Sukkot in the Twilight Zone

The title of this post is a bit facetious but this year, my Sukkot has certainly been a lot stranger and more dreamlike than in previous years. I used to celebrate it with Jewish friends back in California, so I'm no stranger to eating in the Sukkah and the overall joyful atmosphere of this holiday. But last night's celebration truly takes the cake.

First off, there's a well known anecdote about Jewish holidays about how almost every one of them can be described with "they tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat!" Sukkot isn't quite like that. It's a lot more joyous. The Torah itself commands Jews to be happy. There is feasting and singing and dancing and you get to eat outside in a little hut called a sukkah that you decorate yourself and it's a lot of fun. And you get to shake the lulav, made up of four species of plant - the citron, which has taste and fragrance; the date palm, which has taste but no fragrance; the myrtle, which has fragrance but no taste; and the willow, which has neither taste nor fragrance.

Like many other things within Judaism, there is rich symbolism to this. To some Jews, taste represents Torah and knowledge, whereas smell represents mitzvahs. Thus, the willow represents the Jew who has no knowledge of the Torah and who does not perform mitzvahs. The myrtle represents the Jew who performs mitzvahs and tries to be good but does not know a lot about Torah. The date palm represents the Jew who knows the Torah and Talmud and all the Jewish history backwards and forwards, but who may not perform any mitzvahs. And the citron represents the Jew who is knowledgeable and performs mitzvahs.

And on Sukkot, all four species are shaken together because - in theory - it is a time when all Jews are supposed to come together and celebrate, despite our differences. And last night really embodied that aspect of Sukkot for me more than I've ever experienced.

Because last night I celebrated with the ultra-Orthodox Hasidic Jews.


Any New Yorker (and many outside of New York) has likely seen and wondered about the Hasidic Jews. The men all have long beards and black suits in all weather and can be heard speaking Yiddish to one another on the subway but avoiding eye contact with anyone else. The women cover their hair after they marry, either with wigs or a headscarf, and wear loose-fitting clothes and long skirts and thick stockings. They're fascinating in the same way the Amish are fascinating - those of us who live more secular, modern lives look at these people who live like it's 200 years ago and we wonder 'why? How can anyone live like that?' I admit that I've wondered as much, myself.

I didn't expect to find out quite the way that I did.

You see, I was uptown with my girlfriend and decided to take the B-train home instead of walking crosstown to the Q, which meant I had to get off in Brooklyn at a subway stop slightly further than my apartment than my normal stop.

And there, as I got off, were four Chabad-Lubavitch (a sect of Hasidic Judaism) girls holding a lulav. They asked me if I wanted to shake it, so I said sure and let them guide me through the prayer. Then they asked me if I'd like to come have dinner with them in their sukkah.

I was completely caught off guard. I hadn't expected that from a group of people that I'd just met on the street. But I knew it'd be an experience like no other. And my only alternate plan was to go home and eat leftovers in front of Netflix. This certainly seemed more interesting.

So, not having any idea what to expect, I said "sure".

I didn't take any photos of my companions, as I didn't want to be disrespectful, but this is a stock photo of Lubavitch women

I was certain that when I told Sarah later, she'd say I was crazy. I had only just met these girls and now I was following them through the streets of Brooklyn to the very Hasidic neighbourhood of Crown Heights. I wanted to keep an open mind. I wanted to learn. I wanted to know if this was like the Sukkots I was used to or if it would seem completely alien to me.

We stopped at the apartment of one of my companions so they could loan me a skirt. They had told me that I could come in my leggings if I wanted to, but I wanted to look more respectful than that. Besides, they all looked so lovely that I felt underdressed.

Once I looked more like, well, a nice modest Jew, we stepped outside onto Kingston Ave, which one of my companions described as "the Fifth Ave of Jewish Crown Heights." This street is like the main vein of the neighbourhood. And it was packed with Hasidic men, women, and children. I was honestly a little overwhelmed. It was more Jews than I had ever seen in one place, and I confessed as much to my companions. They had identical smiles on their faces as one of them asked me, "it's like walking into a dream, isn't it?"

It really really was.I felt like I'd stepped into some otherworldly dream. Or into a production of Fiddler on the Roof (which I later found out one of my new friends actually loves as a movie...)

I immediately felt a little self conscious as we got closer and closer to their synagogue. Because they weren't taking me to just any synagogue. They were taking me to 770 Eastern Parkway, which to this sect of Hasidism is perhaps the holiest place. It is the place to be. I wasn't really sure I'd be welcome. A group of men approached us and I braced myself to be stared at strangely...

