our new official state emblem, I would like to present my suggestion. I propose that the Sukkah become the official emblem of the State of Israel.”

Yes, the sukkah – the simple, temporary structure that Jews dwell in during the holiday of Sukkot – was Rabbi Uziel’s proposed national symbol.

Rabbi Uziel’s suggestion was ultimately not adopted. The committee decided to go with the menorah, the seven branched candelabrum from the ancient Temple in Jerusalem (not to be confused with the eight branched Hanukkiah we light on Hanukkah).

Choosing the menorah was a symbolic reversal of the famous Arch of Titus, where Jewish slaves are carrying away the menorah from the Temple destroyed by Rome.  Zionism and Jewish statehood “returned the menorah” back home. It’s a beautiful symbol, and we’ve all taken that iconic photograph in front of the menorah opposite the Knesset in Jerusalem.

Seventy-seven years later, with Jewish statehood firmly entrenched but nonetheless in a deep existential crisis, I would like to revisit Rabbi Uziel’s idea of the sukkah as the official emblem of the State of Israel. 

In our post-Oct. 7 Israel, might the sukkah – the symbol of a humble, even fragile, home, but also the symbol of an inclusive space of communal unity – be this generation’s more relevant depiction of Zionism? 

I pose this question in light of my personal decision to make Israel my permanent home, a journey that began, fittingly enough, during the week of dwelling in temporary structures: Sukkot, 2023.

Originally meant as a three-week trip to Israel, my wife Peni and I arrived to Israel on Hol Hamoed Sukkot, 2023. Per the description of Sukkot as the “Season of our Joy” (Z’man Simchateinu), the mood in Israel was festive. 

But tension was in the air. Israel was more deeply divided than ever. Politically, the division was over proposed reforms to the judicial system. While some viewed the reforms as long overdue improvements, others saw them as a threat to Israeli democracy. The nation was locked in weekly protests, each side more convinced than ever that the other was destroying the soul of Israel.

Then there was the recent “Yom Kippur War” in the streets of Tel Aviv, when a controversy over separating men and women in a public Yom Kippur service turned into physical brawls in the streets. The religious tension from this debacle spilled into Sukkot, with further confrontations over religious expression in public spaces. While each side tried to show themselves stronger than the other, an undercurrent of internal weakness and vulnerability permeated throughout Israel.

Amidst all of this tension, something extraordinary happened.

That same week, many Israelis sought to change this awful mood in the country. They decided to use the sukkah as a healing space. Israelis of different backgrounds opened their “temporary homes” – their sukkot –  as a place for communal dialogue. Speakers and teachers representing a broad diversity of voices and viewpoints were invited to gather inside a hosting sukkah, where they could exchange ideas in an atmosphere of mutual respect. 

This atmosphere of unity, tolerance and internal peace is precisely what Rabbi Uziel envisioned when he suggested the sukkah as Israel’s emblem. More than just a symbol or image, he felt the sukkah could serve as a metaphor for the type of society that the Jewish state can and should become. 

In his letter to Ben-Gurion, one of Rabbi Uziel’s central arguments was rooted in our daily and Shabbat prayers, where we ask God to “spread the sukkah of peace above us, above all of Israel, and above Jerusalem.” Paradoxically, in the backdrop of a deeply divided Israel, shades of that “sukkah of peace” – an internal peace – were felt that week. Unofficially, the sukkah had taken over as the symbol of a healthier Israeli society.  

But without realizing it, under the protective and unifying space of the sukkah, Israelis were also preparing themselves for the horrors that were to emerge just a few days later. 

On Oct. 7, Rabbi Uziel’s suggested symbol of the sukkah was never more relevant. On that day, the stability, security and very existence of the State of Israel never felt more fragile. The strong independent home of Jewish sovereignty, the Jewish state that “brought the Menorah home,” suddenly felt like a sukkah that struggled to remain standing in the midst of a violent storm. The seemingly permanent lights of Israel’s menorah were extinguished, replaced by the image of a frail, temporary sukkah.

Yet amidst that darkness, something magical happened. In the immediate aftermath of Oct. 7, the frail sukkah from that dark day was overtaken by the sukkah of internal peace and unity that Israelis had explored just a few days earlier. Everywhere you looked, there were posters, billboards and bumper stickers of two Hebrew words – “Yahad Ne’natzeah” – “Together we will win.” 

