Temporary Dwellings: Living in Fragile Shelters

“You shall dwell in booths for seven days. All native Israelites shall dwell in booths, that your generations may know that I made the people of Israel dwell in booths when I brought them out of the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God” (Leviticus 23:42-43). With this commandment, God instituted one of Judaism’s most distinctive practices: constructing and dwelling in temporary shelters—sukkot—each autumn to commemorate the wilderness wandering and to remember that security comes not from sturdy walls but from divine providence. For seven days (eight in the diaspora), observant Jews leave the permanence of their houses to live in fragile booths constructed of branches and greenery, open to the sky, vulnerable to rain and wind, tangibly experiencing the precariousness of human existence apart from God’s protection.

The temporary dwelling is Judaism’s architectural theology lesson. The sukkah (singular of sukkot) is deliberately impermanent—walls of canvas or wood, roof of palm branches through which stars are visible—constructed to last only a week and then dismantled. This fragility is the point. The sukkah teaches that human security is illusory, that the strongest house cannot protect against death, that wealth and power are fleeting, that only God is permanent. “My dwelling is plucked up and removed from me like a shepherd’s tent,” laments Isaiah (38:12), using the imagery of temporary shelters to describe life’s transience. The sukkah makes this transience tangible, lived rather than merely contemplated.

Yet the temporary dwelling is also a place of joy, not mourning. Sukkot is called “the season of our rejoicing” (zman simchateinu), the most festive of Israel’s festivals. Families gather in their sukkot for meals, invite guests (both human and mystical—the ushpizin, patriarchal visitors), sing, study Torah, sometimes even sleep under the stars. The message is paradoxical: fragility is the path to joy; recognizing our vulnerability opens us to gratitude; the booth that offers no protection reminds us of the God who protects absolutely. “He will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble; he will conceal me under the cover of his tent” (Psalm 27:5). The sukkah’s flimsy walls point to the sturdy refuge of God Himself.

For Christians, the temporary dwelling gains deeper resonance through Jesus. John’s Gospel declares, “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14)—and the Greek word for “dwelt” (eskēnōsen) literally means “tabernacled” or “pitched His tent.” God Himself took up temporary residence in human flesh, dwelling among His people not in permanent stone temple but in fragile, mortal body. The incarnation is God building His sukkah in the world, making His dwelling precarious and vulnerable, subject to hunger, exhaustion, and ultimately death. Christ’s body becomes the ultimate temporary dwelling, destroyed on the cross and raised on the third day.

This article explores the multifaceted theology of temporary dwellings: the biblical command and its historical observance, the sukkah’s construction and symbolism, the theological themes of transience and providence, Christian appropriations of tabernacle imagery, and the enduring relevance of dwelling deliberately in fragility.

Biblical Foundations: The Command to Dwell in Booths

The Levitical Prescription

The Torah commands Israel to observe the Festival of Sukkot as one of three pilgrimage festivals:

“On the fifteenth day of the seventh month, when you have gathered in the produce of the land, you shall celebrate the feast of the LORD seven days… You shall take on the first day the fruit of splendid trees, branches of palm trees and boughs of leafy trees and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before the LORD your God seven days… You shall dwell in booths for seven days. All native Israelites shall dwell in booths, that your generations may know that I made the people of Israel dwell in booths when I brought them out of the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God” (Leviticus 23:39-43).

Deuteronomy adds agricultural context: “You shall keep the Feast of Booths seven days, when you have gathered in the produce from your threshing floor and your winepress. You shall rejoice in your feast… because the LORD your God will bless you in all your produce and in all the work of your hands, so that you will be altogether joyful” (Deuteronomy 16:13-15).

The commandment has three dimensions:

1. Historical Commemoration: Remembering the wilderness wandering when Israel had no permanent homes
2. Agricultural Celebration: Giving thanks for the autumn harvest
3. Theological Instruction: Teaching dependence on God’s providence across generations

The sukkah is memorial, thanksgiving, and pedagogy combined—a physical structure that teaches spiritual truth.

