Parashat Bereishit: A Taste of the Tree of Life - What Does the Torah Say about Rectified Relationships with Animals?

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Parashat Bereishit: A Taste of the Tree of Life

What Does the Torah Say about Rectified Relationships with Animals?

Can Close Relationships with Animals Replace Human Relationships? 

Proper relationships between people and animals have come up for me lately. That is, various potential students have wanted to not only enroll in the midrasha with their dog; moreover, they consider their dog an inseparable part of themselves, like a life partner. 

One woman described how her dog comforted her after the loss of both parents at a young age and years of longing for a husband and child. After many years of pain, Jackie entered her life. “This doggie healed my heart and soul in a way no human can imagine,” and she no longer feels the “unhealthy desire for a husband or child.” “When I say ‘we,’ I mean it.” She calls Jackie her ‘baby’ and believes the dog has ‘a certain spark of Jewishness in her soul. She moreover declares, “She is Israeli and Me too,” and she longs to build a Jewish life in Israel with her “baby” Jackie. Another woman described rescuing her dog from a house crowded with 120 dogs. She compared the rescue of “Zoey Bracha” to Moshe Rabbeinu searching for and carrying a lost sheep. She also pointed to a tattoo on the dog that “adds up to 18 – Chai” and described Zoey as her emotional support, complete with a badge and a psychiatrist’s letter. She calls her Zoey a “perfect mooksah dog” because no one can touch her. She explained that the dog could remain in a knapsack or stroller – “Viewing only! no touching” – and she can be left in a bedroom as long as she feels safe. This woman wrote me that she hoped I might have “a change of heart” about allowing her to bring the dog to the midrasha. 

Both women speak from real pain, and caring for a vulnerable animal can be a mitzvah. Yet it saddens me to see how disappointment in human relationships can lead someone to despair of finding human closeness and give an animal the place of a life partner. I also find it deeply troubling when care for animals becomes a substitute for human closeness, or when a dog is spoken of as a child, a spiritual companion, or the other half of “we.” 

Parashat Bereishit brings this question into focus: After Hashem brought the animals before Adam, why was none of them found to be an ezer kenegdo – a fitting companion for him? These are just examples of the many women I come across who make me wonder whether an animal is being given a place in their spiritual and emotional lives that the Torah asks us to reserve for human companionship.

Why Couldn’t an Animal Be Adam’s Companion?

ספר בראשית פרק ב פסוק כ 

וַיִּקְרָא הָאָדָם שֵׁמוֹת לְכָל הַבְּהֵמָה וּלְעוֹף הַשָּׁמַיִם וּלְכֹל חַיַּת הַשָּׂדֶה וּלְאָדָם לֹא מָצָא עֵזֶר כְּנֶגְדּוֹ׃

“Adam gave names to all the cattle, to the birds of the heavens, and to every beast of the field; but for Adam, no ezer kenegdo – fitting companion – was found” (Bereishit 2:20).

Ramban explains that Hashem did not create Chava immediately. First, Adam needed to recognize for himself that among all the other creatures there was no appropriate partner for him. Only after encountering the animals and realizing that none could correspond to him did Adam yearn for a companion of his own kind. Thus, the encounter with the animals was actually part of preparing Adam to recognize his need for human companionship (Ramban, Bereishit 2:20).
This is striking because Adam’s conclusion did not arise from failing to appreciate the animals. On the contrary, he understood them so profoundly that he was able to discern the essential nature of each creature and give it an appropriate name. Yet the more clearly Adam understood the animals, the more clearly he recognized that none of them could be his other half.

Rav Hirsch adds that Adam could find no creature corresponding to him who could share in the great responsibility entrusted to the human being created in Hashem’s image. An animal may offer affection, comfort, loyalty, and even emotional healing, but it cannot stand alongside a person as a fellow bearer of human spiritual and moral responsibility (Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch, Bereishit 2:20).

Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin notices that through contemplating the various animals and their distinctive qualities, Adam came to recognize the many different middot contained within himself. Yet the companion he needed was not simply someone who would mirror him. A woman would possess complementary middot, and precisely through being different from him – kenegdo – she could become his true other half. Human relationship therefore includes the challenge of encountering another person who does not always think, feel, or respond as we do. According to Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin, that very difference can become a source of help and growth (Ha’amek Davar, Bereishit 2:20). Perhaps this is part of what makes replacing human companionship with an animal so problematic. A relationship with an animal may sometimes feel safer precisely because the animal does not confront us with the same complexity, differences, demands, and reciprocal responsibility as another human being. Yet some of what makes human relationships difficult may be precisely what enables us to grow.

What was the Very First Mistake in the Garden that Caused Humanity’s Downfall?

The Torah’s account of the serpent follows immediately after the creation of Chava as Adam’s unique human companion. Yet the serpent was not content to remain within its proper place in creation: 

בראשית פרק ג  פסוק א וְהַנָּחָשׁ הָיָה עָרוּם מִכֹּל חַיַּת הַשָּׂדֶה אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה הַשֵּׁם אֱלֹהִים וַיֹּאמֶר אֶל הָאִשָּׁה אַף כִּי אָמַר אֱלֹהִים לֹא תֹאכְלוּ מִכֹּל עֵץ הַגָּן׃

“Now the serpent was cunning, more than all the beasts of the field that Hashem G-d had made, and it said to the woman, ‘Did G-d indeed say, “You shall not eat of any of the trees of the garden?’” (Bereishit 3:1).

Rashi, citing the Midrash, explains that when the serpent saw Adam and Chava together, it desired Chava (Rashi, Bereishit 3:1; Bereishit Rabbah 18:6). The Midrash goes even further. Hashem rebuked the serpent, “You sought to kill Adam and marry Chava” (Bereishit Rabbah 20:5). Thus, the very animal that could never become a human being’s fitting companion sought to come between the first husband and wife and usurp Adam’s place.

Chava’s first mistake was engaging the serpent in conversation. Rather than leaving the serpent “to bark,” Chava allowed herself to be enticed by it. The serpent then realized that it had an opening: “Now that she has begun speaking with me, I will tempt her.” Rather than remaining a creature under human dominion, the serpent became a voice Chava listened to and responded to. By entering into dialogue with the serpent, Chava opened herself to its influence (Sefer HaPeli’ah, Vayomer el ha’ishah af ki amar Elokim).

The Tikkunei Zohar describes the serpent’s method of communication as particularly deceptive: Its heart was filled with falsehood, while its mouth enticed Chava with words that sounded true (Tikkunei Zohar, Tikkun 59, 93a). This was not merely a conversation about eating a forbidden fruit. Through the serpent, distorted communication entered the most intimate human relationship. The serpent spoke deceptively to Chava; Chava ate and gave the fruit to Adam; and soon afterward Adam, who had just proclaimed Chava “bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh,” blamed her before Hashem.

The serpent therefore succeeded, at least temporarily, in what it set out to accomplish: it created conflict between Adam and Chava. The first human relationship, created in perfect unity, became infected with deception, blame, and separation. The consequences of that rupture reach far beyond Gan Eden.

Do We Dare to Repair the Interpersonal Rift Initiated by the Serpent?

We are still living with the consequences of what happened in Gan Eden. The serpent introduced deception and distrust into the first human relationship, and Adam and Chava’s original unity gave way to blame and separation. Rabbi Yeshaya Horowitz teaches that the world has not yet reached the original intention of Creation “until the damage is repaired.” When that tikkun takes place, the darkness will return to light, and the resulting light will be even greater than before the sin (Shelah HaKadosh, Toldot Adam, Beit David). This gives us hope that the rifts originating in Gan Eden are not irreversible. We are challenged to repair our relationships by overcoming the yetzer hara that divides us and learning to communicate honestly, forgive, and reconnect.

What Is the Proper Place for Animals in Human Life?

