Hashem promises us that if we do teshuvah, we get both forgiveness and purity

“The Rock — perfect is His work, for all His ways are just.” (Devarim 32:4)

Many times on Yom Kippur we ask Hashem to forgive us and cleanse us. Why the double lashon?

The Ohr Gedalyahu explains that if someone did something improper and asks for mechilah, he’s forgiven. But he’s still not the same person he was before he sinned. Then Hashem promises us that if we do teshuvah, we get both forgiveness and purity. We’re essentially better people than before we sinned. (Rabbi Yisroel Reisman)

“IF

you could be any animal in the world, which would you be?”

Oh, the topics we dissected at teenage sleepovers, or at midnight at camp, piled up on the top bunk, sleep the farthest thing from our minds. Personally, I’d always wanted to be a cat. A sleek, regal feline, quiet but sharp.

Once Yom Kippur’s over, hopefully we’re forgiven. But purity has yet to be achieved; that’s the avodah of Succos. Yom Kippur is like going into a mikveh. He’s forgiven while he’s in there. But only when he comes out of that mikveh has he achieved taharah — that’s Succos.

Now it was Yitzy posing the question, glancing at all the fauna in our succah that had come to join us for Yom Tov.

“I want to be a bee!” shouted Shloime. “That way everyone will be scared of me!”

“And then they’ll chase you away,” chortled Avi. “Besides, why do we never see a single bee in our garden and only on Succos do they come in hordes? I think I’ll be an anteater,” he added. “That way I won’t need to sweep up after every seudah.” He made loud slurping noises.

It’s said that when the Tzemach Tzedek came out of the mikveh on Erev Shabbos he’d be so pure that it was a huge zechus for those who saw him. The streets around the mikveh were mobbed with people wanting to take advantage. But the Tzemach Tzedek commanded that nobody could be in the street when he came out.

Across the street from the mikveh was a farm with some tzigalach (goats).

“I wish I were a tzigalah, and that I could see the Rebbe like those goats do,” one chassid sighed.

His friend disagreed. “A Yid isn’t allowed to wish that he’s an animal!”

They got into an argument and went to ask a talmid chacham what he thought. The talmid chacham responded, “You’re right. It would be worth being a tzigalah just to see the Rebbe in his purity, after the mikveh. But only on the condition that afterward you again become a person. If afterward you stay an animal, what’s the purpose of seeing this purity?”

The message is: It’s wonderful to be uplifted. But if you stay a tzigalah, you’re missing the main purpose of purity. These are our instructions for Succos.

“The bees are coming to bring us honey so we should have a sweet new year,” I said, ever the diplomat trying to keep some semblance of a Yom Tov seudah going on. “All those animals don’t really know it’s Succos; it’s only we who can appreciate our succah, not the ants that wander into it. They leave the same way they came in. Hopefully, we leave better than we came in.”

“Yeah, but if I’d be a pigeon,” said Avi, undeterred, “I could tap dance at the Simchas Beis Hashoeivah, like the birds are doing right now on our sechach.”

“Look how many incredible creatures Hashem makes,” I persisted, trying to inspire with a Rabbi Avigdor Miller Moment. “Hashem made them all different with different middos to learn from.”

“That’s true,” mused Avi. “I don’t think I want to be an anteater, but they sure are cool.” Cue in more slurping noises.

“Yeah, I don’t want to be a bee,” said Shloime, then cracked himself up chanting “be a bee, hee hee hee.”

There’s nothing like a succah full of kids, and yes the wandering fauna that joins. But looking at all of them, I know what my real answer to the question would be.

If I could be any creature in this succah, it’ll be no animal farm for me: I stepped into the succah as myself and I’ll leave that way, but hopefully better than before. Not feline, just Faigy — new and improved version.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 963)