Wilderness Wandering: The Original Sukkot

The immediate reference is to Israel’s forty years in the wilderness after the Exodus. During this period, the people lived in temporary dwellings, moving from place to place as the pillar of cloud and fire directed. They had no cities, no permanent houses, no agricultural land—only tents and divine provision (manna, quail, water from rock).

The rabbis debate what exactly these original “booths” were. Some traditions understand them as the tents (ohalim) in which the Israelites actually lived. Others see them as the “clouds of glory” (ananei ha-kavod) that surrounded and protected the camp—God’s own shelter for His people. Either way, the symbolism is clear: Israel’s security came not from architecture but from God’s presence. The most vulnerable moment in Israel’s history—wandering homeless through wilderness—was also the moment of greatest intimacy with God, when He dwelt visibly among them.

The wilderness period thus becomes paradigmatic. It was a time of testing (“He humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna… that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD,” Deuteronomy 8:3) and a time of formation (the generation that would enter the Promised Land). The temporary dwellings marked this formative period when Israel learned to trust God completely.

Post-Exilic Revival: Nehemiah’s Sukkot

After centuries during which the festival had apparently lapsed or been observed minimally, Sukkot was dramatically revived in Nehemiah’s time:

“And they found it written in the Law that the LORD had commanded by Moses that the people of Israel should dwell in booths during the feast of the seventh month, and that they should proclaim it and publish it in all their towns and in Jerusalem, ‘Go out to the hills and bring branches of olive, wild olive, myrtle, palm, and other leafy trees to make booths, as it is written.’ So the people went out and brought them and made booths for themselves, each on his roof, and in their courts and in the courts of the house of God, and in the square at the Water Gate and in the square at the Gate of Ephraim. And all the assembly of those who had returned from the captivity made booths and lived in the booths, for from the days of Jeshua the son of Nun to that day the people of Israel had not done so. And there was very great rejoicing” (Nehemiah 8:14-17).

The timing is significant. The returnees from Babylonian exile—having themselves experienced homelessness and displacement—rediscover the commandment to dwell in temporary shelters. Their own recent history mirrors the wilderness wandering: they have been strangers in a foreign land, dependent on God’s mercy for their return. The festival becomes doubly meaningful: commemorating ancient wilderness experience and celebrating recent redemption from exile.

The note that Israel had not observed Sukkot “from the days of Joshua” to Nehemiah’s time (a span of roughly 900 years) is probably hyperbolic—indicating not complete non-observance but observance without actually dwelling in booths. Nehemiah’s generation recovers the full, embodied practice: not just celebrating a harvest festival but literally moving into temporary shelters.

Eschatological Sukkot: Zechariah’s Vision

The prophet Zechariah envisions Sukkot as an eschatological festival, observed by all nations in the messianic age:

“Then everyone who survives of all the nations that have come against Jerusalem shall go up year after year to worship the King, the LORD of hosts, and to keep the Feast of Booths. And if any of the families of the earth do not go up to Jerusalem to worship the King, the LORD of hosts, there will be no rain on them. And if the family of Egypt does not go up and present themselves, then on them there will be no rain; there will be the plague with which the LORD afflicts the nations that do not go up to keep the Feast of Booths” (Zechariah 14:16-19).

This remarkable prophecy universalizes Sukkot. In the age to come, all nations—not just Israel—will observe the festival, dwelling in booths and recognizing the LORD as King. The temporary dwelling becomes a symbol of universal acknowledgment of God’s sovereignty. The imagery is striking: Gentile nations streaming to Jerusalem each autumn, constructing their own sukkot, learning the lesson of dependence on divine providence.

The connection between Sukkot observance and rain is also significant. The festival coincides with the beginning of the rainy season in Israel. Failure to observe Sukkot results in drought—a direct connection between acknowledging God’s providence (the festival’s theme) and receiving His provision (rain for crops). The sukkah, open to the sky, makes worshipers aware of their dependence on favorable weather, on God’s control of nature.

