Sukkot: Bendability

By: Rabbi Moshe Taragin

Sukkot is the yom tov most closely associated with achdut. Its two central mitzvot, the sukkah and the arba minim, present two different models of how people can come together. The sukkah suggests unity through sameness. Everyone sits beneath the same fragile roof, exposed to the same elements.

For nearly three years, Israelis have experienced a far harsher version of that shared vulnerability. We have repeatedly hurried to shelters alongside people from all walks of life who may have little in common with us. Under missile fire, our differences suddenly mattered less. Inside the shelter, we all faced the same danger. We spent much time under one sukkah.

The arba minim, the four species, offer a different model. Each has its own shape, texture, appearance, and character. They are taken together, but each retains its individuality. The unity of the arba minim does not depend on their becoming similar, but on retaining their unique characteristics as they unite to perform one mitzvah.

A well-known Midrash arranges the four species into a hierarchy. At the top stands the etrog, which possesses both taste and fragrance. Beneath it are the lulav and hadas, each possessing only one of these qualities: the lulav produces fruit but no fragrance, while the hadas offers fragrance but no fruit. At the bottom stands the aravah, possessing neither taste nor fragrance.

However, despite its lacking taste and fragrance, the aravah possesses one easily overlooked quality that the other species do not share: flexibility. Its long, supple stem bends easily rather than snapping under pressure. By contrast, the hadas stem is firmer and more rigid. Essentially, the aravah survives not by resisting every force, but by knowing how to give way without losing its shape.

That ability to bend without breaking offers a different kind of strength. When confronted by an opposing force, such as a strong wind, the aravah yields just enough to withstand it. In human relationships and public life, we call that capacity compromise.

The appeal of the aravah is easily overlooked because the ideas that attract us usually carry more obvious appeal. We are drawn to compelling ideas for different reasons, and we often want to pursue them in their fullest form.

Some ideas attract us because they are lofty like the lulav, which rises straight above the other species. These ideas are ideological visions that offer a sense of purpose, ambition, and a larger picture of what Am Yisrael and the State of Israel can become. Their power lies in their height and in their aspiration: they lift our sights beyond immediate circumstances and call us toward something greater than ourselves.

Alternatively, the etrog represents a different kind of attraction: a round and complete beauty. In Midrashic symbolism, the etrog also possesses both taste and fragrance. It gives the impression of something whole and comprehensive, with all the necessary pieces in place.

Some ideas appeal to us because they resemble an etrog: they promise comprehensive solutions. They seem to address several competing concerns at once rather than advancing one narrow interest. They feel balanced and coherent with few gaps or contradictions. Their attraction lies in the sense that nothing important has been left out.

Finally, some ideas attract us because they resemble the hadas. The hadas contributes fragrance, making its surroundings more pleasant. Hadas-like ideas appeal to us because they promise to improve the quality and atmosphere of everyday life, making society more pleasant and satisfying to inhabit. Unlike lulav ideas, which reach toward larger national goals, or etrog ideas, which offer broad and comprehensive solutions, hadas ideas focus on the kind of life we actually experience from day to day.

Each of these visions carries genuine appeal. The problem is that we rarely agree on which vision should guide us. Often, we disagree about which lulav-like ideals are worth pursuing, which etrog-like programs offer comprehensive solutions, and which hadas-like ideas would actually improve everyday life. At other times, the disagreement runs even deeper. One group may care most about ideological purpose, another about broad solutions, and another about the quality of life. We are therefore divided on how to reach ideals as well as which ideals matter most.

Therefore, to live together in unity, we need the art of the aravah: the ability to bend when confronted by a competing idea. Compromise means accepting an outcome that is imperfect while still holding firmly to our own convictions and recognizing that others hold convictions of their own.

The ability to compromise depends on something deeper: humility. The Sefat Emmet saw in the aravah, which lacks both taste and fragrance, a symbol of humility. Unlike the other species, it carries little sense of its own importance. The aravah represents two qualities that belong together: flexibility and humility. Its flexibility suggests humility as well; the willingness to bend rather than demand.

Ultimately, compromise requires more than goodwill. It requires enough intellectual humility to admit that even a position we hold deeply may not contain the whole truth. Even when we remain convinced that our ideal is correct, we may still be wrong about how fully it should shape public life or how it should be balanced against competing values. Do we possess enough humility to question not only our conclusions but also the way we weigh those values? Are we still capable, every so often, of changing our minds?

On Sukkot we don’t omit the other three species and take a lone aravah for the sake of compromise and unity. We still need the aspiration of the lulav, the completeness of the etrog, and the fragrance of the hadas. Some things in life should not bend. There are moral lines, religious commitments, national interests, and basic principles that cannot simply be negotiated away. Compromise without conviction leaves us with very little worth compromising about.

We take all four species together. We must find a way to remain loyal to our values and stand firmly for them, while also knowing when to compromise and how to live alongside others who hold convictions just as deeply, even when those convictions differ sharply from our own. In the end, the four species provide a clear framework for balancing steadfast personal boundaries with unconditional unity: remembering the core principle that Torah law and personal spiritual integrity must never be compromised, and the bridge between different people is not to compromise one’s beliefs; it’s about nullifying the ego.

Chag Sukkos Sameach! 

Rabbi Moshe Taragin is a rabbi and educator at Yeshivat Har Etzion (Gush). Find his latest book, “Echoes of Rashi: Bereishit” at mtaraginbooks.com.