Where Is Home?

Every generation asks the question in its own way: Where is home?

For some, it is a physical question. Families move countries, communities relocate, and people find themselves rebuilding their lives in unfamiliar places.

For others, it is a far deeper question. We may live in beautiful houses, yet still search for somewhere we truly feel secure, settled and at peace. Today, more than ever, many people are reconsidering where home is.

Sukkot invites us to ask a timeless question: What really makes a home?

“You shall dwell in sukkot for seven days… so that your generations will know that I caused the Children of Israel to dwell in sukkot when I brought them out of the land of Egypt.” (Vayikra 23)

Rabbi Eliezer (Sukkah 11b) says we recall the Ananei HaKavod, Clouds of Glory that surrounded, protected and embraced the Jewish people’s forty-year journey in the wilderness. The Sukkah then represents trust in Hashem. Halacha (Kitzur Sh’’a 125,1) rules that consciously meditating this idea is part of the mitzvah itself.

At first glance, the Sukkah seems to symbolise insecurity. A home is where we feel completely secure. It is where we do not act as visitors, rather we feel confident and settled. Outside our homes we naturally feel more vulnerable. We leave the comfort of our sturdy homes and move into a fragile structure.

Sukkot then teaches us precisely the opposite – permanence is not determined by bricks and mortar, it is determined by where we place our trust.

The Chassidic masters describe two levels of bitachon – trust in Hashem. One person trusts that Hashem will bless his efforts within the natural order of the world. He works, plans responsibly, pays the mortgage, and trusts that Hashem will grant success. That itself is profound faith.

But there is a deeper level. A person’s confidence rests not in favourable circumstances, but in Hashem Himself. Whether life feels stable or uncertain, whether the surroundings are familiar or completely new, his sense of security remains unchanged because it comes from the One Who accompanies him everywhere.

This transforms the meaning of the sukkah. The Torah is not asking us to exchange a strong home for a weaker one. It is asking us to discover that our real security never came from walls, locks or deeds of ownership in the first place.

For forty years the Jewish people had no permanent address, yet they were never truly homeless. Surrounded by the Ananei HaKavod, they learnt that the safest place in the world is wherever Hashem wants us to be.

This is why the Mishnah (Sukkah 2,9) tells us: “for the seven days of Sukkot, a person should make the sukkah his permanent dwelling and his house temporary.” It is not a statement about architecture but about perspective. A Jewish home is not ultimately defined by its size, its postcode or even its permanence. It is defined by the faith that fills it. The walls of the sukkah may be temporary, but the lesson it teaches is eternal. Home is not merely the place where we live. Home is the place where we know, with complete confidence, that Hashem is with us.