Drash Succot – Rabbi Kim Ettlinger

Rabbi Kim Ettlinger

Temple David, Perth, Western Australia

When King Solomon wrote Kohelet in his old age and penned the words of Chapter 3, I wonder what he had in mind. Was it merely a reflection on his own life experiences, or was he predicting what might happen?Was he prophesying the future of the Israelites or the Jewish people?

Of course, no one really knows. We can never truly understand or discern the intention of an author especially the great King Solomon himself. Never mind if it was someone else, equally wise, who attributed the Book of Ecclesiastes to him out of humility, reverence, and respect.

Two phrases in Chapter 3 speak tome more than others these days: the first in verse 3, and the second in verse 8.

The verses are:

׃תוֹֽנְבִלת֥ ֵעְו ץוֹ֖רְפִל ת֥ ֵעאוֹ ֔פְּרִל תֵ֣עְו גוֹרֲהַל ת֤ ֵע֙

A time for slaying [to kill] and a time for healing, A time for tearing down and a time for building up;

׃םוֹֽלָשׁ ת֥ ֵעְוה֖ ָמָחְלִמ תֵ֥ע א֔ ֹנְשִׂלת֣ ֵעְו בֹהֱאֶֽל ת֤ ֵע֙

A time for loving and a time for hating, A time for war and a time for peace.

How much has our Israeli family endured over these past two years? How much more can they bear? I speak not only of the hostages, but also of their families and the people of Israel as a whole. For two years, they have lived under a metaphorical sukkah, exposed to the fragility of life that Kohelet so vividly describes in these verses.

We pray in our T’filot for a sukkat shalom—a shelter of peace. This is the Almighty’s shelter of peace that we wish for all. Every Motzei Shabbat, they metaphorically shake the lulav and etrog, the symbols traditionally held beneath the sukkah: the etrog, through midrash, symbolising the heart; the lulav, the spine; the hadas (myrtle), the eyes; the aravah (willow), the mouth.We hold them together, shaking them in six directions, representing that the Eternal is everywhere.

Together, these symbols become the body, the heart, the mind, and the soul of the Jewish people—wishing, crying, praying, protecting, shouting, calling for the release of all the hostages from Gaza. Every week, rain or shine, people are shaking their metaphorical lulav and etrog, calling out, shouting out… to whomever will listen. They are both loving and hating at the same time. They recognise that there is a time for war and a time for peace—sometimes simultaneously. They also recognise that not everything is binary; that there are moments in between. Perhaps that is what they are truly calling for. Perhaps it depends on the moment, the day, or the week.

Calling for the return of our IDF troops from battle and for the dying to end.

Calling for an end to innocent lives lost at the hands of Hamas.

Calling for the defeat of Hamas.

Calling for an end to antisemitism and blood libels against our people.

Calling for… [add your own].

Kohelet gives us hope in the cyclical nature of life: that the war in Gaza will end, the hostages will be released, and people will be made whole once more. The trauma may not end immediately, but the healing can begin. Better to begin now than in a week, a month, or a year from now, when it will be even more difficult.

For it was also King Solomon, in his wisdom, to whom the words “Gam Zeh Ya’avor”—This too shall pass—are attributed.

We are a people who believe in hope. That is why we are unafraid to build a fragile sukkah, to invite others into it, and to open both our hearths and our hearts. We carry incredible hope, faith, and resilience—in people, in Israel, and in ourselves. We not only look backward for wisdom, but we also live in the present and look forward to the future with hope, resilience, and fortitude. We do not give up, and the ancient book of Kohelet knew this truth so eloquently.

May we never give up in the pursuit of peace, knowing how fragile that pursuit truly is.