Greenberg's View
Editorial Cartoon: The First Offering
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As I stopped at the sukkah in the Occupy L.A. encampment outside City Hall, I thought of the Jews’ role in the upcoming presidential election, which will be taking place amid a recession and doubts about President Barack Obama’s attitude toward Israel.
As part of the Occupy Los Angeles movement, hundreds of Angelenos have been living in tents outside downtown’s City Hall for several weeks. On Oct. 16, Jewish groups rallied in a sukkah alongside these temporary shelters.
More than 20 countries are displaying their traditional sukkahs at a festival in Israel celebrating Jewish Diaspora communities.
Building as Sukkah is more involved than you think...
If I have one wish for Sukkot, my favorite Jewish holiday, it’s this: no more plastic fruit. Each year, Jewish people are commanded to fulfill the mitzvah of building a sukkah — a temporary shelter in which they eat (and sometimes sleep) throughout the weeklong holiday, which this year occurs from October 12 to 19.
Since the beginning of this month, a group of Angelenos has gathered near downtown’s City Hall as part of Occupy Los Angeles, its version of the much-publicized Occupy Wall Street — a protest movement calling for reforms to the U.S. political and economic systems.
Cold or hot, soup is ideal for the sukkah. What better way to warm up on a chilly night or cool off on a warm afternoon?
Thousands of palm fronds for Sukkot lulavs reportedly have been smuggled out of Egypt despite a ban on their export.
Each Sukkot we read in Kohelet, Ecclesiastes, that there “is a time to tear down, and a time to build up." For my sukkah it was time for both.
Sukkot is 'z'man simchatenu' -- our season of rejoicing. It is a time to celebrate, to enjoy meals with guests, to sing, to study and to appreciate life. It is a time 'le-shev ba-Sukkah,' to live life to its fullest -- in the sukkah.
After seven years of obsessing over security in the context of terrorism, we've all been blindsided by a more pervasive form of terror: sudden financial insecurity.
The arrest this week of a retired a New Jersey man on charges of transmitting classified information to Israel two decades ago shows how the Jonathan Pollard spy case continues to haunt the U.S.-Israel relationship.
This week, I will sit on my porch, gaze at the pergola and see in its place a bamboo mat. I will remind myself of the biblical commandment, "in a sukkah you shall sit seven days."
We were intent on doing what our Ashkenazi forebearers, who lived in inhospitably cold climates, could not do. We were intent on doing Sukkot the way the Talmud prescribes, meaning 24/7, including spending nights there.
Zimmerman's installation is one of three works from the Skirball's permanent collection on view in the exhibition "Artful Dwellings: Sukkot at the Skirball." The other two are by artists Sam Erenberg and Therman Statom.
Vast slums perch precariously in the hills overlooking Rio de Janeiro, each made up of thousands of sukkot -- flimsy shacks in which people live
Either you know what it is to sit outdoors under a sukkah on a cool autumn night, surrounded by family and friends, feasting on traditional Sukkot foods, laughing and singing as if it were summer camp all over, or you don't.
Sukkot ("tabernacles" or "booths" in English) is one of three major Jewish pilgrimage festivals (shalosh regalim) and begins at sundown on Sept. 26. The eight-day festival, which ends with Simchat Torah on Friday, Oct. 5, is celebrated in a variety of ways. Here is The Jewish Journal's guide to Sukkot around town.
Being a service member in Operation Iraqi Freedom, I also realized that life, like the sukkah, is temporary. One never knows how long one might live or when one might die.
One of the great rituals of Jewish life: The sukkah.
It's time for Jonah again. I cherish this prophet, whose Hebrew name, "Yonah" means "dove,"
The American Library Association got more than 400 requests to ban books last year. But most of those requests were unsuccessful, because of librarians, teachers, parents, students and other people who make sure books stay on shelves.
