We begin our journey with a mystery presented in the liturgy. The great poet of late antiquity, Kalir, in his hymn for Sukkot, makes a startling connection:
"קֹשְׁטְ שְׁעִינַת עֵץ לְעוֹמְסֵי פְרִי עֵץ, זְכָר נָא לְהִוָּעֵץ וּתְשׁוּעָה בְּרֹב יוֹעֵץ."
"The merit of [Abraham's] inviting [the angels] to lean under the tree, for his descendants who carry the fruit of the tree, remember, please, to provide them with good counsel, and salvation through many advisors." (Piyut for Shacharit, first day of Sukkot)
This verse links our waving of the etrog—the "fruit of the tree"—back to the patriarch Abraham, who offered shelter to three wayfarers beneath the tree at Mamre (Genesis 18:4), and pleads that in this merit, we be granted eitzah tovah, "good counsel."
But the textual web is even wider. The midrashic tradition teaches that the sukkah itself commemorates the Clouds of Glory that sheltered Israel in the
wilderness, and that these clouds were given in the merit of Abraham's hospitality—his act of hosting the angels under his tree (Bamidbar Rabbah 14:2; see also Kalir's piyut for the second day of Sukkot). Furthermore, in the daily Arvit prayer, we find a powerful liturgical juxtaposition, pleading to God: "וּפְרוֹשֹ עָלֵינוּ סֻכַּת שְׁלוֹמֶךָ...וְתַקְנֵנוּ בְּעֵצָה טוֹבָה"—"And spread over us the sukkah of Your peace… and guide us with good counsel." (From the Hashkiveinu blessing).
The questions, therefore, are profound and interconnected:
- What is the deep, underlying connection between a physical booth (sukkah), a citrus fruit (etrog), and the abstract gift of "good counsel" (eitzah tovah)?
- Why is Abraham's act of hospitality the specific merit that unlocks this for his descendants?
- And how does the "sukkah of peace" relate to being guided by "good counsel"?
This article will trace an arc through the human condition, from a primordial flaw to its rectification in Abraham, and finally to our own experiential re-enactment of that repair through the rituals of Sukkot.
The Primordial Flaw: A Compass Unmoored
To understand the profundity of this connection, we must look back to humanity's dawn. The Sages teach that in God's original design for creation, before the sin of the Etz HaDaat (the Tree of Knowledge), every tree in all of creation was meant to have its fruit taste identical to its wood (Talmud Yerushalmi, Kilayim 1:7; Rashi on Genesis 1:11). The earth, however, failed to execute this divine plan perfectly—a failure that foreshadowed humanity's own coming rupture. This is more than a botanical curiosity; it is a profound metaphor for the original human state. The "tree" represents the source, the essential self rooted in the Divine. The "fruit" is its expression—our actions, desires, and thoughts. In a state of perfection, what we are and what we produce are in perfect harmony; they share a single "taste."
The sin shattered this unity. It severed the connection between our divine source and our human expression. Now, our "fruit"—our actions and desires—could diverge wildly from our "tree"—our soul's true nature. We find ourselves drawn toward what gratifies immediately rather than what serves ultimately, in our financial choices, spiritual practice, and personal relationships. We are left with a fractured heart, in need of "good counsel"—not as external advice, but as internal recalibration.
Abraham and the Covenant of Alignment
It is into this world of fractured alignment that God calls Abraham with a radical command: "Hit'halech lefanai veheyeh tamim"—"Walk before Me and be complete" (Genesis 17:1).
Rashi, drawing on the Midrash, explains that Abraham was incomplete before circumcision (Rashi on Genesis 17:1). Why? A Midrash teaches that Adam was created circumcised (Midrash Tanchuma, Tazria 5). In his original state, Adam's physical body offered no resistance to his soul's divine orientation—flesh and spirit moved as one. The sin changed the human condition itself. It introduced the orlah (foreskin) into humanity's future generations—with only rare exceptions—not merely as punishment, but as the physical manifestation of what had occurred spiritually. Where there had been openness and integration, there would now be a barrier, a spiritual blockage that insulates bodily desire from its divine source. The Torah later names this condition explicitly: orlat halev, the "foreskin of the heart" (Deuteronomy 10:16)—a metaphor for the stubborn resistance to divine instruction that hardens within us.
