On the left-hand side of the glittery poster, the tefillah for entering the succah, an invitation. Ulu, ulu Ushpizin — welcome, holy Ushpizin….

The words blurred. I was taking leave of… a succah I had barely had the chance to sit in. A succah I had decorated but not enjoyed. A succah too small to fit my family comfortably, a succah that just managed to contain the ones who had a chiyuv.

A succah that had seen squabbles and singing battles, crumbs and flies, great food on full plates that were sometimes overturned by a too-close elbow.

What was I saying goodbye to? Yehi ratzon… may it be Your Will that just as I fulfilled and sat in this succah… really? This wasn’t how I wanted to sit in the Succah shel haLivyasan!

I sank into the chair that everyone had spent a week fighting to sit on and leaned my head back, trying not to let the prickle behind my eyes overpower me.

Paper chains and glittering strands of purple, green, and red. Silver balls and fake vines. Handmade decorations that showed more enthusiasm than talent, a diamond art — finally a family project!

This was a succah, this was my succah… should have been my succah.

A sense of loss cut deep.

Lions and leopards and antelopes. Pesukim of Hallel and hope.

Succos was gone, and I wished it had been different. I grabbed a tissue and swiped it across my eyes.

Avraham, Yitzchak, Yaakov. I’m not proud of the way this succah looked.

Yosef, Moshe, Aharon. Well, you know what fighting looks like, can you forgive what went on here?

Dovid Hamelech, his harp strung up to catch the midnight breeze. The last ushpiz. Shepherd, singer.

And the images crept into my mind, so clear it was as though they were unfolding in my succah, right then.

Here, Nevuchadnetzar on his throne. The strong king, the powerful conqueror singing praises to… Hashem. Exalting His Greatness, His Might.

And then the flutter of an angel’s wings. A blow, and the king falls silent.

It would not be fitting if Nevuchadnetzar’s praise would surpass that of Dovid ben Yishai.

I sit in my succah and ask, even though I’ve heard the answer so many times before.

And so what? If someone wants to praise Hashem, let them do so, regardless of whom they may eclipse!

I look at Dovid’s harp again. The Dovid who hid from his father-in-law and sang Hashem’s praise. The Dovid who was pursued by his own son — and sang. The Dovid who suffered war and ridicule, loss and heartache… and still, still, he sang.

You want to sing Hashem’s praises, Nevuchadnetzar? Let’s see you sing after a blow. One blow.

I stand up and touch the walls of a succah. Close my eyes, and without even trying, I know what I want to sing.

Mah ashiv laHashem… so much to be grateful for… kol tagmulohi alai.

And that’s how I finally leave the succah — I am Your servant, trying to fulfill Your Will.

Maybe the tiniest bit like Dovid, Your servant.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 915)