The Torah assigns animals an important place in human life, but not the place of human beings. When Hashem created humanity, He commanded, “Be fruitful and multiply, fill the earth and subdue it, and rule over the fish of the sea, the birds of the heavens, and every living creature that moves upon the earth” (Bereishit 1:28). Animals are to be cared for appropriately while serving the purposes for which Hashem created them. Dogs can guard our homes and communities against intruders and danger; cats can help keep snakes, scorpions, mice, and rats away; and countless animals contribute to human life and the balance of creation in their own ways. We can appreciate animals, protect them from suffering, and benefit from their special qualities without confusing their role with the uniquely human relationship.

This brings us full circle to the close relationships with animals with which we began. Animals can comfort us, bring us joy, and awaken our compassion, but they cannot replace the challenging work of human relationships. It may sometimes feel safer to give our heart to an animal than to risk disappointment, misunderstanding, and hurt from another person. Yet perhaps precisely there lies our tikkun (rectification). Rather than allowing painful human relationships to make us retreat from one another, we are called to heal the separation that began in Gan Eden – and allow ourselves to be vulnerable, take risks, and rediscover the human closeness for which we were created.

Parashat V’Zot Habracha: “From the Ships of Zevulun to the Tents of Yissachar” - What is Greater: Learning Torah or Supporting Torah Learning?

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Parashat V’Zot Habracha: “From the Ships of Zevulun to the Tents of Yissachar”

What is Greater: Learning Torah or Supporting Torah Learning?

What Dilemma May We Experience When Dedicating Ourselves Fully to Torah Study?

As a new Ba’alat Teshuva (returnee to Torah), I was told in the yeshiva that all Jews must learn Torah, and then the Arabs will do all our work. This concept never really resonated with me. I hail from a family of very hardworking people. Alongside academic accomplishments, my parents always took pride in working hard physically. My father would fix, paint, build, mow the lawn, and prune the trees. He also engaged in creative projects, such as weaving a beautiful, colorful rug that still adorns my childhood home. My mother kept everything in the house spotless, including every nook and cranny. We children were also put to work from an early age and carried responsibilities according to our abilities.

As I became Torah observant and began learning Torah, statements such as “Torah study is beautiful when combined with a worldly occupation, for the toil of them both keeps sin out of one’s mind” (Pirkei Avot 2:2) naturally resonated with me. Simultaneously, it became clear to me that there are special souls whose primary work is to toil in Torah. To truly excel and make significant Torah contributions to Israel and the world, particularly gifted Torah scholars may need to devote themselves full time to their studies. Throughout Jewish history, families and communities have therefore supported outstanding Torah scholars, enabling them to immerse themselves in Torah. In some families, the most erudite and studious son was sent to yeshiva, while his brothers worked and helped support his Torah learning. This arrangement echoes the ancient partnership between Yissachar and Zevulun, in which one brother devoted himself to Torah while the other provided the material means that made his learning possible.

My husband and I immersed ourselves in Torah learning for seven years to catch up on all the Torah we hadn’t learned during our childhood. Our rabbi told us that it was a mitzvah for us to ask our parents to support us, since by doing so they would receive a share in the merit of our Torah learning. Yet I never felt completely at ease relying on my parents for financial support, since they didn’t live in our Torah world and naturally lacked appreciation for the need to support their adult, able-bodied children. Although I didn’t want to deprive our parents of the opportunity to receive great merit by supporting Torah learning, I always felt torn about accepting their financial support. Is it really such a great mitzvah to support those who study Torah full time?

How Does Financial Support Nourish Torah Scholarship?

The partnership between Yissachar and Zevulun provides a powerful answer to my dilemma. In his final blessing to the tribes, Moshe juxtaposes Zevulun’s going out into the world with Yissachar’s remaining in the tents:

ספר דברים פרק לג פסוקים יח-יט 

וְלִזְבוּלֻן אָמַר שְׂמַח זְבוּלֻן בְּצֵאתֶךָ וְיִשָּׂשכָר בְּאֹהָלֶיךָ... כִּי שֶׁפַע יַמִּים יִינָקוּ וּשְׂפוּנֵי טְמוּנֵי חוֹל:

“And of Zevulun he said: Rejoice, Zevulun, in your going out, and Yissachar, in your tents... for they shall suck the abundance of the seas and the hidden treasures of the sand” (Devarim 33:18–19).