Becoming tamim, therefore, is not about suppressing one's nature. It is the far more profound process of re-calibrating one's entire being so that one's internal compass and bodily inclinations become naturally aligned with the divine will. It is a return to the pre-sin state of integrated wholeness.
This spiritual blockage manifests not only in humanity but in creation itself. The Torah commands that fruit trees bear orlah—their fruit forbidden for the first three years (Leviticus 19:23). The 'plug' introduced at the sin of eating from the Tree of Knowledge now marks the very trees themselves, a reminder that the rupture affected all of creation.
The Two-Fold Path to Wholeness
This requires two components:
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A Covenant Engraved in the Body: To repair a rupture that manifests in the physical self, the correction must be physical. Bris Milah is this necessary, embodied covenant. The removal of the orlah is the act of "plugging back in," carving the commitment to alignment into the very flesh, making the body a partner in the covenant.
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The Embodiment Through Joy: However, a physical act alone can remain external—a mark on the body without transformation of the heart. To complete the process, the covenant must penetrate inward. Abraham's public celebration, undertaken on the advice of Mamre (Midrash Bereishit Rabbah 42:8), was crucial. Why is joy specifically required for this transformation? Because joy has a unique power to move truth from the mind to the heart. In joy, internal resistance melts; a person becomes receptive to new realities in a way that mere intellectual acceptance cannot achieve. What begins as obligation transforms into desire. The divine will ceases to be a command imposed from without and becomes a longing that arises from within. Joy allows new spiritual realities to take root in the heart and transform into lived truth.
Thus, Abraham, through the physical covenant and its joyful celebration, became tamim.
The Divine Visit and the Rectified Tree
This newfound state is immediately demonstrated in the next event. After the milah, the Torah states, "God appeared to him," yet records no words spoken (Genesis 18:1). Our Sages interpret this as a visit to the sick (Talmud Bavli, Sotah 14a). But we can understand it as the manifestation of the newly forged connection. The divine will was now dwelling within Abraham's world more intimately than ever before.
The scene that follows is laden with symbolism: Abraham hosts the angels 'under the tree'. The angels, our Sages teach, represent perfected beings—and in this moment, they mirror Abraham's own achieved state of tamim. The tree under which they gather represents something even more profound: the return to the primordial rectified state, the restoration of what was lost at the Etz HaDaat. Here, perfected beings dwell within rectified creation—Abraham has not merely become whole himself, but has recreated the Edenic harmony where source and expression are unified.
This concept finds its ultimate symbol in the Etrog. The Sages identify the etrog with the lev—the heart, the seat of our internal experience (Midrash Vayikra Rabbah 30:14). And they highlight its unique property: its fruit shares the same taste as its tree (Talmud Bavli, Sukkah 35a).
The etrog is the physical symbol of the rectified heart. Just as its fruit and tree are one in taste, Abraham's internal world—his thoughts and desires—were in perfect, unbroken harmony with his divine source. What was broken by the Etz HaDaat was repaired in Abraham. When we hold the etrog, we are holding the token of his merit—the merit of a being whose heart was so aligned that it naturally received "good counsel."
The Sukkot Experience: Embodying the Alignment
The journey of Tishrei now reaches its climax. The introspective work of the High Holidays brings us to teshuvah—awareness and correction. But Sukkot takes us further, into embodiment. Our goal is to achieve what Abraham modeled: to align our inner world with the divine will so completely that it becomes our lived reality.
This is the mission of the festival's rituals:
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The Sukkah is tzila d'meheimenuta—the protective shade of faith (Zohar, Emor 103a). By dwelling in it, we practice bringing God into our most mundane acts. It becomes our constant divine "shadow," a silent advisor reorienting our entire existence toward the sacred.
