Shemini Atzeret: The Extra Day of Intimacy and Faith

As we approach the end of Sukkot, a question arises that many ask: What do we celebrate on Shemini Atzeret? At first glance, it seems to be simply the eighth day of Sukkot, just as Passover has a seventh day. However, rabbinic literature and Halachic texts show us something different. They teach us that on Shemini Atzeret, we leave the Sukkah, recite Kiddush again at the dining table, and understand that the holiday is self-contained—a reguel bifnei atzmo, a celebration in its own right.

The Chizkuni, Rabbi Hezekiah ben Manoach, a prominent medieval Torah commentator that lived in the 13th century, commenting on Leviticus 23:36, gives us a striking image to understand this day: Shemini Atzeret is like a king who receives the visit of his children. The first time they come, the king knows he will see them again soon; the second time as well. But when they know the next visit will be in six months, the king says, “Stay one more day so I can enjoy your presence.” That is Shemini Atzeret: that extra day, that special intimacy between Israel and God, when the next “visit” is still far off. After Sukkot and Shemini Atzeret, several months would pass before Israel brings its offerings to the Lord for Passover.

Sukkot is a universal festival: we pray for rain, for the well-being of all nations, and celebrate with everyone around us. In fact, the Torah confirms in the Talmud that during this festival, even those who were not members of the People of Israel were invited to the Beit Hamikdash, the Great Temple in Jerusalem, to bring their offerings. Today, this concept translates into inviting others to share the Sukkah—not only members of the Jewish People but also those of other faiths.

Sukkot is a festival of joy because its central theme is peace, universality, connection with the planet, and empathy for those who live in fragility year-round. What better symbol of peace than opening our home, under whatever conditions, to welcome everyone? Peace as a Sukkah is not an arbitrary symbol. Beneath its trembling walls and the breeze that enters through the interstices of the schach (the leafy roof), there is room for everyone. There, perhaps, peace begins. When we open our home without fear, and see that each person who enters could be a messenger from above—as the mystics interpret—it is the beginning of true harmony.

Sukkot, in its fragility and joy, teaches us much about our condition. As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, of blessed memory, reminds us: “Sukkot becomes a metaphor for the Jewish condition, not only during the forty years in the desert but also during the nearly 2,000 years of exile and dispersion. For centuries, Jews lived without knowing whether the place they lived in would be only a temporary dwelling. For example, Jews were expelled from England in 1290, and during the next two centuries from nearly every country in Europe, culminating in the expulsions from Spain in 1492 and Portugal in 1497. They lived in a constant state of insecurity. Sukkot is the festival of insecurity.” The creation of the State of Israel in 1948 marked a turning point: leaving the fragility of an uncertain diaspora to build a strong, thriving home.

On October 7, 2023, our homes were desecrated. And two years later, on the brink of what we hope will be a historic and exemplary agreement, we continue to build open houses, our Sukkot, to believe again that peace is possible. But joy does not detach us from pain or protest; rather, it confronts them, gives us courage, and strengthens our resolve to face a future that currently seems dark—though we hope the shadows will soon lift.

Unlike Sukkot, Shemini Atzeret is exclusively for Israel. On the eighth day of Sukkot, which, as we said, is a festival in its own right, the offerings to the Lord were brought only by members of the People of Israel. It is like those parties where we celebrate with many people. In every party, there are beloved guests and guests who attend out of obligation. Though we dance and eat together, at the end there is a half-hour when everyone else has left, and only the intimate remain. That unforgettable half-hour, the moment of supreme intimacy, is when we stay only with those we love deeply.

Shemini Atzeret is the moment of greatest intimacy of the year between the People of Israel and God, the deepest connection, the festival within the festival, where we weigh and reevaluate the time we share with each other and with the Creator.

To grasp the depth of this day, let us remember the value of time:

• To understand a year, ask someone who had to repeat a course.

• To understand a month, ask a mother who gave premature birth.

• To understand a week, ask the editor of a weekly publication.

• To understand an hour, ask lovers waiting to meet.

• To understand a minute, ask the traveler who missed the train.

• To understand a second, ask someone who narrowly escaped an accident.

• To understand a millisecond, ask the athlete who won an Olympic silver medal.

• To understand the absence of someone we love and have not seen for two years, like those kidnapped in Gaza, we integrate the value of years, months, days, and every second—especially if it seems they may be freed at any moment.

Shemini Atzeret reminds us that one more day can change everything, that presence and closeness are invaluable, and that even a moment can be eternal when lived in intimacy with God—or in the anxious waiting for someone or something we deeply desire.

In the Birkat HaMazon, when we bench during Sukkot, we pray: “May the Merciful One restore for us the fallen sukkah of David.”

The “fallen sukkah of David” refers to the kingdom of the House of David. But why does it say fallen (nofelet)—isn’t it something that already fell long ago?

Imagine strong winds shaking your sukkah. The walls sway from side to side, but if you hold on tightly, you can keep it from collapsing.

That’s the difference between something that has fallen and something that is falling. A fall (nefilah) is a total collapse—once it happens, you can’t lift it up again; you have to rebuild it from the start.

But nofelet—“falling”—means it’s still standing, still struggling, still fighting not to collapse.

We have endured wars, crusades, the Holocaust, October 7th, and even civil strife—but we have never truly fallen. We have always managed to rise, to hold tight to our sukkah, and to keep it from collapsing. We are a remarkable people—a nation of heroes, of families who have lost loved ones and still refuse to give up. We are not willing to fall.

And, with God’s help, this coming Simchat Torah, may our brothers and sisters who are held captive return home, as it is written:

“And the entire assembly of those who returned from captivity made sukkot and sat in the sukkot… and there was very great rejoicing.” (Nehemiah 8:17)

May this Shemini Atzeret allow us to experience that intimacy, that extra day of presence, reminding us that time is precious and joy can withstand the darkness. May we dance, laugh, celebrate, and feel God’s closeness in our collective history, knowing that, in the end, we are a people who keep building, keep loving, while continuing to remember, advocate for justice, and work toward a better world.

Always Tikkun Olam—building a better world.

Shabbat Shalom u Mo’adim leSimcha: may we experience these intermediate days of Sukkot with renewed joy, God willing, and celebrate Shemini Atzeret together in the intimacy of those we hold close, renewing our attachment to the Torah with Simchat Torah, joining both communities, Beth-El and Emanu-El.

Rabbi Gustavo Geier