Talmud for Today: A Series of Talmudic Readings for the Holidays

The Mishnah legislates that the minimum height of a sukkah is ten handbreadths. This measurement is in fact the standard height throughout halakhic literature for something to be considered a valid wall or partition.[21] Whereas the ten-handbreadth standard is taken for granted in other legal realms,[22] the Bavli’s inquiry into its biblical source specifically in the context of the sukkah’s height suggests a search for a deeper reason for this architectural detail.

The Bavli [A] answers the question with an early Amoraic tradition already cited in the Yerushalmi (see Source #2) that the Ark of the Covenant and its covering together made up ten handbreadths. Exodus 25:22 describes that height as the meeting place at which God prophetically communicates, between the cherubs just above the Ark covering. Significantly, Exodus 25:20 (cited in the Bavli’s next response at Sukkah 5b) states: “The cherubs shall have their wings spread out shielding (sokhekhim) with their wings over the Ark-cover,” using the same root as the word Sukah and its roofing (sekhakh).[23] The teaching of Rabbi Yose [B] clinches the proof with Psalms 115:16, which describes heaven and earth as two separate realms. Since the purpose of the sukkah roof is to separate the human residents below from the heavens above, it too cannot be any lower than ten handbreadths.

We can hardly consider this a legal source considering that these verses do not speak about a sukkah, their relevance to minimum heights is far from clear, and one of these verses is from Psalms, which the Talmud does not consider a legal source.[24] Rather, the Talmud picks up a detail of the legal requirements of the sukkah, easily explained in terms of the general halakhic requirements for boundaries, and builds upon it an elaborate philosophical exposition about the spiritual significance of the sukkah. The sukkah reminds its dwellers of God’s providence throughout the desert wanderings when the Israelites enjoyed His protective clouds of glory. The sekhakh and the shade it provides serve as a physical representation of that Divine Presence for those celebrating the spirit of the festival.

The discussion could end here, as does the Yerushalmi parallel. However, the citation of Rabbi Yose’s application of Psalms 115:16 about the impenetrability of the two domains prompts the Bavli to deepen the analysis. Rabbi Yose’s teaching helps resolve the opening question but also sets up a tension that links to the continuation of the Bavli sugya. If indeed the realms can never meet, then what hope is there to feel the divine presence in the sukkah. If the goal of this festival is to greet God and appreciate His providence, the sekhakh serves only as a barrier to that achievement.

Sections [1] and [2] challenge Rabbi Yose’s statement and thereby attempt to pierce through that boundary to find some path to a Divine encounter. First, the Talmud sets forth two proofs that God did and will descend to earth, only to be rebuffed that those descents come close but ultimately stop at the border. Second, the Talmud knocks in the other direction to try and break through from below. The two greatest exemplars of humans who reached divine heights, Moses and Elijah must surely have transcended to the divine realm. But they too are put in their place, below ten handbreadths. Obviously, this spatial marker only symbolizes the spiritual divide between humble human beings and the majesty of the cosmic Creator.

We are nearly ready to give up, resigned to reside in separate domains that can never meet. However, one last attempt succeeds. For a single moment at Sinai, the Divine throne stretched down just enough for Moses to grab hold of it and experience a direct experience of God’s protective glory. Reading this optimistic and nearly mystical conclusion back into the analysis of the sukkah’s architecture, we learn that the sekhakh is not an absolute barrier but a porous one. The tiny cracks between the branches leave open the faintest hope to glimpse the Divine Presence.

The Talmud constructs the sukkah such that its sekhakh roofing becomes its primary defining feature.[25] The sekhakh has unique requirements that it be made of natural raw materials and must provide shade, but it also must be porous enough to allow rain and ideally a small amount of light to pass through.[26] Its dwellers are at once protected but also vulnerable. The sekhakh hides the heavens and blocks access to the upper realms but still permits a small glimpse of the light of the sun. This dialectical tension within the architecture of the sukkah plays out in the Talmudic dialogue.

The sense of isolation and removal from the divine realm that runs through most of the sugya would have resonated during the post-biblical age when people could only read and dream about the great miracles of the Bible and the direct communication given to the prophets. For these generations, the border between the heavenly and earthly realms was closed with no possibility of passage. Nevertheless, sitting in the Sanctuary-inspired space of the sukkah and peering up at the sekhakh offers the slightest glimpse of the Divine providence pushing sunlight through the dark shadows, and promising rain, sustenance and life for the upcoming season.

Gershom Scholem one wrote: “In the tension between the two aims – the insistence on the purity of the monotheistic idea on the one side, and on the vitality of faith on the other – is comprised the history of Israel’s religion.”[27] This tension forms the skeleton of this short but profound sugya, which draws out the symbolic experience of the dweller in the sukkah as an annual playing out of that spiritual yearning to connect to that which is above us, even while recognizing our limitations from ever achieving the (nearly) impossible goal of grasping the Divine throne.