In this column, we dive into the rich history of Jewish Life, the precursor to Jewish Action. Published by the OU from the 1940s through the 1970s, Jewish Life offers a unique window into the vibrant evolution of American Jewish life during the 20th century.
The true story below appeared in the October 1958 issue of Jewish Life.
“Chaplain,” the voice on the telephone asked, “what in the Sam Hill is a sukkah? You sure you spelled it right?”
“Certainly,” I answered the Lieutenant from the engineering section. “It’s spelled right.”
“But it’s not in the book, Chaplain. How about changing the nomenclature?”
Thus began my friendly encounter with the US Army Engineers to build a sukkah for the Feast of Tabernacles in Munich, Germany. Now don’t get me wrong. The Army can build anything, but they have to know what they are building and there are always a few technicalities to be complied with if you want to have it done right or at all. GIs call it red-tape. But that’s not true. It’s a matter of getting the right idea to the right place in proper form, and of course—with proper approval. The Army will build a 500-foot TV tower if you can prove you’re entitled to it, or build a bridge across the deepest gorge if you can assure them that you have to cross it. But when it comes to building a sukkah—that’s another matter.
A few weeks before Rosh Hashonah of last year I conferred with Chaplain Terry, my administrative chief, and laid out my plans for the High Holy Days and Sukkoth. He was enthused with the entire program and told me to make sure to put my requisitions in on time. Thus I had gotten across the first hurdle when I cleared my program and the other Chaplain concurred. A chapel shared by many faiths requires programming and when men of understanding get together, even though they represent diverse faiths and opinions, the US Army is where you learn to work together.
Then I called in my assistant, Sam Roth, and told him to type up a 447 which is the Army way of putting in a work-order. We dispatched it immediately to the Engineers for action. A few days later a German civilian called on the phone and asked for the Chaplain. When I answered the phone he asked, “Chaplain, was ist das—sukkah?” I explained to him the nature of the sukkah and gave him a brief idea as to its construction. “Oh, zie wollen ein chapel annex haben (you want to build a chapel annex),” he answered. “This is verboten (forbidden). Keine (no) building. Military economy.”
I again explained to him that this sukkah didn’t have a roof and was only a temporary structure. He quickly answered that this would make no difference but if I would hang on for a moment he would check it with the boss. After waiting for a while I heard his voice again and he told me that the boss might go along with me but added with a chuckle, “Warum keine roof? (Why not a roof?) For the same money and approval sie kennen ein roof haben (you know you have a roof).”
“But I don’t want a roof,” I answered heatedly. “I just want a sukkah.”
It was then that the Lieutenant in charge of the Engineering Section got on the phone and asked me what a sukkah was.
“Long ago when the Children of Israel came out of Egypt and traveled in the desert, they lived in booths,” I started to tell him. And after a few moments of Scriptural history I conveyed to him the significance of the sukkah.
“We’ll approve it, Chaplain,” he answered, “and I’ll send my representative out to see you.”
“Ya, I know was ist ein sukkah (what a sukkah is). Years ago there was one of your people who used to build a sukkah behind his house. . . . It was before they took him away.”
We were still far from having a sukkah but were over the major hump. The next morning a representative came out to see me and we visited the chapel grounds. “How large do you want it?” he asked as we surveyed our possible location. I gave him a rough idea as to our needs. “Ah, come on, Chaplain,” he said, “as long as we’re building a sukkah, let’s build a big one!” I tried to explain to him that I didn’t want to overdo it and every time I measured, he added on a couple of feet for good measure.
“Now Chaplain,” he said, “let’s understand something. Maybe you were a little modest; let me give you a roof.”
“But we don’t want a roof,” I said. “It would be contrary to Jewish law, and it wouldn’t be a sukkah if it had one.”
“It rains awful bad here in Bavaria, and I for one am well acquainted with the liquid sunshine we have been receiving.”
“Don’t worry,” I told him, “it never rains on Jewish holidays.”
With a mirthful look, he assured me it would be accomplished according to our plans and religious directives. But we still didn’t have a sukkah!
Next I had to get permission from the supervisor of grounds in order to put up the structure. Then we called the fire department to get their concurrence. They assured us it would be approved if they could come in and fireproof the place before it was used. Then we called the utilities to get permission to put an electric extension line from the chapel into the sukkah. Permission was granted.
A few days later as I left my home across the street from the chapel, I witnessed a beautiful sight. There by the chapel was a huge Army truck being unloaded by its crew. I went over to see what was going on and found to my extreme satisfaction that the US Army Engineers were ready to tackle the problem—one deluxe sukkah for the Jewish Chaplain. While the crew began to lay out materials, one of the German civilians assisting came over to me and whispered quietly, “Ya, I know was ist ein sukkah (what a sukkah is). Years ago there was one of your people who used to build a sukkah behind his house.”
“Years ago?” I asked him.
He answered in a mournful tone, “It was before they took him away.”
By mid-afternoon our sukkah was completed. It was a delight to behold! Several of the Jewish GIs came out and gave it their approving nods. We were happy but we still had some problems to overcome. We needed sechach—the covering for the sukkah. Although we cover the top with foliage, it must allow those inside to peer through and see the stars. My delegation of Jewish boys went to see the Forester of Perlacher Forst, the area in which we reside. When I explained to him what we needed, he not only gave us his immediate approval but asked us if we would like to have a few trees planted around it. I told him that it wasn’t necessary and thanked him profusely.
The Jewish Women’s Club came down and decorated the sukkah with fruit, candy, tinsel, the bright autumn foliage and the aromatic pine cones. Army folding tables and chairs were brought in. Sam Roth stood on a ladder and hung up strings of bright red apples handed to him by my wife, Miriam, as well as Frieda Kolieb and Mrs. Cill Reitler. They also filled little paper bags with sweets, nuts and surprise gifts for the children.
Then we ran into a most hilarious situation. The school children on their homeward way stopped to take notice. They asked why couldn’t they have a sukkah too. The children of our neighbors wanted to know if they could have a party in it after the Jewish children were through. Our neighbors arrived to congratulate us. I arranged with the Christian chaplain to take the Sunday School children into the sukkah. The Sunday sightseers came by in droves. One commented that at last the Army had begun to build a chapel annex.
But little did they know that out here in southern Bavaria, across the street from Stadleheim Prison of Nazi infamy—on the edge of a forest, a sukkah was filled with joyous sons and daughters of Israel who were commemorating the Feast of Tabernacles. The walls hid from our sight the tyranny and terror that once lived here. They now encompassed the merry throng and hid from sight the dread reminders of the past—we looked upward in song through the roof and saw the stars.
At the time this article was published, Rabbi Oscar M. Lifshutz was stationed at Fort Sam Houston, Texas. A graduate of the Hebrew Theological College of Chicago, he served in Germany and is the recipient of the Bronze Star for service with the Eighth Army in Korea.