The Torah’s expression כִּי שֶׁפַע יַמִּים יִינָקוּ/ki shefa yamim yinaku – “for they shall suck the abundance of the seas” – is particularly evocative in the context of nourishment. The word יִינָקוּ/yinaku literally means “they shall suck” or “nurse.” Zevulun would draw sustenance from the abundance of the seas through his maritime commerce. Yet this material abundance would ultimately nourish the Torah learning taking place within Yissachar’s tents. In the partnership between Yissachar and Zevulun, Zevulun would dwell by the seacoast, sail forth to conduct business, earn a livelihood, and וְנוֹתֵן לְתוֹךְ פִּיו שֶׁל יִשָּׂשכָר/venoten letoch piv shel Yissachar – “place [his earnings] into Yissachar’s mouth.”  Thus, he enabled Yissachar to become so accomplished in Torah that his scholars served as heads of the Sanhedrin, calculating the calendar and determining the new months (Rashi, Devarim 33:18).

The Midrash further clarifies this interdependence. Zevulun engaged in commerce while Yissachar devoted himself to Torah. “It is a tree of life to those who support it” (Mishlei 3:18) applies to Zevulun, because “Had it not been for Zevulun, Yissachar would not have engaged in Torah.” Freed from the demands of making a living, Yissachar could dedicate himself entirely to Torah and consequently produce outstanding Torah scholars about whom it states יוֹדְעֵי בִינָה לָעִתִּים/yodei binah la’itim – “those who understand the times” (Midrash Tanchuma, Vayechi 11).

We often think of nourishment primarily as sustaining the body. However, the bread placed into Yissachar’s mouth nourished not only his body; it nourished the Torah that emerged from his learning. By providing Yissachar with the physical security and peace of mind necessary to immerse himself in Torah, Zevulun enabled his brother’s spiritual gifts to develop for the benefit of all Israel. In this way, physical sustenance became the vessel for spiritual nourishment.

How Can Material Abundance Become a Vehicle for Spiritual Nourishment?

The partnership between Yissachar and Zevulun goes even deeper than providing the physical conditions necessary for Torah study. The Zohar teaches that each brother shared his portion with the other. Zevulun went out into the world, while Yissachar remained immersed in Torah – “this one gave a portion to the other, and the other gave a portion to this one” (Zohar, Beha’alotcha 150a).

Thus, the flow of nourishment went in both directions. This reciprocal relationship transforms our understanding of material abundance. Money used only for our own benefit remains material wealth. Yet when we direct some of our resources toward enabling Torah learning, our material abundance becomes a vehicle for spiritual nourishment. The livelihood earned through Zevulun’s commerce entered Yissachar’s tent as food and financial support, but Yissachar’s learning transformed it into Torah shared equally with Zevulun – “and the blessing of Torah is the blessing of everything” (Zohar III:150a).

The Radzyner Rebbe reveals an even deeper dimension of Zevulun’s blessing. Drawing on the Zohar and the teachings of the Arizal, he connects Zevulun’s sea with the spiritual “sea” of Knesset Yisrael and with the mystery of techelet, which emerges from the sea. The Zohar teaches that the Sea of Kinneret below corresponds to a spiritual Sea of Kinneret above. Thus, “for they shall suck the abundance of the seas” may suggest more than drawing material prosperity from maritime commerce. The physical abundance flowing from the sea below reflects a higher spiritual current (Ma’amar Ein HaTechelet 3). Seen through this mystical lens, when Zevulun directs his earnings toward sustaining Yissachar’s Torah, they become a conduit for spiritual nourishment.

This sheds new light on the dilemma I struggled with when my husband and I were studying Torah full time. Material support given to a Torah scholar enters the world of Torah and becomes part of the Torah it enables. The supporter is therefore not standing outside the beit midrash merely paying its bills, but becomes a partner in the spiritual nourishment flowing from it. Just as Zevulun’s material shefa was transformed through Yissachar’s Torah, the resources we dedicate to Torah can become vessels through which Hashem’s spiritual abundance flows into the world. In this partnership, physical and spiritual nourishment join together, allowing Hashem’s blessing to flow equally through both.

