The Sacred Contradiction | When Peace Is Shattered On Our Holiest Days

The sukkah is supposed to be fragile. We know this. We build it with our own hands, weaving branches for a roof through which we can see the stars. Its walls tremble in the wind. It is a testament to our temporary existence, a beautiful, intentional vulnerability that reminds us of our ancestors' journey and God's sheltering presence in the wilderness.

But this vulnerability is meant to be spiritual, not violent.

Today, my sukkah in Nevada was not just a symbol of temporary shelter; it became a place of very real fear. The laughter and songs of Sukkot were pierced by shouts of hatred. 

The peace of the moed—the appointed time—was shattered by an attack. As I sit in the aftermath, my hands still trembling, the same haunting question echoes in my soul, a question I know many of you are asking:

Why? Why does He command us to lay down our tools, to cease our striving, to enter into His holy rest, only to allow the strivers of evil to lift their weapons against us on those very days?

We remember the Jews killed in Manchester on Yom Kippur, 2025, the holiest day of the year, a day of atonement and purity. We mourn the attacks in Israel on Rosh Hashanah, as the shofar’s blast called us to coronate our King. 

And now, this, on the festival of our joy. It feels like a sacred contradiction, a divine trust violated. If you have ever felt this deep, confusing ache, you are not alone. 

Your questions are not a sign of weak faith, but of a heart that longs for God’s world to make sense. Let us explore this mystery together, not with easy answers, but with the eternal truth of God’s Word as our guide.

The First Shabbat | Rest in a World That Hasn't Stopped

To understand the "why," we must first go back to the very foundation of Shabbat. Bereshit (Genesis) 2:2-3 tells us:

“And on the seventh day God finished His work which He had made, and He rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had made. And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it: because that in it He had rested from all His work which God created to make.”

God did not rest because the world was finished. He rested to show us that His creation was good and that it could, for a moment, exist without His active labor of forming and filling. 

Our Shabbat and feast-day rest is an act of imitatio Dei—imitating God. It is our declaration of faith that the world belongs to Him, and we can trust Him to hold it together for twenty-five hours while we cease our own work.

In practical life, this means our rest is not a response to a peaceful world, but a radical act of trust in a chaotic one. We rest despite the news headlines, despite the threats, despite the unfinished work on our desks. 

By stopping, we proclaim, "God is on the throne, even now." The enemy’s attack on these days is, in a twisted way, a testimony to the power of our rest. It is an attempt to profane the one thing that declares our ultimate trust is not in our own strength, but in God’s.

The Cry of the Psalmist: When the Wicked Prosper

Our confusion and pain are not new. The psalmists gave voice to this same anguish, watching the wicked flourish while the righteous suffered. Tehillim (Psalms) 74:3-7 cries out:

“Lift up your feet to the perpetual ruins; all the evil the enemy has done in the sanctuary. Your foes have roared in the midst of your meeting place; they set up their own signs for signs... They set your sanctuary on fire; they profaned the dwelling place of your Name, bringing it to the ground.”

Does this not sound familiar? The enemy desecrating the holy place? The psalmist is raw and honest with God, asking "How long?" and "Why?" He does not hide his bewilderment that God would allow His own sanctuary to be defiled.

In practical life, this gives us permission to bring our full, unfiltered hurt to God. We do not have to sanitize our prayers. We can scream, "Lift up your feet! See the ruins! See what they have done on our feast day!" 

Faith is not the absence of questions; it is the act of bringing our questions to the only One who can possibly hold them. This psalm teaches us that our grief is holy, and our demand for justice is part of our covenant relationship with a righteous God.

The Prophetic Promise: The Ultimate Victory of Rest

The pain is real, but it is not the final word. The prophets looked ahead to a time when this sacred contradiction would be resolved. Yeshayahu (Isaiah) 32:17-18 gives us a breathtaking vision:

“And the work of righteousness shall be peace; and the effect of righteousness, quietness and confidence forever. And my people shall dwell in a peaceable habitation, and in sure dwellings, and in quiet resting places.”

God’s ultimate goal is not just occasional rest, but eternal shalom—wholeness, peace, and security. The "sure dwellings" and "quiet resting places" are the antithesis of the fragile sukkah attacked by violence. 

This is a promise that the rest we practice now is a foretaste of the world to come, a world where our obedience will no longer be met with hostility.

In practical life, this verse is our anchor of hope. When our present reality is fear and violence, we can cling to the future reality of "quietness and confidence forever." Our observance of the moedim becomes an act of prophetic defiance. 

By building our sukkah, by fasting on Yom Kippur, by hearing the shofar on Rosh Hashanah, we are not just remembering the past; we are rehearsing for the future Kingdom. We are declaring, "This is not how it will always be. Our God is making all things new."

The Example of Our Messiah: Finding Peace in the Storm

Perhaps the most profound comfort comes from seeing how our Messiah, Yeshua, navigated the tension between God’s peace and the world’s chaos. In the Gospel of Mark 4:37-39, we read:

“And a great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already filling. And He was in the stern, asleep on the cushion. And they woke Him and said to Him, ‘Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?’ And He awoke and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, ‘Peace! Be still!’ And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.”

Notice where Yeshua was: asleep. In the midst of a life-threatening storm that terrified seasoned fishermen, the Son of God was at rest. His disciples asked the very question we are asking: "Don't you care?" His rest seemed like a contradiction to the reality of their peril.

In practical life, this story shows us that God's rest is not the absence of a storm, but a profound peace within it. Yeshua’s sleep was a demonstration of perfect trust in the Father’s care. When He calmed the storm, He showed His absolute authority over the very chaos that threatened them. 

For us, this means that on our Shabbats and feast days, even when the storm of hatred rages around our sukkah, we can learn to find that inner chamber of rest in Him. We can whisper, "Yeshua, You are in this boat with me. You command the wind and the waves. I will trust You, even here."

A Gentle Invitation to Our Shared Mission

My friends, the mystery may not be fully solved this side of the Olam Haba, the World to Come. But we are not left without comfort, without purpose, or without each other.

The attack in my sukkah has only deepened my resolve to write, to teach, and to advocate for our community—to build spaces where we can wrestle with these hard questions together and find our hope in the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and in His Messiah, Yeshua.

This writing is my sukkah—a fragile offering built to provide a little shelter and point us toward the stars of God’s promises. If these words have been a shelter for you today, if they have made you feel seen and supported, I would be honored to have you join me in this mission.

You can stand with me in a few simple, yet powerful ways:

· Through your prayers: Pray for protection, for wisdom, and for the continued flow of encouraging words.

· Through sharing: Share this article with one person in your community who might need to hear this message today.

· Through encouragement: Send me a note. Tell me your story. Let me know how God is sustaining you. Your strength becomes mine.

· Through giving: If you feel led, your financial support helps sustain this work, allowing me to dedicate more time to creating resources that strengthen our collective faith.

This is not just my work; it is our shared mission to comfort the hurting and strengthen the faithful within our Messianic Jewish family. However you feel led to participate, know that you are a cherished part of this community.

Together, even in our fragility, we will keep building, keep resting, and keep trusting. For the One who commands the rest is also the One who commands the storm.

Shalom aleichem. May the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, guard your hearts and your minds in Messiah Yeshua.