Would you like to have a date with God?
This week we are celebrating the festival of Sukkot—a celebration so significant that it effectively breaks the cycle of Torah readings. I recently heard a Bob Marley song entitled “Waiting in Vain for Your Love” that reminded me a bit of this Torah portion. The song expresses the pain of loving someone deeply, of waiting at the doorstep, while pleading not to make them “wait in vain” if you know you’re not coming or won’t return their love. We call this “standing someone up,” and the person left waiting is the one who truly suffers. I believe that is what this portion is about: God pauses the daily routine to dispel the “monotony” of the relationship; it is as if He were saying, “We will set aside a time—a “Moed”—to rejoice together. Yes, just you and me! Without any interruptions!”
The challenge of going out on a date is that several things can ruin it—and I speak from experience. One of the surest ways to destroy a perfect date is “not letting go” of things like our home life, our job, our family, our nationality, our intellect, our activities, our contacts, our plans, and anything else that becomes the “River Nile” to us. I was struck by the passage in Zechariah: “And it shall come to pass that whichever of all the families on earth does not go up to Jerusalem to bow down before the King, the LORD of the Armies, there shall be no rain upon them. And if the family of Egypt does not go up, there shall be no rain upon them. The plague that falls upon Egypt will be the same one with which the LORD punishes the nations that do not go up to celebrate the Festival of Sukkot.” What does the Egyptian family have to do with this? As we read earlier, Egypt lived next to and depended on the Nile River from which they drew their food, water, economy, and strength; their lives revolved around it. God is drawing our attention to the fact that there will be nations that think their “Nile” will save them. Worst of all, Egypt might think its life could never change because it does not depend on rain, but rather on its River—reminding us of Pharaoh’s question: “Who is YHWH that I should obey Him?” Zechariah issues a resounding call to Egypt, challenging it to recognize who the King is. It seems to me that Egypt serves here as an image representing the illusion of self-sufficiency—that we do not need a King to live, or Heaven’s favor to provide water.
Another thing that can ruin a date is constantly wondering when it will end. Having a mindset of “So, what now?” or “What’s next?” Trying to “check off a list of activities” instead of simply enjoying the date is nothing more than a way of killing time. Sometimes our lives are so structured that we lose sight of the date’s true purpose: that it’s not about the meal, the location, or controlled conversation. It is simply the innate desire to relate to the other person.
I see this reflected in the fact that the Moed (Appointed Time) temporarily shifts the cycle away from the next reading, Vezot Habrachah —moving us past the routine questions of “What chapter are we studying this week?” or “Are we finishing the Torah this week?”—and instead shifts the focus to the question: “What is God doing with His people at this specific moment?” It is as if He is saying, “Forget the structure; learn to be with Me.”
To a certain extent, we learn that God sanctifies—or sets apart—His times (Moedim, His appointments) to enjoy fellowship with us, as He declares in Leviticus 22:32: “You shall not profane My holy name, but I will be sanctified among the children of Israel…” In chapter 23, He adds: “These are the Moedim of YHWH, the holy assemblies…” Thus, Sukkot is not merely a cultural festival of Israel; it is an appointment established by God.
Another thing that ruins a date is not planning a special place to be together. If someone told you, “I’m getting married,” wouldn’t they look for a suitable place for that special moment? Or would they hold it in a food court? Leviticus 23:42-43 says: “You shall dwell in Sukkot [booths] for seven days… so that your descendants may know that I made the children of Israel dwell in sukkahs when I brought them out of the land of Egypt.”
Notice that the main theme is that God planned everything from the beginning; it was His plan to take us out of the four walls of a solid house, which represents security and comfort, and bring us to a place that reminds us of our fragility, dependence, insecurity, and the fleeting nature of things. He reminds us that the only thing that truly endures over time is our relationship with Him, and that He provides us with His “rain”. I suppose that the day God decrees my death—and I hope not to be alone at the end—the only thing I will possess in this distressing transition is the presence of the Eternal One, not my security. So, I ask myself: in what do I place my trust? I hope to use whatever God gives me without it becoming a “god” to me.
Special dates can be ruined if you don’t bring a thoughtful gift for the occasion. We read in Numbers 29:12-16 that drawing near to God is not “free”; it comes at a cost. This week, I heard a speaker named Lucho Mellera ask a young man at a forum: “Do you know the cost of having a good father?” After a moment of silence, the young man replied: “The cost of having a good father is striving to be a good son.” Why do I bring this up? Because the cost of having a good wife is endeavoring to be a good husband; and the cost of having a good God is striving to obey and listen attentively to His words.