Why Does the Torah Mention Zevulun Before Yissachar?

We may wonder why Moshe mentions Zevulun first: “Rejoice, Zevulun, in your going out, and Yissachar, in your tents” (Devarim 33:18). After all, Yissachar was born before Zevulun, and Torah learning would seem to deserve precedence over the material support that enables it. Yet both Ya’acov and Moshe bless Zevulun before Yissachar.

The Zohar answers that supporting Torah is portrayed not merely as giving from one’s surplus, but as sharing one’s own bread. Zevulun transformed the fruit of his labor into the nourishment that allowed Yissachar to remain within the tents of Torah. His precedence therefore reflects the extraordinary value Hashem places upon supporting Torah. Zevulun did not merely earn a livelihood alongside Yissachar’s learning; he deliberately directed his hard-earned income toward making that learning possible.

The Zohar goes even further. Because Zevulun sustained those who labored in Torah, he merited blessings both in this world and in the World-to-Come. While Yissachar devoted himself to the “table” of Torah, Zevulun was blessed with “two tables” – material blessing below as well as spiritual reward above. His physical work became elevated and bound to the Torah he sustained (Zohar I:242a). 

The Kedushat Yom Tov raises a profound question: can the one who enables Torah learning in some sense receive precedence over the one who actually learns? Yet he challenges this possibility with the Talmudic teaching, “Great is Torah study, for it leads to action” (Kiddushin 40b). Perhaps Zevulun’s precedence teaches us that spiritual nourishment does not appear in the world without vessels to sustain it. Before Yissachar can remain in his tent and immerse himself in Torah, someone must place bread into his mouth. The bread is not the ultimate purpose – the Torah is – yet the Torah cannot flourish if the physical needs of those who learn it are neglected. By mentioning Zevulun first, the Torah honors the person who willingly transforms his own physical nourishment into nourishment for another person’s Torah. 

Why Do Material Blessings at Times Precede Spiritual Blessings?

Does Zevulun’s primacy indicate that material pursuits are ultimately worthier than Torah? Imrei Shammai points out a fascinating distinction. In Moshe’s blessings, Zevulun precedes Yissachar, whereas in the arrangement of the tribal banners, Yissachar precedes Zevulun. He explains that a blessing concerns the flow of shefa. Since Zevulun receives material abundance and channels it toward sustaining Yissachar’s Torah, the material shefa must first flow to Zevulun before it can enable the spiritual flow emerging from Yissachar’s Torah. When it comes to the essential spiritual order, Yissachar takes precedence because Torah remains the ultimate purpose (Imrei Shammai, Devarim 488).

This relationship is encapsulated in the well-known teaching “If there is no flour, there is no Torah” (Pirkei Avot 3:17). Flour comes first not because it is more important than Torah, but because the body must be nourished before it can become a vessel for the soul. We need bread, shelter, clothing, livelihood, and sufficient peace of mind to devote ourselves to higher spiritual pursuits. This insight illuminates Moshe’s final blessings. As he prepares to leave this world, Moshe blesses the tribes not only with spiritual greatness, but with the tangible nourishment of this earth – the dew of heaven, the waters of the deep, produce ripened by the sun, the abundance of the seas, bread, oil, grain, and wine. The Torah does not ask us to escape the physical world in pursuit of the spiritual. Rather, it teaches us to receive Hashem’s physical blessings with gratitude and elevate them by directing them toward His service.

As we complete the yearly Torah reading cycle, we are taught that physical and spiritual nourishment were never meant to be separate worlds. The food we eat, the livelihood we earn, and the abundance with which Hashem blesses us can all become vessels for Torah. Zevulun’s ships and Yissachar’s tents ultimately serve one purpose: bringing more Torah and Hashem’s presence into the world. May we merit to receive Hashem’s abundance with gratitude and share it generously. In this way, the physical blessings of this world can become vessels for the greatest nourishment of all – the Torah that gives life to Israel and carries Hashem’s blessing into the entire world.

The Holiday of Sukkot: “The Ingathering Festival” - What Are the Deeper Layers of Ingathering on Sukkot?

