A Sukkah I Can Call Home

The sukkah is a temporary structure, but it is meant to become our home. The Mishnah tells us that for seven days, a person should make their sukkah their permanent dwelling and their house temporary. We leave behind the solid walls and protections with which we surround ourselves all year and move into a fragile dwelling beneath the schach.

The sukkah asks us: What kind of home do you really want to inhabit? What represents the essence of who you are?

For me, that question is especially meaningful because, for a long time, I have not felt completely at home anywhere spiritually.

I come from the Chareidi and yeshiva world and remain deeply attached to what it gave me: reverence for Torah, loyalty to Halacha, respect for its great teachers and the conviction that religious life must be taken seriously. At the same time, I have become increasingly troubled by the ugly perception among much of the non-Chareidi public that Chareidim are ungrateful, insular, holier-than-thou and angry—constantly demanding greater rights and special exemptions while refusing to share in the national burden and hurling denigrating epithets at the army and the police.

I have also come to love and admire much of the Dati Leumi community, particularly members of the Garin Torani in Migdal HaEmek. I have watched friends remain intensely committed to Torah while serving long periods of miluim, often at enormous cost to themselves and their families. Their sacrifice deserves the gratitude of the entire Jewish people.

Yet the Dati Leumi world is not where I come from either. I was not seeking simply to exchange one established community for another. I was searching for a way to remain rooted in the Torah world that formed me while honestly confronting the responsibilities of Jewish life in our time.

The rapid rise of the new and exciting party HaTzibbur HaChareidi—and the unexpected honor of [becoming one of its candidates for the Knesset](https://hatzibur-haharedi.org/en/team/yehuda-oppenheimer)—has given me hope that such a home may be possible: passionately committed to Torah and Halacha, unmistakably Chareidi in its roots, yet prepared to engage constructively with the State of Israel and the broader Jewish people.

Who Would I Invite Into My Sukkah?

Since becoming involved in this effort, I have repeatedly been asked a legitimate question: Which Gedolim support you?

I was raised to seek the guidance of Gedolei Torah, and the Torah says, El hashofet asher yihyeh bayamim hahem  —that we must turn to the Torah authorities of our own time. But our Chareidi world has become highly polarized and politicized, and Rabbonim whose views differ from those most prominently expressed can face significant communal pressure, (as I have written elsewhere). I know there are living Rabbonim who sympathize with much of what we are trying to accomplish but do not feel able to express those views publicly.

At the same time, Daas Torah did not begin with our generation. The Rabbonim who taught and shaped me represent Daas Torah to me. Their Torah is part of the mesorah I received, combining fidelity to Torah and Halacha with responsibility for Klal Yisrael, common sense, historical awareness, spiritual depth and engagement with the realities facing the Jewish people. The fact that such voices may be heard less often in today's public discourse does not make their Torah less authentic.

That led me to ask whom I would want to invite into my sukkah. I chose seven Rabbonim with whom I had a personal connection, who are no longer living. There are others I could have chosen, and I do not claim that these seven would have agreed with one another—or with me—on every issue. These are not political endorsements from beyond the grave. They are teachers whose Torah, lives and examples shaped me. Space permits only the briefest description of each, but I hope it is enough to explain why each belongs in my sukkah.

The traditional Ushpizin are associated with seven Divine qualities. I would not presume to identify any human being with a particular sefirah, but each of these Rabbonim represents for me one of the qualities the Torah home I seek must contain.

Chesed: Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

Chesed begins by looking beyond oneself.

I met Rav Sacks when I was being considered for a rabbinic position in England. Our encounter was brief, but his influence continued through the many books and essays of his that I read and lectures I watched.

Rav Sacks taught that Judaism cannot be limited to a private relationship with God or protecting one's own community. “The Jewish question is not, ‘What can the world give me?’” he wrote. “It is, ‘What can I give to the world’? Judaism is God’s call to responsibility.”

He also understood the State of Israel as a historic opportunity for Jews to bring Torah values into the construction of an entire society.

A Torah community must therefore ask not only how it can preserve itself, but what it contributes to the Jewish people and what responsibilities it bears toward the society whose fate it shares.

 Gevurah: Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach

Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach represented unwavering fidelity to Torah and Halacha. I was privileged to be a student in his yeshiva, Kol Torah, and my father, ע״ה, had a close personal relationship with him.

He was revered across religious divisions. People were drawn not only to his Torah knowledge but to his warmth, humility and acceptance of others.

Some, though not all, of his sons carried on this message, particularly Rav Mordechai Auerbach of Tel Aviv, who passed away only a few days ago. Thousands of Jews from across the religious spectrum were drawn closer to Torah and Yiddishkeit through his warmth, wisdom and remarkable ability to connect personally with others.

A well-known account tells of a student who wished to travel north to pray at the graves of tzaddikim. Rav Shlomo Zalman responded that when he felt the need to pray at the graves of tzaddikim, he went to Mount Herzl—to the graves of soldiers who had fallen protecting the Jewish people.