The Sukkah: Construction and Symbolism

Halakhic Requirements

Jewish law (halakha) specifies detailed requirements for a valid sukkah:

Walls: A sukkah must have at least two complete walls and part of a third. Walls can be made of any durable material—wood, canvas, metal. They must be sturdy enough to withstand normal wind.

Roof (S’chach): The roof must be made of plant material that grew from the ground and has been cut off (branches, bamboo, corn stalks, etc.). It must provide more shade than sunlight but still allow stars to be visible at night. The s’chach cannot be woven or processed—loose branches are laid across the top. This is the most important halakhic requirement, distinguishing the sukkah from a permanent structure.

Size: Must be large enough to contain at least one person’s head, most of their body, and a small table—basically, large enough to eat in. There is no maximum size; theoretically, the entire population of a city could eat in one giant sukkah.

Temporary Nature: The sukkah must be built for the festival and not be a permanent structure used year-round. This emphasizes the temporary-dwelling theme.

Dwelling: The commandment is to “dwell” (teshvu) in the sukkah, which rabbinic interpretation understands as transferring one’s normal living activities to the booth. One should eat all meals in the sukkah, and ideally sleep there (weather and local custom permitting). The principle is “teshvu k’ein taduru”—dwell in the sukkah as you would dwell in your regular house.

Symbolic Dimensions

The sukkah’s physical characteristics carry theological weight:

The Open Roof: The s’chach through which sky is visible symbolizes Israel’s openness to heaven. Unlike a solid roof that separates earth from sky, the sukkah’s permeable covering connects earth and heaven. Worshipers sit beneath God’s direct gaze, protected not by their own construction but by divine providence. Rain can enter (indeed, heavy rain exempts one from dwelling in the sukkah, acknowledging natural limits), reminding inhabitants of their vulnerability.

Fragile Walls: Walls of canvas or thin wood provide minimal protection—certainly not against determined intruders or wild animals. This fragility is deliberate. The sukkah teaches that true security is spiritual, not physical. The strongest fortress cannot keep out death; the flimsiest booth, if God dwells there, is perfectly safe. As Balaam prophesied, seeing Israel’s tents: “How lovely are your tents, O Jacob, your encampments, O Israel!” (Numbers 24:5)—beauty lies not in architectural splendor but in divine presence.

Temporary Duration: The festival lasts only seven days (eight in the diaspora). The sukkah is built, dwelt in, and dismantled within two weeks. This brevity emphasizes transience. Life itself is a brief dwelling in a temporary booth, and then we move on. Solomon acknowledged this at the temple dedication: “But will God indeed dwell on the earth? Behold, heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you; how much less this house that I have built!” (1 Kings 8:27). If even the temple is inadequate for God’s glory, how much more our own fragile lives?

Communal and Personal: Families often build a shared sukkah, but individuals can also build their own. The practice thus combines communal identity (Israel as a whole observes Sukkot) with personal responsibility (each person fulfills the mitzvah individually). The sukkah is both national memorial and personal spiritual discipline.

Decorations and Beauty

While the sukkah must be temporary, it is traditionally decorated lavishly. Families hang fruits, paper chains, children’s artwork, and ornaments from the s’chach. The principle is “hiddur mitzvah”—beautifying the commandment. The temporary dwelling should be lovely, even joyful. This paradox—a structure built to last a week, decorated as if permanent—captures the festival’s tension between transience and joy.

The decoration practice suggests that even temporary existence can be beautiful, that fleeting moments deserve celebration, that life’s brevity makes beauty more, not less, precious. The sukkah’s ephemeral loveliness mirrors human existence: brief, fragile, yet capable of great beauty if lived in awareness of God’s presence.

Theological Themes: Transience and Providence

The Impermanence of Earthly Security

The sukkah is an annual reminder that all earthly security is illusory. The solid houses in which we live most of the year, the wealth we accumulate, the status we achieve—all are as fragile as the sukkah’s walls when death, disaster, or historical catastrophe strikes. Isaiah uses the imagery of dismantled dwellings to describe life’s transience: “My dwelling is plucked up and removed from me like a shepherd’s tent” (Isaiah 38:12).