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The Holiday of Sukkot: “The Ingathering Festival”

What Are the Deeper Layers of Ingathering on Sukkot?

Why Is Sukkot the Festival of Our Greatest Joy?

I always look forward to Sukkot more than to any other holiday. The scent of our Jewish school’s sukkah from my early childhood still lingers in my sensory memory. Every year I try to replicate it. This Sukkot, I will try picking a lot of sweet-smelling myrtles from my back garden and hanging them in the Sukkah!  

I also love Sukkot because of the feeling of emerging as a new and better person from all the teshuva on Yom Kippur, ready to bring this purity into my relationships, especially within my family.

Lastly, I rejoice in relief that most of the summer’s produce has been harvested and organized. Containers of dried figs, prunes, and apricots line our pantry; our refrigerators are loaded with fruit jams, compotes, and preserves, while apples and pomegranates fill our fruit baskets. 

All our holidays are connected to the agricultural cycle. Pesach is called “the Festival of Spring,” Shavuot “the Day of the First Fruits,” while Sukkot is called “the Festival of Ingathering.” At this culmination of the agricultural year, when all the fruits have been harvested, it is natural to be happy and celebrate. Yet the Jewish holidays are so much more than agricultural celebrations. Sukkot teaches us how to elevate the physical nourishment Hashem bestows upon us and become spiritually nourished through recognizing its Divine source.

How Do We Elevate the Joy of Our Harvest?

The Torah emphasizes the connection between Sukkot and gathering the produce of the Land:

ספר ויקרא פרק כג פסוק לט

אַךְ בַּחֲמִשָּׁה עָשָׂר יוֹם לַחֹדֶשׁ הַשְּׁבִיעִי בְּאָסְפְּכֶם אֶת־תְּבוּאַת הָאָרֶץ תָּחֹגּוּ אֶת־חַג־הַשֵּׁם שִׁבְעַת יָמִים...

“On the fifteenth day of the seventh month, when you gather in the produce of the land, you shall celebrate the festival of Hashem for seven days…” (Vayikra 23:39).

Sukkot is called זְמַן שִׂמְחָתֵנוּ/zman simchateinu – “the time of our rejoicing.” The language of simcha is not mentioned in the Torah regarding Pesach; it appears once regarding Shavuot, but three times regarding Sukkot. Da’at Zekenim explains that at Pesach none of the new produce has yet been harvested. By Shavuot, the grain has been gathered, but the fruits remain on the trees. Only when Sukkot arrives has everything been brought into the home. Moreover, following Yom Kippur, we also rejoice in the forgiveness of our sins. Thus, Sukkot encompasses multiple layers of joy – the nourishment of the grain, the sweetness of the fruit, and the spiritual renewal of forgiveness.

Yet Hashem asks us to elevate even this wholesome joy of abundance. The Torah states:

ספר דברים פרק טז פסוקים יג-טו חַג הַסֻּכֹּת תַּעֲשֶׂה לְךָ שִׁבְעַת יָמִים בְּאָסְפְּךָ מִגָּרְנְךָ וּמִיִּקְבֶךָ: וְשָׂמַחְתָּ בְּחַגֶּךָ... שִׁבְעַת יָמִים תָּחֹג לַהַשֵּׁם אֱלֹהֶיךָ... כִּי יְבָרֶכְךָ הַשֵּׁם אֱלֹהֶיךָ בְּכֹל תְּבוּאָתְךָ וּבְכֹל מַעֲשֵׂה יָדֶיךָ וְהָיִיתָ אַךְ שָׂמֵחַ:

“You shall observe the festival of Sukkot for yourself seven days when you have gathered in from your threshing floor and from your winepress. You shall rejoice in your festival… Seven days you shall celebrate a festival to Hashem your G-d… because Hashem your G-d will bless you in all your produce and in all the work of your hands, and you shall be only happy” (Devarim 16:13-15).

