Sukkot For Those Without A House | Building A Sukkah Of The Heart | Finding Home When You Have None

The crisp autumn air carries a scent of change. It whispers of coming rains and turning leaves, and for our people, it speaks of an ancient command that echoes through the centuries. In backyards and on balconies, the sound of hammers and the rustle of palm fronds begin to fill the neighborhoods. 

Families are building their sukkahs, those beautiful, fragile shelters adorned with gourds and twinkling lights. There is laughter, the smell of roasting chicken and warm challah, and the joyful anticipation of a week spent under the stars.

But for you, this year, the whisper of Sukkot feels like a cold wind. You watch the preparations from the outside, and your heart aches with a profound and lonely mystery. The Torah commands, “You shall dwell in booths seven days; all that are home born in Yisra’el shall dwell in booths…” (Leviticus 23:42). 

The words are clear, yet they seem to speak to everyone but you. You are already dwelling in a “booth”—the unforgiving concrete of a city street, the hidden alcove of a park, the temporary haven of a bus station bench. 

You have no money for a feast, no place to store branches, no walls to decorate. The commandment, meant for joy, feels like a weight. How can you possibly celebrate Sukkot when your entire life is a fragile shelter? Where is your sukkah?

Beloved friend, if this is your reality, please know this first and foremost: you are seen. The God of Israel sees you, right where you are. Your struggle is not hidden from Him, and your longing to obey, even in this profound hardship, is a fragrant offering before His throne. This article is for you. Let us explore together what it means to build a sukkah when you have no wood, and to dwell with God when you have no home.

When the Commandment Feels Like a Curse

It is a painful irony, isn’t it? To be commanded to live temporarily in a shelter when that is already your forced existence. The sukkah is meant to be a joyful, voluntary act of dependence, reminding us of our ancestors' journey through the wilderness and our ultimate dependence on God. But when that dependence is not a choice, when the fragility is forced upon you by circumstance, it can feel anything but joyful.

It’s okay to feel this tension. It’s okay to cry out to God with the psalmist, “Hear my prayer, O LORD, and give ear to my cry; hold not your peace at my tears! For I am a sojourner with you, a guest, like all my fathers.” (Psalm 39:12).

You are a sojourner. You feel it more acutely than anyone sitting in a beautifully decorated backyard sukkah. This verse isn’t just pretty poetry; it is a raw cry from a heart that feels transient and vulnerable. And notice what it says: you are a sojourner with God. Your homelessness does not separate you from Him; it is a state you experience in His presence. He is there on the street with you, hearing the tears you cry in the silence of the night.

The First Sukkah | A Shelter of Remembrance

Let’s remember why we are commanded to do this. The verse in Leviticus continues: “...that your generations may know that I made the people of Yisra’el dwell in booths when I brought them out of the land of Egypt: I am the LORD your God.” (Leviticus 23:43).

The sukkah is a physical monument to God’s faithfulness in a place of total dependency. The wilderness had no permanent cities, no reliable food sources, and no secure walls. It was a place of day-to-day provision, where manna fell from heaven and water sprang from rock. 

The shelter was God’s presence—the Cloud of Glory by day and the Pillar of Fire by night. The physical booth is a reenactment of that, a reminder that our true security has never been in brick and mortar, but in the faithful, sheltering presence of the Almighty.

This year, your "wilderness" is not the Sinai desert; it is the urban jungle. Your "booth" is not made of wood and branches; it is your very life. And the command to dwell in it is an invitation to recognize, even here—especially here—that God is your shelter. You are living out the raw, undiluted truth of Sukkot in a way that those of us with comfortable homes can only imagine.

The Messiah's Sukkah: A Dwelling of Presence

Yeshua HaMashiach understood what it was to have no place to lay His head. He was, in the most literal sense, a sojourner. He said, “The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” (Luke 9:58).

This is not a distant, theological idea. This is the reality of our Messiah. He knew the fatigue of long journeys, the uncertainty of where the next meal would come from, and the dependence on the hospitality of others. 

He understands your situation intimately. He is not a far-off God who is only present in temples and houses; He is Immanuel, God with us—God with you on the park bench, God with you in the subway station, God with you under the bridge.

His presence is your ultimate Sukkah. When you have no physical walls, you can still invite His presence to be the spiritual walls that surround you. You can pray, “Abba, my sukkah this year is your presence. Dwell with me here, in this place. Be my Cloud of Shade by day and my Fire of Warmth by night.”

Building Your Invisible Sukkah

So, how do you “build” a sukkah this year? How do you fulfill the commandment with no money, no materials, and no storage?

1. Build with Prayer

Your prayers are the beams and poles of your spiritual sukkah. As you walk through your day, talk to God. Dedicate your space to Him. Say, “This street corner, this bench, is my sukkah for Your glory.” 

The prophet Isaiah tells us, “You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.” (Isaiah 26:3). Let your mind, your thoughts, be the place where you build a sanctuary of trust. This is a practical, powerful act of worship.

2. Gather Spiritual Branches

You may not be able to gather a lulav and etrog, but you can gather spiritual fruit. The schach (the roof covering) of your sukkah can be made of gratitude. Find one thing, just one small thing, to thank God for each day. 

It could be the sun on your face, a kind word from a stranger, the $6 on your card that will provide a meal. This gratitude is your covering, letting you see the stars of God’s promises through the gaps in your circumstances.

3. Feast on the True Bread

You may not have a festive meal, but you can partake of a greater sustenance. Yeshua said, “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.” (John 6:51). 

In your hunger, turn to Him. Read a psalm on your phone if you have one, or simply recall one from memory. Let His word be the manna that sustains your soul today. This is your Sukkot feast.

You Are Not Outside the Camp

It is easy to feel isolated, as if you are on the outside looking in at the celebration. But the God of Israel has always had a special heart for the sojourner, the stranger, and the poor. Your condition does not exclude you from the community of faith; it places you in the very center of God’s compassionate gaze.

“For the LORD your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God, who is not partial and takes no bribe. He executes justice for the fatherless and the widow, and loves the sojourner, giving him food and clothing.” (Deuteronomy 10:17-18).

This is His character. He is your justice and your provider. This Sukkot, your "dwelling" may be the most profound act of faith in the entire community—a raw, trusting declaration that even here, God is with you.

A Gentle Invitation to Our Shared Mission

Dear reader, as we enter this season of Sukkot, my heart is with you. If this article has spoken to you, if you feel seen and encouraged, then a small part of our sukkahs has been joined together. This writing is part of my own calling—to build shelters of hope and encouragement with words, for those who feel they have none.

We are a community, a family. And families support one another. If you feel led, I warmly welcome you to join me in this mission. You can:

· Pray for me, that my words would continue to be a source of comfort and light.

· Share this article with someone else who might need to hear this message.

· Offer a word of encouragement in the comments or by message—your story matters too.

· If you are able and feel moved, you can give to support this writing advocacy work, allowing these words to remain free and accessible to all, especially those without the means to pay.

No pressure, only an open-handed invitation to be part of a community that remembers, celebrates, and supports one another—where every heart, regardless of its address, can find a home.

May the God of Israel, who dwelt with our ancestors in the wilderness, dwell with you in powerful and tangible ways this Sukkot. Chag Sameach. May you find joy and peace in the sukkah of His presence.