We don’t have a blinged-out booth.

No rolled bamboo mats. No PVC piping. No hammer and nails. No fancy and elaborate decorations. Plenty of function, plenty of seating, and no, I don’t get Sukkah-envy.

I’m down with the quick-and-easy Sukkah. After all, the Hebrews didn’t have sukkot in the desert with paper chains, cleverly-strung electric chili pepper lights, or air mattresses, so I’m all set with an efficient and basic set-up.

We’ve got old fence pieces, big logs that I hewed with an ax in the spring, and fresh branches from the woods out back laid across some bamboo poles. We added some freshly picked pumpkins and gourds, and in about fifteen minutes the Sukkah was ready to roll.

Sukkot will always be my favorite holiday, and on these pages I’ve waxed poetic about fall and color and cider and fleece jackets for years, so I won’t go there again. But I will play my older-and-wiser card with a new hot take on Sukkot this time around.

The sukkah was the perfect dwelling for the transient, chaotic, unpredictable life of the ancient Israelites. In their desert wanderings, they had to be ready to pack up and move at a moment’s notice, and their shelters had to be equally transportable. And if life has taught me anything, it’s that everything is unpredictable and anything can happen at any time. Eating in my makeshift, earthy-woody sukkah is a great way for me to reflect on how while I might try to keep my life organized and under control, sometimes that’s just not possible.

That idea gets a little more meaningful every year. Life is tenuous, change is unavoidable, and we’ve got to be able to move, react, reflect, and change, no matter what life throws at us.

Chag sameach.

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