Rabbi Natasha Mann

Today is the first day of H ol haMo’ed Sukkot , of the intermediate days of Sukkot. And though it is called ‘the time of our rejoicing’, I have to admit to you today that I have always found Sukkot one of the most challenging holidays in our calendar. I find Sukkot so challenging precisely because it is ‘the time of our rejoicing’, and it comes a scant few days after Yom Kippur. Yom Kippur is the most solemn and humbling day of our calendar. Yom Kippur demands that we confront mortality, that we let go of our pride, and that we engage seriously with our wrongdoings. And then comes joyful and beautiful Sukkot, with almost no room to breathe between the two. In truth, I am never quite ready to be joyful at the beginning of Sukkot. I am still in the headspace of Yom Kippur, feeling off-kilter and overwhelmed by the intensity of celebration on Sukkot. Sukkot is also a highly physical holiday. Like most other holidays, we eat and drink and rejoice. And unlike any other holiday, w

After several weeks of setting the scene, in today’s Torah portion we finally meet the first of our avot , our fathers – Avram, soon-to-be-named Avraham. We see Avram uproot his life and follow God’s call into the wilderness; we get to see him cultivate this intense and intimate relationship with God, filled with hopes and promises and conversations under the stars. It’s something of an epic romance. But there’s someone who is conspicuously absent from much of this intimacy, someone for whom every hope and promise is terribly relevant – Avram’s wife, Sarai. You’ve probably read this week’s parasha following the main character, Avram, as the text encourages you to do. I’d like to pull back for a moment and tell Sarai’s story. This is what happened in this week’s parasha for Sarai: first, her husband was called to uproot his life and head out into the wilderness, and so Sarai went with him. Whatever her reasons were, they were not recorded. The next we hear from her, Sarai’s husban