This is not morbid pessimism but realistic humility. Ecclesiastes’ refrain, “Vanity of vanities! All is vanity,” finds architectural expression in the sukkah. We spend our lives building permanent structures—houses, institutions, empires—but all are temporary. Only God endures. “Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever you had formed the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God” (Psalm 90:2).

The sukkah thus functions as memento mori—a reminder of mortality. But unlike medieval memento mori imagery (skulls, hourglasses, decaying corpses), the sukkah combines this reminder with joy. Awareness of transience need not lead to despair; rightly understood, it leads to gratitude for each moment, to focus on what truly matters, to trust in the God who does not change.

Dependence on Divine Providence

If human efforts cannot provide ultimate security, where does security come from? The sukkah answers: from God alone. The booth that provides no real shelter points to the God who shelters absolutely. “He will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble; he will conceal me under the cover of his tent; he will lift me high upon a rock” (Psalm 27:5).

The wilderness generation learned this lesson most directly. They had no agriculture (manna appeared daily), no water sources (God provided from rocks), no military advantage (God fought for them), no maps (the pillar of cloud guided them). Complete dependence produced complete trust—or should have. The generation’s failures (golden calf, rebellion, fear at Kadesh-barnea) all stemmed from lapses in this trust.

The sukkah annually reenacts this lesson. For seven days, Jews leave their secure houses to dwell in vulnerable booths, experiencing (mildly) the precariousness of wilderness existence. If rain comes, the sukkah offers no protection—one must trust that God will provide, or accept getting wet as part of the lesson. If nights are cold, the open roof provides no insulation—one layers blankets and remembers that God warmed His people in the desert. The physical discomfort (usually minor in modern contexts) serves pedagogical purpose: embodied experience of dependence.

Gratitude for Provision

Sukkot coincides with the autumn harvest, the ingathering of crops. Coming after a year of agricultural labor, the festival could easily become an occasion for self-congratulation: “Look what we have accomplished!” Instead, the sukkah redirects gratitude toward God. Yes, you have worked hard and harvested bountifully—but now leave your house and dwell in this fragile booth, remembering that “man does not live by bread alone” (Deuteronomy 8:3), that rain and sunshine are gifts beyond human control, that a single drought or flood can destroy all your efforts.

Deuteronomy emphasizes this agricultural dimension: “You shall keep the Feast of Booths seven days, when you have gathered in the produce from your threshing floor and your winepress” (16:13). The harvest fills the storehouses; the festival empties the houses (temporarily), reminding farmers that their barns full of grain are no more secure than a booth of palm branches unless God provides.

The sukkah thus inculcates humble gratitude. We celebrate harvest not by feasting in our houses but by moving into booths, acknowledging that provision is divine gift, not human achievement.

Joy in Vulnerability

Perhaps most paradoxical, Sukkot is Judaism’s most joyful festival—“the season of our rejoicing.” One might expect a festival emphasizing transience and vulnerability to be somber. Instead, it is exuberant: meals with guests, singing, dancing (especially on Simchat Torah), elaborate celebrations.

This joy stems from trust. If God provides and protects, vulnerability need not produce anxiety. The sukkah’s flimsy walls become cause for celebration because they testify to reliance on divine shelter. Freedom from the illusion of self-sufficiency is liberating. “Surely he who is glad-hearted will make a feast,” says Ecclesiastes (9:7 ESV mg.)—and gladheartedness comes from knowing we are secure in God’s hands, not our own.

The sukkah thus models eschatological existence. In the world to come, when all nations observe Sukkot (Zechariah 14), joy will be universal because all will recognize God’s kingship and trust His provision. The temporary dwelling on earth points to the permanent dwelling God will establish: “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God” (Revelation 21:3).

Christian Appropriations: Tabernacle Theology

Jesus and Sukkot

The Gospel of John places Jesus in Jerusalem during Sukkot: “Now the Jews’ Feast of Booths was at hand” (John 7:2). Jesus attends the festival, teaching in the temple. On “the last day of the feast, the great day,” He stands and proclaims, “If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water’” (John 7:37-38).

