The Unseen Sukkah | Finding God’s Shelter In The Wilderness Of The City

The first chill of autumn bites the air, a stark contrast to the warm, golden light spilling from the windows of the houses you pass. Inside, you can almost imagine families gathered around tables, laughing, preparing. It is the season of Sukkot, the Feast of Tabernacles, a time of joyous remembrance. But for you, the command of Leviticus 23:42—“You shall dwell in booths for seven days…”—feels like a distant echo from a world you can no longer reach. The city ordinances are clear: no temporary shelters, no tents, no camping. Your only “booth” is the cold, hard pavement, and your constant companion is the fear of a police officer’s flashlight and the command to “move along.”

You look at your few belongings, everything you own in a worn-out bag. Where would you even store the lulav and etrog—the beautiful branches and fruit that speak of harvest and abundance? How do you build a sukkah when you have no land, no money, and the law forbids it? The question isn’t just logistical; it’s a deep, aching wound in the soul. It whispers a terrible lie: “You are forgotten. You are outside of God’s command, and therefore, outside of His care.”

If this is your heart tonight, dear reader, please know this: you are seen. Your struggle is real, your pain is valid, and your faith is being tested in a furnace that few can comprehend. But the God of Israel, the One who commanded the feast, sees you in your concrete wilderness. And He is inviting you into a Sukkot celebration far more profound than any made with wood and leaves.

When the Commandment Feels Impossible

Let’s speak honestly about the elephant in the room. God’s instruction in Leviticus is clear: “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).

The purpose is remembrance and reliance. We remember our ancestors' 40-year journey through the wilderness, a time when their entire existence depended utterly on God’s provision—His cloud by day, His fire by night, His manna each morning. But when you are homeless, this dependence isn’t a seven-day spiritual exercise; it is your crushing, daily reality. The command can feel like a cruel joke, highlighting everything you lack.

But what if God’s primary desire for Sukkot isn’t the physical structure itself, but the state of the heart it is meant to cultivate? What if, in your unique and painful circumstances, you are positioned to understand the essence of Sukkot in a way those in comfortable backyard sukkahs never can?

The Sukkah of the Heart

Long before you had to live on the streets, another Jewish man had no place to lay His head. His name was Yeshua. He told His followers, “The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head” (Matthew 8:20).

Think about that. The Messiah Himself was, in a very real sense, homeless during His ministry. He knew the uncertainty of not having a fixed address, of relying on the hospitality of others, of sleeping under the stars. He understands your daily reality intimately. He is not a distant God looking down from a palace; He is a Savior who has walked your path and felt your vulnerability.

This year, your sukkah may not be one you can see with your eyes. It is the Sukkah of the Heart. It is the shelter you build in your spirit through trust, through prayer, and through the unwavering belief that God is your ultimate dwelling place.

Psalm 91:1-2 speaks directly to this:

“He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.”

This “secret place” is the ultimate sukkah. It is a spiritual reality that no city ordinance can forbid, no rain can soak, and no thief can steal. When you call out to God from your park bench or your street corner, you are entering that secret place. You are dwelling in a shelter more permanent than any house and more secure than any fortress.

Your Lulav and Etrog: The Offerings of a Broken Spirit

You worry about not having the arba minim—the four species. But the prophets make it clear that God looks beyond physical offerings to the heart behind them.

Psalm 51:17 declares:

“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”

In your brokenness, in your feeling of being unable to fulfill the commandment in the traditional way, your heart cry is your offering. Your longing to obey, even when you cannot, is a more fragrant sacrifice to God than the most perfectly waved lulav. Your faith, clinging to Him while living in the most temporary of circumstances, is the very essence of what Sukkot commemorates—total dependence on God.

Your “lulav” is your raised hands in prayer. Your “etrog” is a heart that, despite its bruises, still seeks to be fragrant before God. This is your worship. It is holy and acceptable.

You Are Not Alone: The Invisible Cloud of Witnesses

As you pass those nice houses, it’s easy to feel isolated and unloved. The enemy whispers that everyone else is blessed while you are cursed. But remember the story of Elijah in 1 Kings 19. He felt utterly alone, believing he was the only one left who served the Lord. But God told him, “Yet I have left me seven thousand in Israel, all the knees which have not bowed unto Baal…” (1 Kings 19:18).

You are not the only one. There are other believers—some in houses, some in apartments, some on the streets—who are part of your community. You are connected to them in spirit. And you are surrounded by an invisible cloud of witnesses—the generations of Israelites who dwelt in literal booths in the desert, who also knew fear, hunger, and uncertainty. You are part of their story. Your faith, right now, is continuing their legacy of reliance on the God who delivers.

A Gentle Invitation: To Build a Community of Hope

My friend, your journey is hard, but your voice matters. Your faith, refined in the fire of adversity, has a powerful testimony. If these words have resonated with you, if you feel a little less alone, then we have begun to build a sukkah of community together.

I am on a mission to share this message of hope and practical faith with others who are walking through similar wilderness seasons. If you feel led to support this work, you can be a part of this growing shelter of encouragement.

· Through Prayer: Pray for this ministry, that it would reach those who feel forgotten and remind them of God’s everlasting love.

· Through Sharing: Share this article with someone else who needs to hear this message. You never know who is feeling just as you are.

· Through Encouragement: Your own story has power. If you feel comfortable, share how God is meeting you in your wilderness.

· Through Giving: If you are in a position to do so, your financial support helps sustain this writing advocacy, allowing these words of hope to travel further and comfort more hearts.

This is not about a transaction; it is about a shared mission. It’s about building a different kind of sukkah—one made of shared stories, mutual support, and the unwavering truth that God dwells with the humble and contrite in spirit.

This Sukkot, as you look up at the stars through the city lights, may you feel the presence of the God who led His people by a pillar of fire. He is with you in your temporary shelter. He is your dwelling place, and in Him, you are forever home. Chag Sameach. May your feast be filled with the profound and lasting joy of His presence.