Four years ago, my wife told me not to build a sukkah. She had a good reason. In early September of 2001, Marsha was diagnosed with bilateral breast cancer -- a tumor in each breast.
Every year, Scott Rekant of Monmouth Junction, N.J., hauls a tidy pile of 21 2-by-4s from his garage and puts together a sturdy sukkah that stands on his back porch.
After the high of the High Holidays, twice-a-year Jews hang up their kippot for another 354 days, or so, and in the process miss out on the lesser-known treat of Sukkot.
As I write this article, Hurricane Isabel has come and gone; its destructive force headlined the news, offering a strange but appropriate counterpoint to writing about children's books on Sukkot and Simchat Torah. In today's world, these holidays, following on the heels of Yom Kippur, remind us of the swift changes life brings and underscore the fragile nature of our security. Through stories, we can find shelter in the joy of offering hospitality, in helping others, in relishing happiness when we can and in acknowledging human courage and endurance in the face of trouble. These are all themes to explore as you sit, rejoicing with your children and guests, in your sukkah.
I have been thinking a lot about roots lately. About where I would like to settle with my daughter, buy a house, adopt a puppy. When we left our hometown of Atlanta eight years ago, I didn't know how long our adventure would last. I didn't know we would live in small, but charming apartments, first in calm, rainy Portland, then in frenetic, sunny Los Angeles. And that after a while, the temporary nature of our dwellings, and so much time spent far away from where we started, would pose a question of its own. Where do we belong?
It seems the core ritual of Sukkot, building the sukkah, has something to say about just that. According to tradition, this temporary, four-walled structure with a branch roof open to the sky is a reminder of the Israelites' huts in the deserts, as they wandered from place to place for 40 years. The sukkah also highlights one of the themes of the holiday -- the impermanence of our lives, says Michael Strassfeld in "The Jewish Holidays, A Guide & Commentary" (HarperResource, 1993).
No one -- neither Rabbi Paula Reimers nor board members who voted not to renew her contract -- believes that she was let go just because of the Israeli flag incident.
On Sukkot, we eat and sleep in a hut called a sukkah.
As a child, I loved the bunches of grapes that hung from the palm leaves covering the roof of the sukkah.
On Sukkot, the Torah commands us to live in booths for seven days.
"We don't do falafel or schwarma," said Avi Ben-Harouch while seated on a beige banquette in the elegant dining room of his new restaurant, Avi's Bistro in Agoura Hills.
Sukkot teaches us to view the world differently; it teaches us to value every waking moment of our lives.
Why do we build the sukkah? To be reminded of our ancestors' lives in the desert, when they lived in huts made from branches and leather.
On the evening of Oct. 1, the Jewish community will begin celebrating the harvest festival by building sukkot.
In October 1999, I went through the personal tragedy of a divorce. I felt personally lost, very much alone. A lady in my congregational community, Lilly Kahn-Rose, approached me one Shabbat soon after, offering to help me in some way. I responded: "Please invite me and my children for some Shabbat meals, and please help me get some Shabbat meal invitations from others in the community. I can buy cold cuts, side dishes, and challah, can recite kiddush and lead z'mirot melodies, but it is going to be so lonely and feel so minimalist in our apartment. Please help me get me some Shabbat invitations."
My daughter, Samantha, has a request. "Next year," she says, "can't we put the sukkah on the other side of the house?"
"A Woman's Voice"
by Marlene Adler Marks
(On The Way Press, $l2.95)
Every Friday afternoon, before Shabbat begins, I go for my Marlene Adler Marks fix.
Up Front.
Therman Statom, one of this country's pre-eminent experimental glass artists, was perched atop a ladder beside his precarious-looking installation at the Skirball Cultural Center.
Filmmaker Debbie Goodstein has taken to heart the adage, “Write what you know.” Her 1989 Holocaust documentary, “Voices From the Attic,” recounts her mother’s years of hiding in a garret where snow descended through slats in the roof, a baby died and food was scarce.