I'd like to share a beautiful thought on Sukkos developed by Chacham Yosef Harari-Raful, Rosh Yeshivah of Ateret Torah. As we all know, Sukkos is zman simchateinu, the season of our rejoicing. But to truly understand this, we must first ask: What is genuine simchah, and when does a person truly feel happy and fulfilled? The answer begins with a fundamental human necessity—having a place in this world.
The Tragedy of Placelessness
In the narrative of Bereishit, when Kayin killed his brother Hevel, Hashem declared that the blood from the ground cried out for reckoning. What was the curse of Kayin? Na vanad tiyeh ba'aretz—"You shall be a perpetual wanderer on the earth." He was condemned to be an exile, stripped of root and ground. By severing the sanctity of life, Kayin lost his entitlement to exist in a defined space.
There is no greater punishment than being deprived of a rightful place. Although Kayin repented and reached a compromise with Hashem, the core lesson remains. The Sfat Emet (Parashat Vayeshev 5764) expounds upon this concept within the laws of the arei miklat, the cities of refuge. He explains that by strict justice, someone who takes a life—even unwittingly—should forfeit their right to exist in this world, just like Kayin.
Yet in Hashem's mercy, He created a refuge: Vesamti lecha makom asher yanus shamah—"I will assign you a place to which he may flee." Even in exile, divine compassion established a space for the displaced. In the tefillah recited after Shir Hashirim, we say: Venizkeh l'Makom shehanefashot vehaneshamot veharuchot nechtzavot misham—may we merit to arrive at the Place from which all spirits, souls, and vital breaths were hewn.
That is the ultimate fulfillment: for the soul to return to its origin. When people comfort a mourner, bar minan, they say, HaMakom yenachem etchem. Many understand this to mean that the departed soul's place in Gan Eden should bring comfort. Even more than that, it means they have finally arrived at their ultimate station; they have reached their eternal makom.
Entering the Sukkah: Returning to the Source
This reality echoes in every facet of our earthly journey. When someone finds their rightful spouse, their shidduch, an overflowing joy takes hold because they have finally arrived at their true station in life.
Why do we feel a spontaneous simchah the moment we step into the sukkah? Because the neshamah recognizes that it was not carved from the fabric of this material world. Week after week, throughout the cycle of the year, the soul incessantly pleads to break free from the constraints of the mundane. When a person crosses the threshold and enters the sukkah, enveloped by its sacred walls, an immediate sense of arrival washes over body and soul.
The Imrei Emet ( Shabbat Chol HaMoed Succot)—that the Pesikta asks: Why do we build a sukkah immediately following Yom Kippur? Because if it was decreed on Yom Kippur that we must go into exile, we fulfill that exile by departing into the sukkah. And why does Hashem enter the sukkah with us? Because the Halachah states that if a student is exiled to an ir miklat, his rebbe goes into exile with him.
Before a baal teshuvah repents, his sins strip away his foundation; the earth is pulled out from beneath him. What does Hashem do for us? He creates an ir miklat—He provides us with a refuge, and that refuge is the sukkah. When we step inside, pure happiness follows.
Traditional sources teach that one of the most severe punishments—even beyond Gehinnom—is kaf hakela, a spiritual sling in which a soul is perpetually flung about without a resting place. Although the sukkah is designated as a dirat arai, a temporary dwelling, it is spiritually our enduring home. We do not belong to this material existence. Our true role in this world is to recognize its impermanence and anchor ourselves in what lies beyond.
Hashem is called HaMakom because He is Mekomo shel olam—He is the Place of the universe; the world does not contain Him, He contains the world. Reaching our true makom means realizing that our real home is within Hashem. When we reach this sanctuary, the Ushpizin come to visit us, feeling completely at home within the shade of faith, the tzilah d'heimnuta.
Joy Found Within Boundaries
The greatest rejoicing in the Beit HaMikdash was Simchat Beit HaShoevah. The Rambam describes this extraordinary celebration in Hilchot Sukkah (Chapter 8, Halachah 14), emphasizing that not just anyone could lead or perform there. A person had to know their place. The leaders and the heads of the yeshivot were the ones who danced, while the rest of the nation watched from their designated spots.
In Midrash Rabbah (Bereishit 34:15), the rabbis expound on the verse in Yechezkel (36:26): Vahasiroti et lev ha'even mibasarcheim—"I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a lev basar, a heart of flesh." The Midrash notes that the word basar (בשר) can also be read homiletically as boser (בוסר), meaning sour or bitter—resembling the interchange of sin and samech found in words like sotah and shotah. The Almighty promises to remove the heart that feels bitter over the success of another.
