Sukka 31 a, b

Is a stolen sukka fit for use by the robber?  The rabbis argue about the section of our Mishna that describes a stolen sukka or sukkot roofed with stolen wood.  Rabbi Eliezer deems such a sukka unfit, while the rabbis deem it fit.  We walk through a debate about how one can steal a sukka.  Through this, I learn that land cannot be stolen.  I also learn that often we think of items as being borrowed rather than stolen.  And although a stolen sukka should not be fit, the rabbis seems to go to some effort to allow those who 'squat' in another's sukka to have fulfilled the mitzvah.

We leann that an old woman sat in Rav Nachman's court, complaining that the Exilarch stole her wood to build his sukka, and thus the sukka is hers.  Rav Nachman does not listen to her, and so she screams, how dare you not listen to me?!  I come from a wealthy, influential family - we owned over 300 slaves!  You must listen to me!"  Rav Nachman told the Sages that she was a woman who screamed, but that she was owed only the monetary value of the stolen wood.

The rabbis move on from here to discuss the value/exchange of one of the larger beams.  For me, this old woman's complain demonstrates an interesting juxtoposition of connected issues.  She is demanding to be heard as a woman of means.  This suggests that she had reason to believe that social status could influence decision-making.  She was denied  her request, though she spoke of her entitlement.  However, she was also a woman and she had been wronged, two experiences that might suggest a more vulnerable experience of the world.  At the end, the rabbis ignore her and at the last moment, offer her a ride home.   The intersection of class, sex, volume, advocacy skills, vulnerability, wealth and victimhood are all examined in this one story.

Now the rabbis consider the dry lulav.  The lulav should be beautiful, just like the etrog, right?  Perhaps not.  Perhaps both are meant to be visually pleasing, but independently of each other.

And our daf ends with a discussion about the etrog.  How large must it be? How small?  We know that it must be beautiful, but how do we define beauty beyond "not dry"?  What should we look for in its colour and leaves?  These larger questions about beauty are fascinating.  So often we equate beauty with what is seen as 'a healthy shell' - but truly, the think perfectly flawless people that we think of as beautiful are not healthy at all.  They are made up and computer-edited and simply 'thin'.  Do we know whether or not they are "too dry" on the inside?

Not my most eloquent metaphor, but hopefully the point is clear:  our rabbis struggle with how to define beauty just as we do.  Inner beauty versus outer beauty applies to many parts of our lives.