This past Rosh Hashanah, as the shofar’s blast echoed through synagogues around the world, I found myself struck by its profound contrast to another sound that has become all too familiar here in Israel—the piercing wail of the air raid siren. While one calls us to spiritual reflection, the other calls us to physical survival. In the midst of war, with missiles raining down from Hamas, Hezbollah, and Yemen, the siren is a call to immediate action. The shofar, on the other hand, is an ancient call—a summons to spiritual awakening, repentance, and remembrance.
These two sounds, both filled with urgency, offer a powerful connection between our ancient heritage and the harsh realities of modern life in Israel. Yet, within this tension lies the deeper message of Sukkot and the Sukkah—a message of divine protection, vulnerability, and trust. As we sit in our fragile booths during the festival of Sukkot, exposed to the elements, we are reminded that ultimate protection comes not from the strength of walls or shelters, but from God Himself.
In the Bible, the shofar is a call to action, often signaling a time of judgment or repentance. It is first blown on Rosh Hashanah, the Day of Judgment, to awaken us from our spiritual slumber and remind us of our responsibilities toward God and one another. Joel commands:
This sound is not just a ritualistic tradition but a call to return to our core values. In ancient Israel, the shofar was blown in times of war, signaling both the need for military action and spiritual introspection. The shofar’s piercing blast urged the people to recognize that their physical survival and spiritual wellbeing were intertwined. In many ways, the modern air raid siren echoes this ancient call, waking us up not only to the physical danger of missiles but also to the fragility of life and the urgency to confront what truly matters.
Just as the shofar in the time of the prophets served as a warning of impending danger, the air raid siren in Israel today signals the immediate threat of attack. It forces us into shelters, and in that moment, we are reminded of our vulnerability. The siren, like the shofar, commands our attention and requires us to act quickly. But where the shofar calls us to spiritual preparedness, the siren calls us to physical survival.
Yet, in both cases, there is a deeper message. Isaiah offers a promise of divine protection:
Even amidst the dangers of war, the prophets spoke of God’s unwavering care for His people. The air raid sirens may signal the presence of enemies, but they also remind us of the enduring protection that God provides, just as He did for our ancestors in the wilderness.
The Sukkah, the temporary dwelling we sit in during the festival of Sukkot, is a physical embodiment of trust in God’s protection. It recalls the Clouds of Glory that shielded the Israelites during their 40 years in the desert. In Leviticus 23:42-43, God commands the Israelites to dwell in booths so that future generations will remember how He sheltered them during their journey out of Egypt.
The Sukkah is fragile, open to the elements, and easily swayed by the wind. And yet, within its walls, we are meant to feel a deep sense of security—not because of the physical structure itself, but because of the divine shelter it represents. The Sukkah teaches us that true protection does not come from the strength of our buildings or our defense systems, but from our faith in God.
This is a crucial lesson for us today. As we sit in our Sukkot, missiles may be flying overhead, and the air raid sirens may be calling us to take shelter. But within the spiritual framework of the Sukkah, we are reminded that God’s protection is infinite. The physical shelters we run to during attacks may provide temporary safety, but the spiritual shelter of the Sukkah offers eternal protection. Even in the most vulnerable of situations, we are never beyond God’s care.
The prophets were known for their warnings of impending judgment, but they also carried a message of hope. They spoke of a future where God’s protection would be fully realized, and His people would live in peace. Zechariah offers a vision of this future:
This prophetic imagery is powerful—it connects the sound of the shofar to the promise of divine intervention and protection. The stormwinds and danger are real, but so is God’s sheltering presence. Over the holiday of Sukkot, Jewish people all over the world build Sukkahs or temporary homes to eat and live in for the entirety of the holiday. These homes are meant to remind us that, though fragile, we are always under God’s watchful eye, no matter the storms that rage around us.
This is reminiscant of the Israelite’s time wandering in the desert.
As we live through these tumultuous times in Israel, the sounds of the shofar and the air raid sirens remind us of the dual realities we face. Both sounds force us to confront the fragility of life, yet within this fragility, we find strength in God’s infinite protection.
After a month of blowing the Shofar in our daily prayers, and a year of running to our bomb shelters when we hear the siren, the Sukkah teaches us that while our physical shelters may be fragile, our faith in God is unshakeable. Just as the prophets called the people to trust in God’s shelter during times of crisis, we too are reminded that even in the face of missiles and war, we are never truly alone. The Sukkah, open to the sky, symbolizes our trust in God’s providence, and the shofar calls us to remember that divine protection is always near.
Disclaimer: If you find yourself in a Sukkah during an air-raid siren, you must leave the sukkah and head to the nearest secure Bomb Shelter Room. Until missile-proof Sukkahs are crafted, this is, of course, best practice.
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