On Sukkot we change our location. During the rest of the year, we dwell in the safety and luxury of our homes. In the sukkah, where we now dwell, we have a roof made of natural material—taken from God’s bounty. There must be more shade than sun, but one must be able to see the stars, thereby allowing the rain and cold to penetrate.

As we sit in the sukkah, subjecting ourselves to the elements, we become sensitized to the fact that no matter how secure we feel in our strong homes, we are nevertheless subject to forces beyond our control. The sukkah is a symbol of the uncertainty of life. The cold and rain of the world can always penetrate. It can happen in a moment, without warning. So, why then, when we switch our location, is sukkot called zeman simchatenu, the season of our rejoicing?
The sukkah, in its simplistic beauty, reminds us that once we strip away the material trappings of life, what remains is much closer to who we really are and what we really have in life. Sukkot says to each of us: Be thankful for what you have.

A group of people was once asked what they would desire if given the opportunity to have one wish fulfilled. One person said that he would wish, above all else, to have wealth; another wanted health; a third wanted power; another wanted a big house; and yet another to be able to fit into her old clothes again. One woman, however, astounded all the others when she said that she desired most of all the wisdom to appreciate and to be grateful for the blessings that she already has.

The difficulty for most of us is that we generally concentrate on the things that we lack and overlook or ignore the things that we have. And yet, some of the blessings that are already ours may be far more rewarding than any for which we pray!

Sukkot calls upon us to count our blessings. No matter how harsh a hand life may have dealt us, there are still so many things for which we can and ought to be grateful.

The most well attended holiday service of the Jewish calendar in our time is Yom Kippur; a day on which we fast, refrain from sexual relations, and spend hours in discomfort praying and asking God for forgiveness. According to the Sages, it is more of a mitzvah to feast during the meal that precedes Yom Kippur, than it is to fast on Yom Kippur. It was the great commentator, the Malbim, who made the observation that feasting for the sake of God is harder than fasting for the sake of God.

The Malbim’s explanation touches on an aspect of human nature—the difficulty of expressing gratitude to others and to God. For many of us, dealing with the certainty of death and grappling with our shortcomings on Yom Kippur is somehow easier than expressing appreciation for our lives and for the bounty and the blessings we have been granted. But that is what Sukkot is about. We come to the synagogue on Sukkot, waving our lulavim and etrogim, smelling their fragrance and appreciating their beauty in order to take in all the blessings of life. We dwell in the sukkah to appreciate nature and the blessing of life God has given us. So much of our lives are impregnated with beauty and blessing, yet we are somehow oblivious to most of it. We rarely take time to praise God for what we have.

The Malbim was right. It is harder to feast for God than to fast for God. Our gripes and grumblings are louder than our expressions of gratitude. We complain more often than we experience contentment. Our awareness of what we lack is more persistent than our acknowledgement of what we possess.

The sukkah comes to remind us that life is fragile. Life is too short not to appreciate it and to appreciate those whom we love.