On February 23, as I boarded a bus with my temple confirmation class, I had no idea that the weekend I was about to experience would have such a powerful effect on me.

I was driving home from school the other day on my usual route. I traveled by rows of retail stores and restaurants, a large baseball field, and then approached a small-disheveled sculpture park along the waters of the Bay. I stopped at the traffic light parallel to the park and for once took the time to look over at the scene taking place that day.

I used to judge homeless people, and assume that they weren't very intelligent. I no longer see things so black and white; everyone has a story.

While Sukkot is a holiday of joy and celebration, sometimes we forget where it came from. Right-- those 40 years when we were wandering the desert and living in temporary shelters--how could we forget?