Between Sunlight and Starlight: The Meaning of the Sukkah

Oct 06, 2025

There’s an interesting pair of halakhot about the sukkah and its s’chach.

The first halakhah deals with the minimum shiur — the minimum thickness of the s’chach. It has to be thick enough that there’s more shade than sun. That doesn’t mean the sukkah has to be dark or heavily shaded. It just means there has to be some noticeable level of protection from the sun — enough that the shade overpowers the sunlight to some degree. That’s the minimum standard. You need some basic, visible protection from the heat and glare of the sun.

But what about the maximum? How thick can the s’chach be?

You might think the upper limit would also relate to the sun — how much light it blocks — but it doesn’t. The Shulchan Arukh (Orach Chaim 631:3) says that ideally, the s’chach should be loose enough that you can see the stars.

That’s fascinating. The minimum requirement is about the sun, about protection and shade. The maximum is about the stars, about seeing through the s’chach. Why this shift? Why do we move from the day to the night, from sunlight to starlight? What might be hiding within these halakhot — what deeper ideas are waiting to be seen between them?

Protection and Awareness

Let’s start with the sun.

When the Gemara says we need more shade than sun, it’s not just about comfort. It’s about awareness. If you’re sitting under s’chach and you notice the sunlight still filtering through, but the shade is greater — you’re aware of what you’re being protected from.

Sukkot is a time of love, care, and divine protection. HaKadosh Baruch Hu is looking out for us — and part of that protection is awareness.

There’s an idea called shalta b’eina — that the s’chach must be visible to the eye. You have to be able to see it, to feel it, to live with it. And I’d like to suggest that this is more than a technical rule.

It’s not enough that God protects us, or even that He loves and cares for us. We have to be aware of that love and care. We have to know that we’re being looked after. That awareness — that living knowledge — is part of the experience of the Shechinah, part of what it means to dwell in the Ananei HaKavod.

When we sense that protection, when we recognize it consciously, we’re not just sitting in a structure — we’re sitting in God’s embrace.

Loving Like G-d Loves

And if we borrow that idea into our own lives, we can see how it applies in other ways.

There are moments when we take on, in a small way, some of the responsibilities of God. One of the clearest examples is when we raise children. We become partners with God in creation.

We love them. We care for them. We protect them. But that alone isn’t enough.

They have to feel loved. They have to experience that love. If you love your child but they don’t feel it, there’s something missing in the love you’re giving. Love has to be experienced to be whole.

So we need to be, in a sense, like the s’chach — providing protection and love in a way that can be seen and felt. Not only are they being protected and loved, but they can recognize it, live it, and feel it as part of their world.

That’s real love — not only to give it, but to make it known.

Light Within the Dark

Now let’s turn to the stars.

There’s a famous Midrash about the sun and the moon. The moon complains to God: “Can two kings share one crown?” And in response, God diminishes the moon’s light.

Later, though, God appeases the moon — by giving it the stars.

So what’s happening here? Is this just a story about physical light? Or is something deeper going on?

I’d like to understand it differently.

The sun and moon represent two ways of experiencing the world — the light of day and the darkness of night. Day symbolizes clarity, joy, and understanding — the moments when everything feels bright and good. Night symbolizes difficulty, loss, and confusion — those times when life feels dim or hidden.

When Elie Wiesel wrote about the Holocaust, his first book was titled Night. That word captures the feeling of darkness — of distance from the light, from the presence of God.

But even in the night, there is light. The moon shines, though more faintly. The question is: how clearly can we see God in the darkness? How clearly can we feel His love and protection when the world is not bright?

Originally, perhaps, humanity could see God equally in the good and in the bad — to bless Him for both. But that clarity has been diminished. The “light of the moon” has been lessened. It’s harder now to perceive the Divine in hardship.

And so God gave the moon — and by extension, gave us — the stars.

The stars are those tiny points of light that appear even when the moon is gone. They’re small, but there are many of them.

Even when it’s darkest — even when the moon has disappeared entirely — there’s still light in the sky.

Maybe the stars don’t shine as brightly as the moon, but they’re there, scattered everywhere, constant reminders that even in the deepest darkness, God’s presence and care never disappear completely.

Even when the sky is cloudy and you can’t see the stars — they’re still there. The clouds pass. The light remains.

And maybe that’s why the halakhah says you should be able to see the stars from your sukkah. Because part of the sukkah’s message is that even in the night — even when you can’t feel the warmth of the sun or the full light of the moon — you can still find those small, shining points of connection.

You can still see, faintly but faithfully, that God’s love is there.