Thoughts for Shabbat Sukkot 5786
Rabbi Menachem Mirski
Chag Sameach and Shabbat Shalom everyone. Sukkot is considered the most joyous of Jewish holidays. One of its biblical names is Z’man Simchateinu – “The time of our rejoicing”. It is actually our religious obligation to be happy on every day of Sukkot. And the best way, I believe, to achieve this goal is to please other people – your wife, husband, your children, parents, namely, everyone in your family and – best case scenario – everyone in your community.
Wait, but can you actually do that? Can you make everyone happy? Of course not. The desire to please everyone never brings expected results. It’s a truism we all know—“you can’t please everyone.” It’s an observation rooted in centuries of human experience, and it’s so obvious that we often nod, agree, and move on. But what does it mean in practice, especially today, in our diverse world? What should you do if you, for example, seek broad support for an idea, an event, or a vision—like organizing a synagogue program or advocating for a cause—and you don’t want to dilute the content, lose the essence of what makes it unique? And what happens when we go too far in trying to make everyone happy?
Interestingly, our Torah portion for our Shabbat today, talks about it! Can you believe it? What a coincidence! It tells us the story of Aaron and the Golden Calf. We all know this story but let me reiterate it very briefly. Aaron, facing the impatient and restless crowd of the Israelites, crafted the Golden Calf, hoping to appease their anxiety. He actually panders to the wish of a minority of malcontents, thinking that everyone, including God, will go along with his idea. His intentions were noble—he was a lover of peace, as Pirkei Avot 1:12 praises him for “loving peace and pursuing peace.” — so he just wanted to keep the peace. But the results were terrible: his attempt to satisfy the crowd led to disaster: 3,000 Israelites died, and on top of that a deadly plague struck the nation (Exodus 32:28,35). Aaron’s story warns us that trying to please everyone, especially at the cost of truth or being faithful to our principles, can lead to catastrophic failure.
Let’s take a brief look at what our rabbis taught about the very idea of trying to please everybody and how they grappled with it. Let me start with a specific segment of the human population – with those who are in power. In Minshah we read, “Be cautious with those in power, for they do not draw people near except for their own needs… they do not stand by a person in their time of distress.” (Pirkei Avot 2:3) Rashi, in 11th-century France, elaborates: “Do not think that by flattering rulers you will gain their lasting favor, for their love shifts like the wind, and no one can satisfy all their desires.” This cautions us that seeking universal approval, especially from those with shifting agendas, is a fool’s errand. A leader—or any of us—trying to win over every heart risks being swayed by fleeting whims, losing authenticity. And respect. Looking for approval or appreciation, especially when desperate, rarely leads to expected results, quite often to the opposite ones.
The Talmud in Sanhedrin 20b adds another layer, teaching that a king must inspire awe, not just affection, citing Deuteronomy 17:15: “You shall surely set a king over you, one chosen by your God […]”. A leader obsessed with being loved by all may fail to command the respect needed to guide a community. Similarly, Avot de-Rabbi Natan 28:6 warns, “One who seeks to be loved by all people will end up loved by none, for they will lack the strength to stand firm in truth.” Aaron’s Golden Calf moment exemplifies this: in trying to appease everyone, he lost the moral grounding that could have unified the people under God’s covenant.
Medieval and early modern sages deepen this insight. The 13th-century Sefer HaChinukh, discussing judicial integrity, states, “A judge must not fear the crowd nor seek their favor, for justice cannot bend to the will of all… one who tries to satisfy every heart will falter in truth.” This applies beyond judges to anyone leading a project or community effort. If we dilute our vision to accommodate every opinion, we risk undermining the very purpose that gives it meaning. In the 15th century, Rabbi Yitzchak Abarbanel, commenting on Shammai’s advice to “receive every person with a pleasant countenance” (Pirkei Avot 1:15), clarifies: “This does not mean to agree with all or seek their praise, but to show kindness despite differences, for no one can align with every soul.” Kindness is essential, but capitulating to every demand sacrifices integrity.
The Maharal of Prague, in his 16th-century work Netivot Olam, beautifully captures the heart of this challenge: “Peace is the ultimate good, but one who seeks to make all people agree will find only strife, for human nature divides hearts, and only God can unite them fully.” Human diversity—our varied desires, beliefs, and needs—ensures that universal agreement is a divine, not human, achievement. As we sit in our sukkot, open to the elements and to each other, we’re reminded that community thrives not on forced consensus but on embracing difference while holding firm to shared values.
So, how do we apply this in practice? Imagine planning a synagogue event—a Sukkot celebration, a social justice initiative, or a new prayer experience. You want as many people as possible to feel included, to say “yes” to your vision. But the rabbis teach us that inclusion doesn’t mean pleasing everyone at all costs. You might offer diverse activities—family-friendly, scholarly, spiritual—but you can’t bend the event’s core purpose to satisfy every whim. If you try, you risk creating a “Golden Calf”—something that appeases momentarily but lacks lasting meaning, alienating the very community you sought to unite.
Sukkot itself offers a model. The sukkah is a temporary structure, imperfect and open, yet it invites everyone to dwell together. The four species—lulav, etrog, myrtle, and willow—symbolize different types of people, from the learned to the simple, bound together in one mitzvah. We don’t make them identical; we celebrate their distinctiveness within a shared ritual. Similarly, in our community, we strive for inclusion by welcoming diverse voices, but we anchor ourselves in the Torah’s values—truth, justice, and peace—knowing we can’t satisfy every desire.
As we wave the lulav this Sukkot, let’s commit to building communities that are welcoming yet principled. Let’s pursue peace, like Aaron, but avoid his mistake of compromising too far. Let’s lead with kindness, as Abarbanel advises, but stand firm in truth, as the Maharal urges. We can’t please everyone, and that’s okay—it’s human. Our task is to create spaces, like the sukkah, where all are invited, but the vision remains rooted in what endures: our covenant with God and each other.
Chag Sameach!
Shabbat Shalom!
Rabbi Mirski
Leave a Reply