First, A Simchat Torah Tale
(see hagbah cartoon above)

Moshe, a new member of the shul, was asked to do hagbah. It was awful, a pitiful sight. He could barely lift the sefer Torah; he almost dropped it and, clutching it shakily, sat down very quickly.

He was very embarrassed so he made a resolution to go to the gym and work out. For the next few months, he lifted weights and did push ups, sit ups, and pull ups. He got himself buff and ready.

Simchat Torah came and Moshe was all set. He went to shul, all excited and ready to be called. It happened! He heard the gabbai call his name so he rushed up to the bima, grabbed the sefer Torah, lifted it, and, arms wide, opened up at least ten columns. He swung the Torah to the left and then to the right, according to the halakhah, so everyone could see the text.

He felt very proud of his perfect hagbah. Turning to the gabbai he asked, "So, how was it?"

"Well, Moshe, your hagbah was great, but I called you up for shlishi."

A House on the Roof

Levy built a sukkah on the roof of his apartment building several days before the eight-day holiday of Sukkot began. After the holiday began, the landlord noticed it and demanded that it be removed immediately, claiming it was a violation of the terms of the building lease. Levy refused, telling the landlord that since this was a religious observance, he had the right to build the sukkah there.

The landlord disagreed and took the case to court.

In court, the landlord argued that the sukkah was unsightly, against the terms of the lease, and was a fire hazard. Levy argued that his religious rights would be ignored. The judge, who happened to be Jewish, listened patiently and then offered his verdict.

“I agree with the landlord in this case, and I therefore rule that you have ten days from today to take down your hut.”

—Based on David A. Adler, The House on the Roof: a Sukkot Story. New York: Bonim Books

The Wise Chelmites and the Etrog

The president of the shul in Chelm had purchased an etrog for Sukkot, and the trustees were simply delighted with it. This was no ordinary etrog. It had come straight from Eretz Yisroel. It was as yellow as the yellowest etrog. It was as fragrant as the most fragrant etrog. It was an etrog without blemish as any perfect etrog should be. And best of all, it had a firm and dainty pitom. In short, this was an etrog!

The president wanted all the wise residents of Chelm to be able to say the traditional Sukkot blessing using this etrog, but actually doing such jobs was the sexton’s duty. The president was somewhat apprehensive of the sexton’s carelessness, so he gave him very careful instructions about the etrog’s proper handling.

“Remember!” he said. “This etrog is an etrog! Handle it with tenderness. Be especially careful that the pitom should not be spoiled by handling, since this will make the etrog unsuitable for use. Remember! This etrog is an etrog!”

The sexton, energized by his holy mission, clutched the etrog in both his hands and started out through the streets of Chelm. Suddenly he was stricken with doubt and he stopped in his tracks. He held the etrog up, level with his eyes, and examined it all over. He must take very good care of this etrog. Nothing must happen to it. The president had warned him about how important it was to protect it from damage—especially its pitom. What to do? How to protect it? Ahah, inspiration! —he had just the perfect solution! No sooner said than done!

The sexton dug a sharp knife out of his pocket and with extreme care, cut the pitom off the etrog. The president had told him that he must take good care of it; he would never dare disobey the president. With tenderness he wrapped the pitom in a clean handkerchief and gently placed it in his breast pocket. Then, with joy and pride, he continued on to the homes of the wise Chelmites to allow them to recite the Sukkot blessing using the perfect etrog.

As the sexton entered each home, he reiterated the president’s admonition, “Remember! This etrog is an etrog!”

—Adapted from Philip Goodman, The Rosh Hashanah Anthology, Jewish Publication Society

A VIP

(This story circulated in Borough Park, Brooklyn about the Lubavitcher Rebbe z”l, prior to his passing.)

Reb Menachem Schneerson was being driven by one of his young students to a Chabad retreat in the Catskills for Sukkot. For many years he had been driven by others, but suddenly he decided that he wanted to try driving himself, so he requested that the driver stop so they could switch drivers. The young driver felt that he couldn’t refuse his beloved Rabbi, so he allowed the Rabbi to take the driver's seat while he got into the back. Reb Schneerson, last having driven a stick-shift in Europe, had a ball with the modern automatic, power steering, power brakes, and all the luxuries. He soon was making like Richard Petty and roared up the N.Y. Thruway at 95 miles per hour. A state police trooper soon pulled him over. The jackbooted trooper ambled over with his ticket book. As soon as he reached the driver’s window, he froze and mumbled, “Wait here just a minute, please.” The cop hurried back to his car, got on the radio to his sergeant, and reported a very serious problem.

“I just pulled over a very important person! What should I do?”

The sergeant asked, “Did you pull over Senator D'Amato again?”

“No, this guy is more important!”

“You didn't stop the governor?”

“No.”

“The president?”

“No, but this person is real important, although I’m not quite sure who he is.”