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It is Zeman Simchateinu—the Time of our Joy, based on the Torah's command: "And you shall rejoice before the Lord your God seven days" (Leviticus 23:40). For, as with Abraham, embodiment requires joy. It is the unique emotional catalyst that transforms the sukkah from a theoretical shelter into a lived, internalized alignment.
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We take the Four Species and shake them to the six cardinal points. The gesture is unmistakable: we are holding a compass, actively declaring our intention to reorient every direction of our lives toward the sacred. Calibrating a compass involves repeatedly pointing it to all the different directions until the compass finds its bearing. And at the heart of this compass is the Etrog—for the heart is what must be recalibrated. We seek to restore in ourselves what Abraham achieved: a heart whose natural inclinations align with divine purpose.
The Harvest of Joy: Hillel's Declaration
This embodied, joyful realignment finds its ultimate expression in the Simchat Beit HaSho'eva—the water-drawing ceremony that transformed the Temple courtyard into a theater of ecstatic celebration. The Talmud records that "one who has not seen the rejoicing of the water-drawing has never seen rejoicing in his life" (Sukkah 51a). But this was no mere festivity. The name itself, as the Yerushalmi explains, reveals its purpose: Sho'eva means "to draw," and what was drawn from these wellsprings of joy was ruach hakodesh—literally 'holy spirit,' a state where one's own spirit becomes so aligned with the divine will that divine guidance flows naturally. This is the very 'good counsel' Kalir pleaded for: not external advice, but an internal alignment so complete that one instinctively perceives the right path forward (Yerushalmi Sukkah 5:1).
It is here that Hillel the Elder reveals the state of complete alignment:
"אִם אֲנִי כָּאן — הַכֹּל כָּאן, וְאִם אֵינִי כָּאן — מִי כָּאן." "If I am here, everything is here. And if I am not here, who is here?" (Talmud Bavli, Sukkah 53a)
As interpreted by Rashi and Kabbalah, this "Ani" (I) is the Shechinah (Shechinah—the immanent Divine Presence, God's dwelling within the world), the Divine Presence (Rashi, ibid). Hillel is stating: "If the Divine Presence is with me"—if my inner world is a dwelling place for God's will—then "everything is with me." Every faculty and desire is integrated with its spiritual root. But "if I am not here," I am left unmoored and rootless.
This statement is deliberately juxtaposed with his next teaching:
"מָקוֹם שֶׁאֲנִי אוֹהֵב — שָׁם רַגְלַי מוֹלִיכוֹת אוֹתִי." "To the place that I love, there my feet bring me." (Ibid)
This is the tangible result of alignment. When the Divine Presence genuinely dwells within—when a person's inner world is oriented toward God—the body follows naturally. The feet carry the person toward what the soul loves. There is no longer internal warfare between inclination and obligation, between what one desires and what one ought to do. The physical and spiritual move as one, as they did in Eden, as they did for Abraham after his covenant.
The Circle Closes
Thus, the liturgical mystery is solved. The "sukkah of Your peace" and the plea for "good counsel" are not two separate requests, but one. The divine shelter is the external manifestation of the internal guidance. When Kalir pleads for "good counsel" in the merit of Abraham leaning under the tree, he is praying for the very restoration Abraham achieved—the state of tamim, where one's heart is so perfectly realigned with its Divine source that it becomes a natural conduit for divine will.
On Sukkot, we are not merely commemorating history; we aim to embody it. Through the physical shelter of the sukkah, the pure spiritual joy of the festival, and the reorienting compass of the Four Species centered on the etrog—the symbol of the rectified heart—we seek to become what Abraham was. We seek to draw the ruach hakodesh that flows from joy, to so infuse our entire being with divine alignment that, like Hillel, our very feet are guided to the places we are meant to be.
In the end, we grasp the etrog. We hold the heart that is one with its tree, and in that moment, we hold the tangible promise of Abraham's merit—a prayer that our own fragmented hearts may be healed, granting us the ultimate gift: a life lived in the harmonious and complete state of being tamim, where every step is shadowed by divine counsel.
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