The timing is significant. During Sukkot, a water-drawing ceremony (Simchat Beit HaShoevah) occurred daily. Priests would draw water from the Pool of Siloam and pour it on the altar, commemorating the water from the rock in the wilderness and praying for rain. Jesus’ declaration—“If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink”—directly echoes and reinterprets this ceremony. He is the true source of living water, the rock that followed Israel in the wilderness (1 Corinthians 10:4), the one who provides what the temporary desert dwelling lacked: permanent access to God’s life-giving presence.

The Word Tabernacled Among Us

John’s prologue uses sukkah imagery explicitly: “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). The Greek word eskēnōsen (dwelt) comes from skēnē (tent, tabernacle) and literally means “tabernacled” or “pitched his tent.”

This is incarnational theology expressed in Sukkot terms. God did not merely visit earth temporarily (as in Old Testament theophanies) or dwell in a stationary temple. Instead, He tabernacled—took up mobile, temporary residence in human flesh. Jesus’ body becomes the sukkah, the booth in which divine glory dwells while moving among humanity.

The imagery is rich:

• The temporary nature of the sukkah corresponds to Jesus’ mortal life—33 years, then “destroyed” on the cross
• The fragility of the booth reflects the vulnerability of incarnation—God as infant, subject to hunger, exhaustion, death
• The visibility of heaven through the s’chach mirrors Jesus’ transparency to the Father—“Whoever has seen me has seen the Father” (John 14:9)
• The joyful festival anticipates the joy of salvation—“These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full” (John 15:11)

For Christians, Jesus is the ultimate temporary dwelling: God tabernacling in the world, accessible, vulnerable, glorious.

The Body as Tent: Pauline Eschatology

Paul uses tent/dwelling imagery to describe the Christian’s present body and future resurrection:

“For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling… For while we are still in this tent, we groan, being burdened—not that we would be unclothed, but that we would be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life” (2 Corinthians 5:1-4).

The imagery echoes Sukkot. Our present bodies are “tents”—fragile, temporary dwellings—while our resurrection bodies will be “buildings from God,” permanent and glorious. The Christian life is dwelling in a sukkah, aware of its impermanence but not despairing, because we trust God’s promise of an eternal dwelling.

This creates an ethical posture similar to Judaism’s Sukkot theology: live lightly in this world, don’t cling to transient securities, focus on what endures. “Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God” (Colossians 3:2-3). The temporary dwelling frees us from attachment to permanence that doesn’t exist.

Hebrews: Patriarchs as Tent-Dwellers

Hebrews celebrates the patriarchs’ tent-dwelling as exemplary faith:

“By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going. By faith he went to live in the land of promise, as in a foreign land, living in tents with Isaac and Jacob, heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God” (Hebrews 11:8-10).

Abraham’s entire life was Sukkot. He dwelt in tents, never owning the Promised Land except a burial plot, constantly moving. This wasn’t deprivation but faith-in-action: he sought “a better country, that is, a heavenly one” (Hebrews 11:16). Temporary earthly dwelling expressed trust in permanent heavenly dwelling.

The letter applies this to all believers: “For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come” (Hebrews 13:14). The Christian life is tent-dwelling, sukkah-living, deliberate impermanence in service of eternal hope.

Modern Observance and Continuing Significance

Contemporary Jewish Practice

Sukkot remains widely observed in Jewish communities worldwide:

Orthodox and Conservative: Full observance—building sukkot, dwelling in them for meals (and sleeping for those who can), seven days plus Shemini Atzeret/Simchat Torah

Reform: Variable—many build sukkot at synagogues for communal meals, fewer build home sukkot, emphasis often shifts to harvest themes

Secular/Cultural: Some non-religious Jews maintain the practice as cultural heritage, enjoying the family-building activity and festive meals

Urban challenges have produced creative adaptations: apartment balconies converted to sukkot, community sukkot in synagogue courtyards, portable sukkah kits. The principle remains: leave permanent dwelling to inhabit temporary shelter.