True simchah, as explained by the Tiferet Yosef on Chag HaSukkot (written by Rav Mordechai Yosef Elazar Leiner of the Radzyn dynasty), arises when a person knows their exact place. When you know your place and feel comfortable in your own skin, you become genuinely sameach bechelko—content with your portion. There is no greater happiness than that. Simchat Beit HaShoevah embodied this awareness: every soul recognized where it belonged without trespassing into another's territory. That is the essence of the blessing she'asah li kol tzarki—Hashem has provided me with everything I need, and I have no reason to covet what is on someone else's plate.
The Shem MiShmuel (Bamidbar, 5673) teaches that the joy of the degalim (the tribal banners in the desert) stemmed from this exact clarity: everyone knew their assigned place. There were twelve tribes and twelve paths. Each person rejoiced in their distinct path, knowing every soul possesses a designated post. These banners mirrored the celestial hosts above: the camp of Michael embodies lovingkindness, the camp of Gavriel represents awe, and each carries out its unique role. Because of this, Oseh shalom bimromav—there is peace in the heavens, without jealousy or strife.
This harmony mirrors the prophetic vision of Yeshayahu (11:13) regarding the ultimate redemption: Ephraim lo yekaneh et Yehudah—Ephraim will not envy Yehudah, and Yehudah will not vex Ephraim. That was the secret of Har Sinai: Vayichan sham Yisrael—they encamped "as one person with one heart."
Guarding the Sacred Four Cubits
This is also the heart of Shabbat: Shevu ish tachtav—"Let every person remain in his place." Shabbat is defined by menuchah, tranquil rest. It is the time when you return to your true setting. Recall the Midrash Tanchuma on Kayin: what was the protective sign given to preserve him? It was the sign of Shabbat, as the verse says, Ot hi beini uveineichem—"It is a sign between Me and you." Shabbat grants us our rest; on Shabbat, we come home. There are divine boundaries: remain in your spot, do not step outside your realm.
The Shem MiShmuel (Korach, 5677) notes that Korach opposed the concept of Shabbat because Shabbat signifies completion—the acceptance of boundaries. As the Chiddushei HaRim observed, even in spiritual aspirations, one must be content with their assigned mission. Korach refused to accept his place; he demanded what was not intended for him, and thus Korach and the spirit of Shabbat stand in direct opposition.
Rav Yehudah Ades shared in the name of Dayan Wosner that every individual is granted their own four cubits (daled amot)—roughly six feet of private space. In Halachah, if an ownerless object enters your four cubits, you acquire it; it is your personal domain. The same principle governs the laws of Shabbat: carrying an object beyond four cubits in the public domain violates the boundary, for the Torah instructs, Al yetzei ish mimkomo—"Let no person go out of their place."
Yet, as Dayan Weiss noted, carrying a smartphone can dismantle that space. When you are continuously tethered to a screen, you are no longer present in your own four cubits. You lose your private world.
On the Shoulders of Hashem
The authentic place of the Jewish people is revealed by Rashi on Shemot (17:8): we are carried upon Hashem's shoulders. The ananei hakavod, the clouds of glory, represent those divine shoulders—which the sukkah evokes. As long as we recognize that we are carried by Hashem, we remain secure. But when we lose that awareness, we step outside the protective clouds, leaving an opening for Amalek to attack.
Amalek shares the same numerical value as safek (ספק), meaning doubt. As the classic adage reminds us, Ein simchah kehatorat hasefeikot—there is no greater joy than the resolution of doubt. Amalek personifies uncertainty; when doubt pulls us away from our spiritual coordinates, joy disappears.
When Hashem spoke to Moshe at the burning bush (Shemot 3:5), He said: HaMakom asher atah omeid alav admat kodesh hu—"The place upon which you stand is holy ground." The Chafetz Chaim remarked that people often daydream: If only I lived in that house, if only I studied in that yeshivah, if only I had been born into that family or found myself in different circumstances... But the Torah responds directly: the ground you are standing upon right now is holy. Find your designated place. Recognize where you are, remove your shoes, and connect with bare feet to the mission given to you.
And that is precisely why on Yom Kippur we remove our shoes: to step fully and without barrier onto our sacred ground, anchored in our true makom before Hashem.
We continue this with the Holiday of Succot and try to keep it going the entire year.