NO, THANKS ANGELA EPSTEIN

THERE ARE many — very many — Jewish laws and customs which, to the casual onlooker, appear, at best, baffling and, at worst, utterly bonkers. And most of the time, well, who cares? After all, it’s tradition, innit?

But there’s one aspect of our otherwise wonderful religion which has me whimpering in despair —eating in the succah. Here in the UK, when the wasps are in their death throes after a bacchanalian summer, a deep cold seeps up through the slats of a rock hard folding chair. These biblical Portakabins have about as much room as a store changing cubicle, only with more people.

What’s more, Succot falls at the time of year when he who pays the heating bills grudgingly agrees to let me turn the radiators on. So, just as the house finally achieves some level of toastiness, I must turn my back on that soft, doughy warmth and eat outside. Outside! I cling to Orthodoxy (mostly) like a life raft since the rhythm of Judaism frames my situation and gives comfort to my lot. I love the fact that our ancient laws and traditions, continue to provide guidance in the slow murmur of their unchanged ways.

But I’m human and this is the UK — a place where Hurricane Moishe is, according to that nice lady on the telly, only a few isobars away. And eating in a damp hut with somebody’s elbow in my bowl of (rapidly cooling) chicken soup isn’t my idea of a good time. Sure, there’ll doubtless be some portable heater weakly pumping out a little warmth. But while it’s easy to raise the roof, it isn’t that simple to lift the temperature.

Of course, it’s all very different in Israel where I’ve been fortunate to spend Succot for the past few years (thank you, big brother, for making aliyah). There, the al fresco, or rather “al succo”, experience is charming thanks to the dying breath of warm summer air. That means the fulfilment of sitting in an outdoor hut which commemorates God’s protection of the Children of Israel is much easier Although the air-fares can be painful.

There are many beautiful things about Succot. The little, foliagecovered booths spangled with tinsel and children’s paintings are a tender and heart-warming tableau of Jewish continuity. This is especially true when many question their faith. And my faith is strong. The problem is that my discomfort threshold isn’t.

Here in the UK Hurricane Moishe is only a few isobars away