“How do you know then that this person is so important?”

“Well, he has the Lubavitcher Rebbe for a chauffeur!”

Traditions are Important, Too

An old synagogue in Cleveland had just gotten a new rabbi, and his first service at the shul was on Simchat Torah. Used to rowdiness by his congregations during Simchat Torah, he wasn’t terribly bothered that when the Shema prayer was said, half the congregants stood up and half remained sitting, and the half that was seated started yelling at those standing to sit down, and the ones standing yelled at the ones sitting to stand up. But when the same thing happened at services on the following Shabbat, he knew something was wrong.

The rabbi, educated as he was in the law and commentaries, didn't know what to do. He asked the president and board members about the shul’s tradition for the Shema, but they couldn’t answer. Then someone suggested that the rabbi consult one of the original founders of the shul, a 98-year-old man. The rabbi went to the man’s nursing home with a representative of each faction of the congregation.

The person representing those who stood during the Shema asked the old man, “Is it the tradition to stand during this prayer?”

“No, that is not the tradition.”

The one representing those who remained seated asked, “Is it the tradition to sit during Shema?”

“No, that is not the tradition.”

“But,” said the rabbi to the old man, “the congregants fight all the time, yelling at each other about whether.....”

The old man interrupted, exclaiming, “Yes, yes: THAT is the tradition!”

The Obligatory Deli Joke

Shoshana had not seen her Milwaukee relatives in years, so she was terribly excited when her Aunt Minnie and Uncle Abe came to visit her in New York to spend the Sukkot holiday. To celebrate the reunion, she took them to an old-fashioned Jewish deli on the lower east side.

“I’ll have the kreplach,” Shoshana told the waiter.

“The kreplach is from last night,” explained the waiter. “Better you should order something fresh-made—like stuffed peppers.”

“All right, let it be stuffed peppers.”

The waiter turned to Aunt Minnie. “And you?”

“Bring please the pot roast.”

“Look, lady, the pot roast is strictly for goyim. You want somethin’ special, try the flanken.”

“All right then, so bring the flanken.”

Uncle Abe had been studying the menu carefully. Then he said, “Waiter, I can't make up my mind. What do you suggest?”

“Suggest!” cried the waiter. “On a busy night like this who has time for suggestions?”

It's All in the Point of View

An old mitnaged went to a neighboring town on business, but it took longer than expected and Sukkot prevented him from returning home. Since his host was a Chasid, he attended his first Chasidic services. When he came home, his wife asked him how the services were.

“Well,” said the farmer, “it was interesting. I don't know if it was good, but it was interesting. They did something different, however. Instead of regular, ordinary zmiros, they sang niggunim.”

“Niggunim?” said his wife, “What are those?”

“Oh, they're OK. They're sort of like zmiros, only different.”

“Well, what’s the difference?”

“Well, it’s like this—if I were to say to you, ‘Rivka, the cows are in the corn,’ so, that would be a zmiro. If, on the other hand, I were to say to you, ‘Rivka, Rivka, Rivka, OY! Rivka, Rivka ...the cows, ya-dee-diddle-ay-dah ... the brown one, the black one, the white one, the black and white one! AY-derri-da-ee-dum ... the cows are in the ay-chiri-biri-biddle-ay-bum-corn, in the corn—OY! Ribbono shel Oylom ... the cows ... !’ Then, if I were to repeat the whole thing two or three times, well, that would be a niggun.”

Meanwhile, in another part of the country... A young Chasid went to Germany on business, and while there attended his first Reform service. He came home and his wife asked him how it was.

“Well,” said the young man, “It was interesting. I don't know if it was good, but it was interesting. They did something different, however. Instead of regular niggunim, they sang choral anthems.”

“Choral anthems?” said his wife, “What are those?”

“Oh, they're OK. They're sort of like niggunim, only different.”

“Well, what’s the difference?’

“Well, it's like this—if I were to say to you, ‘Rivka, the cows are in the corn,’ well, that would be a regular niggun. If, on the other hand, I were to say to you:

‘Oh Rivka, my Rivka, do thou hear my cry,
May thine ear attend now to the words that I say,
Turn thou thine attention to me by and by
To the praise of the wondrous creation today!

‘For the way of the animals none can explain
There is in their heads not a shadow of sense,
They hearken no wise to God’s sun or His rain
Unless from temptation of corn they are fenced.

‘Yea, those cows in their bovine, rebellious delight,
Have broke free their shackles, their warm pens eschewed.
Then goaded by minions of darkness and night
They all of the gold of my sweet corn have chewed.

‘So look to the glory-day that is ahead,
When the impulses lowly are purged and reborn,
When the fences we build will stand un-trample-ed,
And we live righteous lives, not as cows in the corn.’

And then ... if I were to repeat verses one and three, and then two and four ... well, that would be a choral anthem.”