But my friends explained to them who I was - their guest - and the men greeted me with "Gut Yontif", which is a Yiddish expression more or less equivalent to "Happy Holidays" or "Chag Sameach"

Huh?

I have to be honest with you, I had fully expected to be gawked at as an outsider at best, and looked upon with suspicion at worst. Even with the long skirt, between my short hair, 50s-style glasses, and bright yellow boots, it was pretty clear I wasn't one of them.

But literally everyone I met was so friendly and welcoming. I felt a little bad for assuming that they'd be suspicious of me just because I'm not one of them.

One of my new friends (Chana, her name was) took my hand and led me up into the women's section of 770 (pictured above). I was still in shock. I couldn't believe I was just gonna be allowed inside. I've never even been in a modern Orthodox synagogue before, let alone a Hasidic one. And it was packed. I have no idea how many Jewish women and children were upstairs, but it had to be way over capacity.

"Would you like to say shema?" Chana asked me.

"I don't know how," I confessed.

"We can say it together," she opened her book with its Hebrew letters, a script more ancient than even the runes I studied in school, and guided me through this holy Jewish prayer. Then she said a private prayer to herself before leading me to the very edge of the women's balcony so I could peer down into the men's section below. (I'm still not quite sure how I feel about the men and women being separated, but I was there to keep an open mind.)

There were Jewish men from all over the world (my companions pointed out a few from Israel and France) dancing and singing raucously. It looked to me more like a mosh pit than anything I'd expected from a Hasidic synagogue.

"I hope you don't find this offensive," I confessed, "but I expected this whole thing to be more..."

"Somber?" my friends smiled at me. They explained to me that, from their point of view, their faith isn't about being "more Orthodox than thou." To less-Orthodox Jews and gentiles alike, the Hasidic lifestyle seems grim and austere. We imagine their days as gauntlets of prayer and synagogue visits, massive families in minivans, and a patriarchal rejection of modern life, but the reality is, from their point of view, Hasidic Judaism stresses joy. It began as a stirring call to mysticism and joy, a rejection of asceticism, a populist movement that promised a direct and authentic relationship to God for everyone, including the poor, humble, and unlearned. Hasidism said that endless disputation of biblical commentaries by a scholarly elite was dry religious legalism and that what mattered was faith, feeling, and love - of God and fellow men.They called for a religion of faith, a personal relationship to God, and a rejection of long-entrenched social and religious structures.

And, well, even I can see the beauty and joy in that. Besides, when am I ever again going to get to step into a Hasidic synagogue and watch their men dancing like that? It was a very new experience for me, unlike anything I've ever seen before. The anthropologist in me wanted to observe everything. The inner child in me wanted to sit back and enjoy it. The joy was much more infectious than I'd expected.

Sukkahs on an apartment building - a very common sight in Brooklyn this time of year

From there we went to the home of the grandfather of two of my companions and of the husband of a third. It was almost dinner time. And when the grandparents were told I'd been picked up off the street and invited, they welcomed me just as nicely as their grandchildren had.

The grandfather only spoke Yiddish, but through one of his granddaughters translating we were even able to hold a short conversation. He asked me what part of Poland my ancestors were from. I told him and he told me there was once a great Rabbi there. Honestly I was thrilled he spoke only Yiddish. I've never heard it spoken before, and it's always nice (as an anthropologist) to hear a once-endangered language thriving instead of dying.

My friends helped me light a candle (I admit to being more moved by the symbolism of this than I thought I'd be), say the correct prayers, and symbolically wash my hands before the meal. And then it was food time!

I was absolutely blown away by how out of their way everyone went to make me feel welcome. As I didn't eat meat, one of the women present made an avocado salad just for me so I could eat something while everyone else was eating their fish course. They made sure I had challah and kugel and honey and a chocolate liqueur that tasted more like alcoholic pudding than anything else. One of the men even gave a whole spiel in English rather than their usual Yiddish just so I could understand it. They showed me how to clap in time to their beautiful songs (themselves almost like time capsules to the shtetls of old Jewish Europe) and they sent me home with a whole bag full of kugel and bread and dessert. And they even made sure I got to the bus stop safely.

I felt as if I had truly gone back in time. But more than that... I felt lucky that I'd been able to make such a connection. I'm glad I was wrong about the Hasids being hostile to outsiders. I'm glad I got to see firsthand the beauty and joy of their faith. I was truly moved by it. Sure, it's not for me, but they were all so warm and welcoming that I am glad I understand finally what they see in it.

And isn't that in the spirit of Sukkot?

I sincerely hope I see them again. If not, I hope they know how honoured I was to be included in their festivities.

-Nym