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Keeping Up With
The Millers
ERICA RAUZIN SPECIAL TO THE JEWISH NEWS
uring Sukkot; we replicate
the experience of the chil-
dren of Israel in the desert
by "living in booths." This
al fresco adventure is one thing
when you build a sukkah like our
friends, the Millers', deluxe ver-
sion, and another thing alto-
gether when you build a sukkah
like ours.
The Millers' sukkah is, first of
all, immediately outside the slid-
ing French doors from their
kitchen.
Right outside our kitchen door
are three steep steps that lead to
a narrow walkway shaded by the
neighbor's fence and filled with
recycling bins. The only sukkah
you could build there would be
one chair wide and ten chairs
long.
The Millers' sukkah, built on
their back patio, has a view of
their swimming pool and, beyond
that, the blue waters of Biscayne
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The word
"shanah"
means change,
the upsetting
of status quo.
Our sukkah, built on our dri-
veway — the only level, dry, hard
floored outdoor surface we own
— has a view of the neighbor's
driveway. We are more seen than
seeing, being right out in front of
the house. I sympathize with the
proverbial deer caught in the
headlights: that's how I feel in
the sukkah.
We are a backlit tableaux for
passers-by. I suppose we offer a
demonstration of celebration in
progress for those who know
what Sukkot is and provide total
bewilderment for those who do
not. Uninformed members of oth-
er religions must drive by and
wonder why in the world a fam-
ily of five would take to eating
dinner in the driveway. I can't
imagine what possible explana-
tions they arrive at: are we nuts?
Is our kitchen on fire? Are we
weird cultish back-to-nature
freaks? I'd like to hear a few of
the conversations in those cars,
particularly in the car that
backed up one night to take a sec-
ond look. They stared so long we
almost offered to sign auto-
graphs.
The Millers' sukkah is private
and sits about three feet from
their kitchen, so their carrying
distance is nil. Hot dishes arrive
hot; cold dishes arrive cold and
the refrigerator is at hand.
Our sukkah seems miles from
our door, although the actual dis-
tance is probably no more than
50 feet. Our lot just isn't big
enough for the schlep to be as
long as it feels. By the time I've
carried tablecloths, napkins,
plates, silverware, glasses,
drinks, serving dishes, and as-
sorted condiments to the sukkah,
I'm worn out, the hot food is cold,
and the cold food is hot.
We've become very proficient
at minimizing the carrying has-
sle. My husband can get an en- `-\
tire breakfast for five onto a
single plastic tray, as long as no-
body wants fruit on their cereal
(and there's no big menu; you eat
Cheerios or you carry your own).
Guests who come for a lunch
or dinner in the siikkah pay for
their meals in hard labor. I often
wonder if our Sukkot visitors —
people supposedly involved in
sharing a spiritual, meaningful
religious event — feel more like
Sherpas toting provisions for a
Himalayan expedition.
Every year, we visit the
Millers for a meal in their
sukkah, and we express our
green-eyed envy of their proxim-
ity, their convenience, their view.
But we notice that our viewless,
inconvenient sukkah and our
dear friends' scenic, handy
sukkah share some very impor-
tant things in common.
We all enjoy each other's corn-
pany. We all eat heartily,
whether or not the food has held
its ideal temperature. And, we
all reach for that moment of con-
nection with the first booth
dwellers: the ones who carried
the newly-given Torah. We try
to understand the view they
had: the endless desert, the clus-
tered tents, the Ark of the
Covenant.
When we think how large
that sweep of desert is, that
sweep of time, we realize how
small and temporary our shel-
ters are. And that is the point of
Sukkot, viscerally sharing the
experience of those ancient
desert nomads, the experience
of having to rely utterly on di- c-/-\
vine protection, because man's
structures can blow away in a
minute, just like our sukkah and,
yes, the Millers'. I confess,
though, that it is easier to think
of our driveway sukkah as tern-
porary than it is to regard theirs
in the same way. I don't know
exactly why, but I suspect it
must be the French doors.