Malbim notes that the ingathering celebration is repeated. First, it states to keep the holiday לְךָ/lecha – “for your own sake,” referring to our natural happiness in gathering the fruits of our labor. Then the Torah commands us to transform this happiness into “a festival to Hashem your G-d.” Rather than rejoicing merely because our own needs have been fulfilled, we elevate our physical pleasure into spiritual delight in Hashem. Our full pantry then becomes more than security for the winter. Every jar, fruit, and grain becomes an expression of Hashem’s blessing. 

Why Do We Leave Our Homes Precisely When Our Storehouses Are Full?

There is something paradoxical about Sukkot. Just when we have finished gathering our produce safely into our homes, Hashem tells us to leave those homes and dwell in a fragile sukkah. At the very moment when we could most easily feel materially secure, we exchange our sturdy roof for branches through which we can glimpse the heavens.

The Torah explains:

ספר ויקרא פרק כג פסוקים מב-מג בַּסֻּכֹּת תֵּשְׁבוּ שִׁבְעַת יָמִים כָּל־הָאֶזְרָח בְּיִשְׂרָאֵל יֵשְׁבוּ בַּסֻּכֹּת: לְמַעַן יֵדְעוּ דֹרֹתֵיכֶם כִּי בַסֻּכּוֹת הוֹשַׁבְתִּי אֶת־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל בְּהוֹצִיאִי אוֹתָם מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרָיִם..

“You shall dwell in sukkot for seven days. Every resident among Israel shall dwell in sukkot, so that your generations shall know that I caused the Children of Israel to dwell in sukkot when I brought them out of the land of Egypt…” (Vayikra 23:42-43).

Why must we relive the desert experience specifically at harvest time? In the desert, we had no fields, vineyards, orchards, or overflowing pantries. Hashem nourished us directly through the manna. This miraculous “training food” taught us that our sustenance ultimately comes from Hashem. Yet this lesson would become more difficult upon entering the fertile Land of Israel, where we would plow, sow, reap, press our grapes, and gather our own produce. Therefore, Moshe warned us not to say, “My strength and the might of my hand made me all this wealth” (Devarim 8:17).

It is easy to recognize Hashem when manna falls from Heaven. The greater spiritual challenge is to recognize Him within the bread we seemingly produce ourselves. Therefore, specifically when our harvest is gathered, and our material security is greatest, we leave our permanent homes and enter the sukkah. We do not merely remember that Hashem once sustained us in the desert. We physically relive our dependence upon Him. The sukkah teaches us that the walls surrounding us do not nourish and protect us. Hashem does.

How Do the Fruits and Plants of the Land Nourish Our Spiritual Joy?

After mentioning the ingathering of the harvest, the Torah immediately commands us to take the Four Species:

ספר ויקרא פרק כג פסוק מ וּלְקַחְתֶּם לָכֶם בַּיּוֹם הָרִאשׁוֹן פְּרִי עֵץ הָדָר כַּפֹּת תְּמָרִים וַעֲנַף עֵץ־עָבֹת וְעַרְבֵי־נָחַל וּשְׂמַחְתֶּם לִפְנֵי הַשֵּׁם אֱלֹהֵיכֶם שִׁבְעַת יָמִים:

“You shall take for yourselves on the first day the fruit of a beautiful tree, date palm fronds, a branch of a braided tree, and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before Hashem your G-d for seven days” (Vayikra 23:40).

Sukkot is deeply connected with the holiness of the Land of Israel and the joy of her fruits. Rambam explains that one reason for choosing these particular Four Species is their abundance in the Land of Israel. Each of them represents another region of the Holy Land that becomes unified through the shaking of the Lulav. The lulav – grown in the desert; the etrog – the coastal plains; the hadassim – the mountains; the aravot – the riverbeds. Together they unify the vegetation growing from the diverse parts of the land and elevate them in the service of Hashem.

In the land of Israel, we do not need to reject our physical enjoyment to become spiritual; its yields nourish both body and soul.

