30 Sep SHARING YOUR BLANKET

Israeli war hero and
statesman Moshe
Dayan was once
stopped for
speeding by a
military policeman.
Dayan protested: “I
only have one eye. What do you want me
to watch—the speedometer or the road?”
The Shulchan Aruch (634:1) teaches
that the minimum size of a kosher sukkah
is 7 tefachim by 7 tefachim, about 2.5
feet by 2.5 feet—less than half the size
of my desk. The Mishnah Berurah
explains that as long as a sukkah can fit
your head, most of your body, and part of
a table, it is valid.
Rav Yankele Galinsky highlights a
striking contrast between Pesach and
Sukkos. On Pesach we recline, stretch
out, and dine like royalty. On Sukkos,
however, we squeeze into fragile,
temporary huts. And once we’re inside,
pressed against each other, that’s when
we invite the ushpizin—Avraham,
Yitzchak, Yaakov, and more. Not only

them, but v’imach kol ushpizei ila’ei—
“come one, come all, there’s plenty of
room.” But where exactly is there room?
So much of life depends not on what we
see, but on how we see. The Mishnah in
Avos (5:22) teaches that Avraham Avinu
lived with an ayin tova—a generous
eye—while Bilam embodied an ayin
ra’ah—a critical, stingy eye.
The truth is, we all carry both. At times,
we see loved ones with an ayin tova,
overlooking flaws, excusing quirks, and
feeling close. Psychologists call this the
Halo Effect. Other times, when we feel
distant, we look with an ayin ra’ah,
where nothing the other person does can
be right.
What makes the difference? Not the size
of the bed or the blanket. Not even
necessarily the other person’s behavior.
It’s our own perspective. As the Talmud
(Sanhedrin 7a) says: when love is strong,
a couple can sleep on the edge of a sword
and still have room. When love is weak,
even a ninety-foot bed feels cramped.

This is the heart of Sukkos. After
the High Holidays, when we’ve
repaired relationships and
renewed our bonds, we enter our
sukkah and choose to see others
with an ayin tova. We give the
benefit of the doubt, forgive
slights, and see the good in
people.
That’s why on Pesach, the four
sons each ask their own question
and receive their own unique
answer, and the four cups must be drunk
separately. But on Sukkos, the four
species must be taken b’agudah achas—
bound together as one. Pesach highlights
individuality; Sukkos highlights unity.
So will our sukkah feel cramped and
claustrophobic, or spacious and
welcoming? The answer doesn’t lie in its
square footage, the menu, or even our
guests’ behavior. It depends entirely on
us. With an ayin tova, even a tiny sukkah
feels endless. With an ayin ra’ah, even
the largest sukkah feels suffocating.
The Mishnah in Avos (5:5) describes
how in the Beis HaMikdash, people
stood crowded, yet when bowing, there
was space for all. The Chasam Sofer
explains: it was objectively crowded,
but no one felt restricted because of the
joy and love that filled them.
Several years ago, researchers in
England found that the average couple
argues in their bedroom 167 times a
year. What do they fight about? The
survey revealed the most common
disagreements: leaving a light on to
read, adjusting the temperature, letting
children sleep in the bed, and snoring.
But the top cause of conflict? Hogging
the blanket.
Howard Schultz, the Chairman and
Chief Global Strategist for Starbucks,
visited Israel in 2011 and wrote an
article upon his return. He related an
encounter that he and a number of
high-powered executives had when
they met with Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel,
zt”l, the former Rosh Yeshiva of the
Mir.
Gentlemen, the elderly rabbi began,
who can tell me the lesson of the
Holocaust? The Rabbi called on one of
the men who was surprised to be
singled out and he began meekly, “We
will never, ever forget …” The Rabbi

indicated this was not the right answer…
No one wanted to be called on next.
Schultz avoided eye contact with the
teacher so he wouldn’t be recognized.
Another man spoke up saying “We
should never be a victim or a bystander.”
The elderly Rabbi dismissed this answer
as well.
At this point, Schultz said the entire
group felt reduced to a group of
elementary school students. Then the
Rabbi responded in gentle but firm voice,
“Let me tell you the essence of the
human spirit. As you know, during the
Holocaust, people were transported in
the worst possible inhumane way, by
cattle cars, convinced they were going to
prisoner of war camps but ultimately
they ending up in death camps. After
hours and hours in the stifling crowded
cattle car with no light, no bathroom,
nowhere to sit, they arrived in the camps
freezing cold and hungry. The doors of
the rail cars were swung wide open and
the people inside were blinded by the
light.
Men and women were separated,
mothers were torn from their daughters
and fathers from their sons, and they
were herded off to bunks to sleep. Only 1
person out of 6 was given a blanket. And
at that moment, that person, who was
fortunate enough to be handed that
blanket, had a choice: am I going to push
the blanket to the other five people who
didn’t get one or am I going to pull it
toward myself to stay warm? Am I going
to give or am I going to take? It was
during this defining moment that we
learn the power of the human spirit,
when people pushed the blanket to five
others.” With that, the Rabbi stood up
and said “take your blanket, take it home
and push it to five other people.”
This Sukkos, let’s see our sukkah, our
blanket, and our love as big enough to
share with other people.