What if the cure for exhaustion is a friend calling to say, "Come outside, we're going to jump in the lake"?
Rabbi Antman begins with a worn-out night in early September and a spontaneous moonlit swim off the Montrose Peninsula. From there, he turns to Sukkot as the festival of water. He traces the thirst of the Yom Kippur fast to the ancient simchat beit hashoevah, the water-drawing celebration that the Talmud says no one has truly seen joy without. He also looks at the arava, the willow, the plainest of the four species in the lulav, whose beauty comes from what it grows beside. Rabbi Alan Lew's image of the season from Tisha B'Av to Sukkot as a river carrying us home ties it together.
After the hard work of the Days of Awe, Sukkot hands us simple things: water, a flimsy roof, and a table of friends. Then it commands us to rejoice in them. Rabbi Antman leaves us with an invitation to take the call and get off the couch, no matter how tired we are.
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