The fruits themselves connect us with Hashem. The etrog’s beauty and fragrance, the stately lulav, the aromatic hadassim, and the humble aravot become part of our avodat Hashem. The physical and spiritual are not necessarily competing realms. In Eretz Yisrael there is no dichotomy between body and soul. By gathering the Four Species into one bundle, we furthermore transform individual growth into unified wholeness. Our sages compare the Four Species to different kinds of Jews – the good scent corresponds to mitzvot while their good taste corresponds to Torah. Yet the mitzvah cannot be fulfilled by celebrating only the fragrant or fruitful among us. We must bind everyone together. Each kind needs and completes the others. Even the willow lacking both scent and taste is indispensable for the greater whole – it holds space for the other kinds. Just as no healthy body can exist through one organ alone, the Jewish people becomes whole through the contribution of each of its different members. Thus, the Festival of Ingathering gathers not only fruits. It gathers people. Our greatest spiritual nourishment does not come from remaining separate and self-sufficient, but from recognizing how much we need one another. 

How Can We Gather the Fruits of Our Mitzvot into Our Hearts?

Sukkot follows immediately after the intense teshuvah of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. By the time we enter the sukkah, we have examined not only our transgressions but also the way we have performed our mitzvot. Were our prayers always heartfelt? Did our Torah learning truly penetrate us? Did we perform our mitzvot with love, joy, and awareness?

Another level of ingathering on Sukkot is the ingathering of our mitzvot. Throughout the year we perform mitzvot, yet sometimes they remain external to us. On Sukkot we gather them inward. Just as the farmer brings his scattered produce from the field into his home, we gather our Torah, our Shabbatot, our tefilot, and all the mitzvot of the past year into the inner chambers of our hearts. After the brokenheartedness and cleansing of Yom Kippur, we can begin to discover the fragrance of our mitzvot anew. A myrtle leaf releases its fragrance most strongly when it is crushed. Likewise, sometimes it is precisely through our brokenhearted teshuvah that the hidden fragrance of our mitzvot emerges. We can finally begin to “taste” their holiness rather than performing them merely by habit.

Physical harvest means that the fruits we have worked for all year finally become ours to enjoy. Spiritual harvest means allowing the mitzvot we have performed throughout the year finally to become part of who we are. Sukkot invites us to taste their sweetness and allow them to nourish our souls (Rav Shlomo Carlebach, Lev HaShamayim, Sukkot). 

What if We Ourselves Are Hashem’s Harvest?

Maharal takes the meaning of “the Festival of Ingathering” to its deepest level. The world cannot exist independently of its Creator. Ultimately, everything must return and become gathered to its Divine source. On Sukkot, when we gather our harvest, Hashem gathers us.

ספר גבורות השם פרק מו וחג הסוכות הושיב אותם בענני הכבוד וזהו נראה שישראל נאספים אליו יתברך ותחת כנפיו יחסו. לפיכך מצות סוכה לצאת מביתו של אדם שהוא מקומו לשבת בצל סוכה...

“On the Festival of Sukkot, He made them sit inside the Clouds of Glory. This indicates that Israel is gathered to Hashem, and we take refuge under His wing. Therefore, the mitzvah of Sukkot is to go out from our house – our own place – to sit in the shade of the sukkah…” (Maharal, Gevurot Hashem, Chapter 46).

We may think that we are the ones doing the gathering – gathering our grain, our fruits, the Four Species, our family and guests into the sukkah, and the mitzvot of the year into our hearts. Yet on the deepest level, Hashem is harvesting us for Himself.

We ourselves are Hashem’s precious crop. At the end of the agricultural year, we are harvested and gathered beneath the wings of the Shechinah. The sukkah embraces us like the Clouds of Glory, reminding us that our ultimate security comes not from what we have accumulated but from belonging to Hashem. After Sukkot, as the winter sowing begins, we too are spiritually “re-sown” into the coming year, renewed and ready to grow again. The lulav gathers the different kinds of Jews into one bundle. The sukkah gathers us beneath Hashem’s protection. Our mitzvot are gathered into our hearts, and the produce of the Land is gathered into holiness. Thus, the deepest nourishment of Sukkot is the realization that we are never separate from our Source. As we rejoice in the bounty Hashem has bestowed upon us, may we allow ourselves to be gathered into His embrace, nourished beneath the wings of the Shechinah, and re-sown for a new year of fruitful growth.