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October 2000 Issue

Mood on the Street: Trading a Treat for a Tabernacle

By Gregory Newmark

As someone who was raised north of the Mason-Dixon line, I appreciate the fall. Summer is too muggy, winter too cold, and spring too wet, but fall is just right. It is crisp, cool. I need that break from the onslaught of weather to relish the world around me. That transition period takes place between Rosh Hashanah and Thanksgiving.

The cycle works well. On Rosh Hashanah you go in for a tune up and after Yom Kippur you're ready to roll. The famished collective blitz to the break-fast table makes clear one's return to the mundane world. After the high holidays you move on and celebrate the secular indulgences of Halloween and Thanksgiving.

In Israel, a place where trees don't lose their leaves, fall almost disappears. Like everything else in Israel, autumn is compressed into a much smaller space. In this case into Tishrei, the seventh month of the Jewish calendar, which ironically is when the new Jewish year begins.

Conveniently, the opening ceremonies of my fall remain intact as Tishrei starts with Rosh Hashanah. In Israel, Rosh Hashanah is not comprised of a small group of people missing school and work together, but a national observance. In a ironic twist, even my Christian Arab hairdresser wishes me a happy new year.

Yom Kippur is a bit strange in Israel. Although most of the country is secular, given respect for tradition, on that day no one drives. Non-religious children, seizing the opportunity, bike all day on the major streets which are blissfully free of Israeli drivers.

In Israel, Halloween and Thanksgiving are compressed into one holiday: Sukkot. Sukkot, the Festival of Tabernacles, is one of the most fun and, in America, one of the most ignored Jewish holidays.

Sukkot literally means Huts. Jews observing the festival build huts in which they are to live for a week to recall the forty years of wandering in the desert. It's a good tradeoff.

Sukkot commemorates an era rather than a discrete event. The Torah set it in the calendar six months after Passover during a full moon right in the heart of the harvest season. Anthropologists emphasize the agricultural origins of the holiday, as other peoples in the Middle East build small huts and live in their fields to better harvest the produce during this time of year. That is probably an accurate take and helps explain why Sukkot can easily replace Halloween and Thanksgiving.

Halloween most likely originated as a Celtic Harvest holiday, but was altered through its proximity with All Saints' Day which was set by my namesake Pope Gregory III to occur on November 1. Sukkot combines the harvest and religious elements with more style.

Building and decorating the Sukkah is much more fun than carving a Jack-o'-lantern. Jewish law admittedly gives more detailed zoning restrictions, but as long as the Sukkah isn't too tall, too small, or have too many stories, it has a good chance of being kosher. You can even build one on a camel. How many times have you seen a carved pumpkin riding a dromedary? Enough said.

Thanksgiving may very well have been a Pilgrim emulation of the biblical command to celebrate Sukkot. Lacking the Talmud, the Pilgrims may have had to wing their observance by eating outside. Today, the naked appreciation of the bounty of nature and recognition of human fragility is lost in our Thanksgiving celebration.

Sitting in a sukkah on a cool crisp night, separated from the rest of the world by a wall made of fabric and a roof made of leaves, one can experience the tenuousness of our existence and stare with awe at the universe beyond. That is a meal that causes you to feel gratitude. That's what fall is all about.

Gregory Newmark is a transportation planner who lives in Jerusalem. He can be reached at gnewmark@inter.net.il

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