Here, our Torah portion invites us to move beyond economic dependency and to give from what we have received. So, over the course of seven days, a burnt offering (an olah)—consisting of two rams and fourteen lambs—was presented, along with a male goat each day as a sin offering (a Chataat). Notice the specific schedule of burnt offerings: thirteen bulls on the first day, twelve on the second, eleven on the third, and so on—decreasing by one bull each day until the seventh day, when seven bulls were offered. These bulls totalled 70. Our Sages teach in Sukkah 55b that this number corresponds to the 70 nations of the earth—evoking the festival’s universal nature. It connects to Zechariah 14, in which all nations will one day send ambassadors to Jerusalem to worship God and celebrate Sukkot.
Here we see the act of giving and learning to let go manifest on various levels: the Sukkah teaches us to let go of the things that provide a sense of security; the Korban (offering) teaches us to let go of our possessions; and Simchah (joy) teaches us to let go of anxiety. It teaches us to enjoy what we receive from Heaven without turning those gifts into substitutes for the true source of our trust.
Finally, to avoid ruining the date, we need to express and properly channel our emotions and energy around our desire to enjoy our time together. I have seen people eating in fine restaurants who do not converse, look into each other’s eyes, or smile; instead, they appear “absent,” “dissatisfied,” “frustrated,” or “disconnected” from their date, some because they are focused on their electronic devices. The Torah tells us: “and you shall rejoice before the LORD your God for seven days” (Leviticus 23:40), so I asked myself: how is it possible to rejoice continuously for seven days? Is it even physically and mentally possible to rejoice for eight straight hours? I doubt it. In Hebrew, it says “U-s’machtem lifnei Adonai Eloheichem shiv’at yamim. U-s’machtem—you shall rejoice—comes from Simcha, meaning to rejoice. Joy does not mean smiling for the 168 hours that Sukkot lasts; the Torah cannot be commanding us to manufacture a permanent emotion that defies human possibility.
Someone might die during Sukkot; we might receive bad news, have an argument, feel tired, worried, or frustrated, or even weep—emotions that are seemingly contrary to simcha (joy). Yet God knows our reality; so, what is He really asking of us? During these days He is redirecting our emotions by saying: “During these seven days, despite whatever we may feel, we will live deliberately before God in a spirit of gratitude, trust, and celebration of His provision.” For Simcha is joy, but it is also contentment and celebration. Furthermore, by saying “Lifnei Adonai Eloheichem”—“before the LORD your God”, this joy has a specific objective and context. The text previously indicated that we sowed, God sent the rain, and we received a good harvest. That is to say, I acknowledge that the abundance I possess is not self-generated—I didn’t produce it myself; it was God who bestowed it. But I also want to add that Deuteronomy 16:13–14 says…You shall keep the feast of Sukkot seven days, after you have gathered in from your threshing-floor and from your winepress. And you shall rejoice in your feast, you, and your son, and your daughter, and your man-servant, and your maid-servant, and the Levite, and the stranger, and the orphan, and the widow, who are within your gates.”
So, during this “vacation” we are sharing our neighbors and ourselves with God; with what attitude will we celebrate? Perhaps the great question of Sukkot is not merely, “Did you build a sukkah?” or “Did you celebrate the festival?” Perhaps the question is: Did you show up for the appointment? For we can physically enter a sukkah without ever having let go of our own house. We can offer a sacrifice while still believing that everything belongs to us. We can sing songs of joy while remaining absent, preoccupied only with what comes next. Sukkot invites us, for seven days, to pause and say: “I am here.”
And “I am here,” even if my life isn’t fully sorted out. “I am here,” even if I have worries. “I am here,” even if there are things I don’t understand. “I am here” to give thanks for what I have received, to share it with others, and to remember who sustains me.
The sukkah teaches me to let go of my false sense of security.
The korban (offering) teaches me to let go of my possessions.
Simcha (joy) teaches me to let go of my anxiety.
The Sukkot table teaches me to let go of my private joy.
And Zechariah teaches me to let go of the illusion that my people—Israel—or my nation, or I myself, am the center of the world. For the prophecy does not end with the words, “Israel will be king over all the earth.” No! It says: “And YHVH will be King over all the earth; on that day YHVH will be One, and His Name one.” That is the destiny toward which Sukkot points: Israel, Egypt, and the nations acknowledging the same King.
Perhaps that is why God sets this time apart and tells us: “Put aside your agenda for a moment. Let go of the need to finish everything. Step out of your four walls. Bring what you have received. Invite someone to your table. Rejoice before God. Learn once again Who sustains you.” And so, the question I would like us to end with is not: “Will God show up for the appointment?” For perhaps Sukkot begins by affirming that He has already established the Moed. The question is: Will “we” make it to the appointment, or will we leave God waiting in vain?
Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sukkot Sameach.
Mauricio Quintero