Josefin Dolsten-Kuhel, PR & Content Director
Sukkot is a holiday that reminds us of our connection to nature—and each other.
From the natural materials used to build the sukkah to the fact that we need specific plants and fruits to complete the mitzvah of the arba minim, Sukkot makes it clear that we need nature, not the other way around.
Similarly, the holiday is all about connecting with others in the Jewish community. We gather in the sukkah with friends, family, and guests, connecting over meals and conversation. Many also have the custom of inviting in spiritual guests, whether biblical ancestors, inspiring historical figures, or those no longer with us, to symbolically join in the celebration.
Yet at this time, both these concepts—of celebrating nature and creating community—can feel out of reach.
Climate change continues to alter nature around us in worrying ways. We’ve almost become immune to the stream of headlines announcing the latest heat records, deadly wildfires, and rising pollution in communities around the world.
And at a time of rising antisemitism, our community too often finds itself divided by debates over politics, religious observance and labels, rather than united as one.
As we face these challenges, it can feel easier to retreat, focusing on our day-to-day lives and limiting our circle to those who share our views.
But Sukkot reminds us that is not the only way. And there are tools available to us to confront these challenges.
One of those tools is storytelling. Storytelling isn’t just another marketing buzzword, it’s a way to bring others in—whether to our sukkah, community or something larger.
At its core, storytelling is about sharing about the things that matter to us in an emotionally evocative way. It’s about what’s behind the facts.
Take this example:
Growing up as a Jew in Sweden, I always felt different. As far back as I can remember, my blond friends would point at my dark hair and ask me where I was from. When we learned about the Holocaust, a classroom full of blue and green eyes would turn and look at me. In third grade, a boy I had spoken to less than a handful of times yelled an antisemitic slur at me in front of our class during recess.
It’s that sense of difference that has driven me throughout my life and career, as I find ways to illuminate what draws us together.
As a communications advisor, I’m passionate about finding ways to bring people in by sharing stories that build empathy and awareness—both in the Jewish community and beyond.
Think about your experience reading that. Did you find yourself picturing the situations I described, even if they were different from your childhood? Did you feel a sense of connection? Did you want to learn more about something unfamiliar, or perhaps share about your own experiences with feeling different?
Now, imagine reading just the last sentence of that description. How would you feel?
For many of us, hearing about the “why” actually matters more than the “what.” It’s what builds empathy, so that even if there’s disagreement, we can see where that person is coming from. It’s what makes us feel excitement, rather than dread, ahead of an upcoming Zoom meeting. And it’s what will actually move us to action.
This principle matters for each of us individually, but it can also make a difference on a communal, organizational or even global scale.
This technique is also deeply Jewish. The Torah itself is one long story—teaching us the names of our ancestors, their triumphs and challenges, and ultimately how our people came to be. Usually those stories are the parts that stick with us, like Abraham’s anguish when God asks him to sacrifice Isaac, Hannah’s relentless longing for a child, and the joy the people of Israel felt as they crossed the Red Sea after generations of bondage.
Of course, the other parts matter too. The laws, the historical context, and other details. But without the stories to frame them, they’re unlikely to resonate.
So, as we encounter Sukkot at this difficult time—as our climate continues to change in frightening ways and tensions rise in our communities, we have to lean into that.
What are the stories we can tell to connect with each other?
How can we share where we’re coming from so that others can understand where we are today?
Why does community matter to us, whether on a global scale as we advocate for ways to protect the Earth, or on a communal scale as we reach out a hand to another person whose views differ from ours?
I’d encourage you to take a moment to reflect on the stories that drive you, whether in your work or personal life, and how those influence how you spend your time. At Tiny Windows, we’d love to hear what comes to mind!