Theological Relevance Today

The sukkah’s lessons remain urgently relevant:

Materialism’s Illusions: Modern consumer culture promises security through accumulation—bigger houses, fuller bank accounts, more possessions. The sukkah annually punctures this illusion. All material security is temporary; only God endures.

Environmental Awareness: The sukkah’s direct exposure to weather, its construction from natural materials, its temporary existence that minimizes environmental impact—all resonate with contemporary ecological concerns. Dwelling in a sukkah for a week makes one acutely aware of climate, seasons, humanity’s dependence on natural systems.

Refugee Consciousness: In an era of massive global displacement—refugees fleeing war, climate migrants, homeless populations—the sukkah builds empathy. Dwelling temporarily in a fragile shelter (however briefly, voluntarily, and safely) creates bodily memory of vulnerability, ideally producing compassion for those whose tent-dwelling is involuntary and indefinite.

Digital Detachment: Many traditional sukkot lack electricity. Eating meals by candlelight or starlight, sleeping without screens, spending extended family time without digital distractions—the sukkah becomes a counter-cultural practice, creating space for presence, conversation, and contemplation in an age of constant connectivity.

Christian Retrieval

Some Christians have begun observing Sukkot, drawn by:

• Desire to connect with Jesus’ Jewish context
• Appreciation for embodied spiritual practices
• Resonance with tent/tabernacle theology in New Testament
• Ecumenical relationships with Jewish communities

While Christians don’t observe Sukkot as religious obligation (the commandment was given to Israel), many find the practice spiritually enriching. Building and dwelling in a sukkah can deepen appreciation for incarnation, resurrection hope, and Christian eschatology.

Conclusion: Dwelling with God

The temporary dwelling is more than architectural oddity or historical commemoration. It is theology made tangible, truth lived rather than merely believed. For one week each year, the sukkah strips away illusions of permanence and self-sufficiency, replacing them with joyful trust in divine providence.

“In his tent I will hide in the day of trouble,” sings the psalmist (Psalm 27:5)—and the paradox captures Sukkot’s essence. The tent that cannot hide becomes perfect hiding place when God dwells there. The booth that offers no protection provides ultimate security. The structure built to last a week points to dwelling that lasts forever.

For Jews, the sukkah commemorates wilderness wandering and anticipates messianic fulfillment. It bridges past (Exodus), present (annual observance), and future (Zechariah’s universal Sukkot). Each year, by moving from house to booth, Jews declare that their true security is not in what they build but in the God who builds them, not in where they dwell but in who dwells with them.

For Christians, sukkah imagery illuminates incarnation and resurrection. Jesus tabernacled among us—God in fragile flesh, glory in a temporary dwelling, divinity under a roof through which heaven was visible. Believers await the ultimate fulfillment: “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God” (Revelation 21:3). The eschatological city has no temple “for its temple is the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb” (Revelation 21:22)—permanent dwelling because God Himself is the dwelling place.

Until that day, we live in temporary dwellings—these mortal bodies, these earthly cities, these brief lives. The sukkah teaches us to embrace this transience without despair, to find joy in vulnerability, to build beautifully even what lasts only briefly, to trust that our fragility is held within God’s strength.

“You shall dwell in booths for seven days… that your generations may know that I made the people of Israel dwell in booths when I brought them out of the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God.” The commandment echoes across millennia. And so each autumn, Jews build their booths and dwell beneath the stars, remembering that the God who sheltered Israel in the wilderness shelters still, that the temporary dwelling points to permanent presence, that the fragile booth holds the glory of the eternal God.

The sukkah stands for a week and then is dismantled. But the lesson remains: human security is fleeting, divine presence endures, and true dwelling is not about walls and roofs but about living in awareness of the God who says, “I will make my dwelling among you… And I will walk among you and will be your God, and you shall be my people” (Leviticus 26:11-12).

In the end, all dwelling is temporary until we dwell with God forever. The sukkah knows this, proclaims this, and invites us each autumn to know it too.