The sages interpreted the fact that 70 bulls were sacrificed in the course of the festival (Numbers 29: 12-34) to refer to the 70 nations (the traditional number of civilizations). Following the cues in Zechariah, they said that “On the festival [of Sukkot], the world is judged in the matter of rain” (Mishnah, Rosh Hashanah 1:2). Sukkot is about the universal need for rain.
At the same time, however, it is the most particularistic of festivals. When we sit in the sukkah, we recall Jewish history – not just the 40 years of wandering in the wilderness, but also the entire experience of exile. The sukkah is defined as a “temporary dwelling” (dirat arai). It is the most powerful symbol of Jewish history. No other nation could see its home not as a castle, a fortress or a triumphal arch, but as a fragile tabernacle. No other nation was born not in its land, but in the desert. Far from being universalistic, Sukkot is intensely particularistic, the festival of a people like no other, whose only protection was its faith in the sheltering wings of the Divine Presence.
It is almost as if Sukkot were two festivals, not one.
It is. Although all the festivals are listed together, they in fact represent two quite different cycles. The first is the cycle of Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot. These tell the unique story of Jewish identity and history: the exodus (Pesach), the revelation at Mount Sinai (Shavuot), and the journey through the wilderness (Sukkot). Celebrating them, we reenact the key moments of Jewish memory. We celebrate what it is to be a Jew.
There is, however, a second cycle – the festivals of the seventh month: Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Sukkot. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are not only about Jews and Judaism. They are about G-d and humanity as a whole. The language of the prayers is different. We say, “Instill your awe upon all Your works, and fear of You on all that You have created.” The entire liturgy is strikingly universalistic. The “Days of Awe” are about the sovereignty of G-d over all humankind. On them, we reflect on the human – not just the Jewish – condition.
The two cycles reflect the dual aspect of G-d: as creator, and as redeemer. As creator, G-d is universal. We are all in G-d’s image, formed in His likeness. We share a covenant of human solidarity (the Noahide covenant). We are fellow citizens of the world G-d made and entrusted to our care. As redeemer, however, G-d is particular. Whatever His relationship to other nations (and He has a relationship with other nations, as insisted by Amos and Isaiah), Jews know Him through His saving acts in Israel’s history: exodus, revelation and the journey to the Promised Land.
No sooner have we identified the two cycles than we see what makes Sukkot unique. It is the only festival belonging to both. It is part of the cycle of Jewish history (Pesach–Shavuot–Sukkot), and part of the sequence of the seventh month (Rosh Hashanah-Yom Kippur-Sukkot). Hence the double joy.
The “four kinds” represent the universality of the festival. They symbolize nature, rain, the cycle of the seasons – things common to all humanity. The Sukkah/tabernacle represents the singular character of Jewish history, the experience of exile and homecoming, the long journey across the wilderness of time.
In a way not shared by any other festival, Sukkot celebrates the dual nature of Jewish faith: the universality of G-d and the particularity of Jewish existence. We all need rain; we are all part of nature; we are all dependent on the complex ecology of the created world. Hence the “four kinds.” But each nation, civilization and religion is different. As Jews we are heirs to a history unlike that of any other people. We are small and vulnerable, suffering exile after exile – yet surviving. Hence the sukkah.