That does not turn Rav Shlomo Zalman into something he was not. It teaches that one can remain firmly rooted in the traditional Yerushalmi Torah world while feeling profound gratitude for those who sacrificed their lives to protect Jews and appreciation for those Bnei Torah who choose to serve in the army.

Tiferes: Rav Nachman Bulman

Rav Nachman Bulman was my rebbe for many years and profoundly influenced my thinking and teaching.

He was deeply rooted in the Chareidi world, yet possessed extraordinary intellectual breadth. He was a talmid of Rav Yosef B. Soloveitchik and an expert in the writings of Rav Hirsch and Rav Kook. He could be uncompromising without being narrow and intellectually honest without becoming religiously uncertain.

Rav Bulman did not resolve tensions by pretending they did not exist. He taught that one could retain deep ties to the Torah world of earlier generations while honestly addressing the questions of the present.

More than any other guest in my sukkah, he represents the struggle to bring the different parts of my religious identity into harmony.

Netzach: Rav Berel Wein

Rav Berel Wein gave me semicha, but his role in my life went far beyond that. He encouraged and inspired me to become a Rabbi, and inspired countless others to do whatever they could to help the Jewish people.

He believed that those fortunate enough to be born into an Orthodox home had received not only a privilege but a responsibility to use their Torah, education and opportunities in the service of the Jewish people.

Rav Wein also possessed an uncanny common sense. He taught Jewish history not as nostalgia but as instruction. History, in his hands, became a demanding rebbe.

He was willing to address problems within religious society that others preferred not to discuss: poverty, unemployment, children who did not fit into a uniform educational system and the failure to prepare many young people to earn a living. He insisted that not everyone is suited to become a full-time Torah scholar.

That does not diminish Torah study. A Torah community that refuses to learn from experience cannot endure.

Hod: Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky

I had the great privilege of frequently seeing Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky while growing up in Monsey. He was a tremendous influence upon me and my family.

Rav Yaakov was one of the outstanding Torah leaders of American Jewry. Yet one of the sayings most closely associated with him is disarmingly simple: Men darf zein normal —one has to be normal.

Behind those words lies an entire outlook. Torah must elevate human nature, not deny it. Education must recognize that children differ. Communal expectations cannot be designed for an elite and then imposed upon everyone else.

A system designed to cultivate exceptional Torah scholars cannot be the only honorable path offered to every young man. A healthy Torah society must honor the future talmid chacham, teacher, tradesman, businessman, soldier and professional—and teach each one that he can serve God and the Jewish people with dignity.

Yesod: The Slonimer Rebbe

I had the privilege of meeting the Slonimer Rebbe, Rav Sholom Noach Berezovsky, several times and felt a deep personal connection with him. His Nesivos Shalom became a foundation for much of my own teaching and writing.

The Slonimer Rebbe taught that Jewish life cannot rest on external observance alone. His writings speak repeatedly of kedushah, spiritual yearning and the unique bond between God and the Jewish people.

He described Succos as a time of intimate reunion between God and His people—like a child returning home to a father from whom he had been separated. The sukkah is a place in which a Jew can feel surrounded by God’s presence and love.

Employment, education, national service and political representation matter, but none can substitute for the soul. We are not trying merely to produce better-integrated Israeli citizens who happen to be religious. We hope to raise Jews who love Torah, seek closeness to God and understand that every part of life can be sanctified.

Malchus: Rav Mordechai Eliyahu

My family had the privilege of a close relationship with Rav Mordechai Eliyahu through my sister, Naomi Knobel, who served as his personal secretary for many years.

What stood out was his extraordinary love for every Jew and his appreciation for those who sought to build the State of Israel as a place in which Jewish values would permeate public life.

The kollel he founded, and which is stronger than ever, offers a model that speaks deeply to me: intense and uncompromising Torah study combined with honor and gratitude for those who serve in the army and protect the Jewish people.

In a prayer he composed for Israeli soldiers, Rav Eliyahu described their service as fulfilling three Torah commandments: settling the Land, loving one’s fellow Jew and protecting Jewish life—“You shall not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor.”

A Torah community living in a Jewish state must confront the responsibilities of malchus: not only how to preserve its institutions, but how to participate in protecting, sustaining and guiding the Jewish society in which it lives.

Building the Home

These seven Rabbonim did not constitute a movement. I do not claim that they would have joined the same political party or agreed with every position I hold. But they were my teachers, and their Torah represents Daas Torah to me. I cannot claim their endorsement of a political party they never saw, but neither can I disregard the Torah and mesorah I received from them simply because those voices are less prominent in today's public square.

Each gave me something without which the Torah home I seek would be incomplete: chesed, disciplined fidelity, harmony, historical awareness, humility, inner holiness and responsibility for Jewish public life.

A sukkah is not yet a permanent home. Its walls are insubstantial, its roof is fragile and the wind finds its way inside. Perhaps that makes it the right symbol for what we are now trying to build.

I do not know whether this new political effort will become the home I hope it can be. That depends upon what we build together and whether we remain faithful to the principles that brought us here.

But for the first time in a long while, I can imagine a place where all these voices might sit together—and where I, too, might finally feel at home.

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