September 30, 2025|ח' תשרי ה' אלפים תשפ"ו Sharing Your Blanket By Rabbi Efrem Goldberg

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.