After the Manchester Synagogue Attack, They Danced Through Their Tears


Feeling proud of yourself and feeling grateful look similar from the outside. Only one of them, it turns out, actually makes you happy.
Sukkot is called "the time of our joy." For seven days, we leave our homes and move into a temporary hut. We leave the sturdy walls, the furniture, the possessions – all the things that represent what we've built and accomplished – and sit in a simple structure instead.
Why is this humble dwelling the ideal setting for our deepest joy?
The sukkah is teaching us something surprising about happiness.
We spend enormous energy trying to be happy by feeling good about ourselves. We want to feel accomplished, successful, important. We want other people to respect us. We want to look in the mirror and like what we see.
But what if that relentless need to feel good about ourselves is actually what's blocking us from feeling good?
Say you do something hard: you resist a temptation, give generously to someone in need, hold your temper when every part of you wants to explode. You should feel real joy in that. But the joy can go in two very different directions.
You can think: Look at me. I'm a really great person.
Or you can think: Look what I was just given the chance to do. What a gift.
Both thoughts feel good at first, but they're worlds apart. The first turns the accomplishment into a statement about you. The second lets you appreciate the accomplishment itself. And it's the second one that brings the deeper happiness.
There's something cheap about the joy of ego. It feels good for a moment, but it doesn't last. Once feeling good about yourself becomes the goal, you've created something that always needs to be fed. You need another accomplishment, another compliment, another person to notice you. Then someone else gets the recognition instead. Nobody notices what you did. Someone criticizes you. Yesterday you felt important; today you don't. So you feed the ego again. It's exhausting.
The more you appreciate what you were privileged to do, the humbler you become.
There's another way to live. You do something good and think: I'm grateful I had that chance. I helped someone who was struggling – how fortunate I am that I could. I held myself back when I was furious – I'm grateful I found that strength. You can feel wonderful about what you did without deciding it makes you a wonderful person. You can feel blessed to have served, rather than serving your own ego.
In fact, the more you appreciate what you were privileged to do, the humbler you become. This kind of happiness doesn't need an audience. Nobody has to compliment you. Nobody even has to know. You know what you did, and that's enough. This is a deeper joy than any applause could give you.
That may be the secret of the sukkah. All year, we live surrounded by things that remind us of ourselves: my house, my furniture, my possessions, the things I bought, built, accomplished. Then Sukkot arrives, and for seven days we step outside, leaving some of that behind and sit in a simple space devoted to nothing but the moment.
What an extraordinary place to find humility and joy.
Sitting in the sukkah gives you the privilege of doing something meaningful. Eating, drinking, talking with your family, just sitting there: all of it becomes part of something bigger. How fortunate you are.
So much of our unhappiness comes from making ourselves the subject of our own lives. Did they appreciate me? Did I accomplish enough? Why did he get the credit instead of me? What does my failure say about me? What does my success say about me? Do I feel good about myself?
The sukkah offers seven days of freedom from those questions. Don't ask what an accomplishment says about you. Just enjoy it. Don't ask what your blessings say about you. Just be grateful for them. Don't ask whether people noticed what you did. Notice what you were given the chance to do.
When you're focused on yourself, happiness has to be chased, and it will keep slipping away. You'll always need one more thing to feel good about yourself.
But the moment you stop making yourself the subject, you can see what you've been given, and what you get to do with it.
The sukkah teaches us that we can take joy in what we do without turning it into a verdict on who we are.
We can feel fortunate instead of important.
Humility isn't the enemy of happiness. It might be the happiest place there is.