Israelis hugged each other in the streets, comforting one another from the trauma and shock of Oct. 7. They opened their homes to house the homeless survivors from the ravaged south and north. Volunteers from all walks of life joined hands together. Every street corner had volunteers – secular, religious, ultra-Orthodox, young and old – all doing something just to help. Food, clothing, medical supplies, toys and books were all being packaged with love. Support for our IDF soldiers was at an unprecedented high, as were the number of Israelis reporting to reserve duty. Yes, even some ultra-Orthodox joined the military campaign. Musicians played in the streets while famous rock bands toured the country. Many Jews joined to pray together, something that seemed impossible just a week earlier. More than just a symbol, the sukkah of internal peace became a reflection of daily life in Israel. It mirrored the classic Talmudic teaching about the sukkah:

“For seven days, all citizens of Israel shall dwell in a sukkot” (Leviticus 23:42) – This teaches us that it is fitting for all of Israel to sit in one Sukkah (Talmud, Sukkah 27b).

It’s precisely this one sukkah of unity which inspired Peni and me to make Israel our permanent home. For much longer than seven days – roughly two months – all of Israel sat in one sukkah.  While we both understood that this magical sense of unity doesn’t last forever, its power nonetheless touched us to the point of making this big move. We became Israelis at a historic time, not only because of Oct. 7 and the Gaza War, but because we joined our new fellow Israelis under a beautiful sukkah of inclusiveness and unity. 

Two years later, that sukkah of unity is but a distant memory. The Israel we live in today is more fractured and fragile than it was in the months leading to Oct. 7. “Yahad Ne’natzeah” has given way to fierce political and social debates that threaten the stability of our country. Back in the early days of the war, none of us imagined that bringing home our hostages would become a fierce point of contention within Israel. 

Today, more than ever, we need the sukkah as the symbol of Israel.

As a symbol of unity, the sukkah can bring us back to that sukkah of internal peace. As a metaphor for the State of Israel, the sukkah can help us actualize Rabbi Uziel’s profoundly unifying vision for Israeli society, beautifully articulated in his essay “You Shall Love Truth and Peace”:

“The pillars of truth and peace are sorely needed in the State of Israel, for only truth and peace can create an atmosphere of pleasantness and tranquility throughout our land. Each one of us must internalize the values of truth and peace. Doing so will foster a true love for the State of Israel, and a genuine desire for its ever important internal peace. This internal peace within our country can ultimately lead to an external peace, guiding us towards peace initiatives with other nations. Let us conduct ourselves in the paths of true peace, respecting each other’s opinions and feelings, as well as respecting the differences of opinion amongst the different factions in our country. Let us remove all language of hatred, animosity and provocation from our midst.”

Rabbi Uziel’s humble “sukkah of unity” says more about our current condition in Israel – both our challenges and our aspirations – than does the menorah. 

The fragility of the sukkah reminds us that the modern-day blessings of Zionism and Jewish statehood should never be taken as a given. Our frailty can be exposed by an Oct. 7 attack from the outside, much like it can be exposed by poisonously divisive internal rhetoric. 

The  menorah tells a more triumphant story of Zionism, but the sukkah is our much needed lesson in humility. 

We need this reminder in Israel, not only on Sukkot – which this year hauntingly begins on Oct.7 – but every single day throughout the year. 

Postscript

On Dec. 6, 2023, Peni and I visited Kibbutz Kfar Aza. It was our first post-Oct.7 visit to the Gaza envelope, and also the first time we saw any images of the bloody massacres. With our son fighting in Gaza, we stayed away from the horrific Oct. 7 photos and videos for as long as we could.

Walking through the ruins where a thriving young community once lived, we beheld with horror the remains of homes riddled with bullet holes, stained with blood. The once peaceful homes were now a chaotic display of terror, violence and bloodshed. Houses were reduced to rubble. Entire families were destroyed. A community fell.

As we walked away from the killing fields of Kfar Aza, I noticed something that brought chills down my spine. Amidst all of the fallen “permanent structures,” there was one “temporary structure” that still stood. 

A sukkah. 

In his memo to Ben-Gurion, Rabbi Uziel quotes a prophetic verse about a “fallen sukkah”:

 “On that day, I will raise up again the fallen Sukkah of David.” (Amos 9:11)

 Remarkably, at Kibbutz Kfar Aza, the “Sukkah of David” never fell. 

Adding to its symbolic traits of humility and unity, the sukkah also became a symbol of survival and hope.

What an inspirational symbol for today’s Israel. 

Rabbi Daniel Bouskila is the International Director of the Sephardic Educational Center in the Old City of Jerusalem. You can read his weekly column “Sephardic Torah from the Holy Land” here in the Jewish Journal.