The Shlocky* Sukkah Roof: When Things Go Wrong

Six Stories from my Sabbath Table 

Shared by Rabbi Dov Gartenberg 

2025 End of Year Campaign in Support of Shabbat with Friends NM 

A Fifth Story from my Sabbath Table.  

Monday, December 29, 2025 

*Lesser Known Usage: The rain roof of a Sukkah used in wet climates.  

Rabbi Akiba Aiger (German 18^th century) used to be very strict about the mitzvah of hospitality-(hachnasat orchim). Once on Shabbat one of the guests happened to spill a cup of wine. The clean white tablecloth was stained, and the guest was visibly embarrassed. So Rabbi Aiger himself bumped the table as to spill his own glass of wine. He exclaimed: “Oh this table must be off balance.” A Day Apart. Noam Sachs Zion and Shawn Fields-Meyer. P. 76. 

Because Shabbat arrives every week, it inevitably overlaps with Jewish festivals from time to time. In 1989 on the Shabbat of Sukkot, I built a Sukkah in our backyard in NE Seattle. Its most memorable feature was a moveable “shlock” roof—a sheet of plastic stapled to wooden beams that could be lowered on the roof of the Sukkah during heavy rains.  Since the blessings must be recited under the natural roof of s’chach, we would say the blessings first and then pull the shlock down to keep the Sukkah dry for the rest of the meal. (To this day, I refer to every stadium with a retractable roof—including Seattle’s baseball stadium—as a “Shlockdome.”) 

That year at Beth Shalom, we organized a Shabbat afternoon progressive Shabbat/Sukkot meal and neighborhood Sukkah walk. Participants signed up to visit six Sukkot, enjoying a different course at each home. Ours was the second stop, and we prepared a hearty soup for the forty-plus Sukkot of Shabbat strollers.  

All Shabbat morning, rain poured down. After the service, I rushed home to help my wife get ready for the deluge of guests as the outdoor deluge continued. I suspected that Gore‑Tex would be the dominant fashion statement at our Sukkah that day. 

By the time our guests arrived, they were thoroughly soaked but still in good spirits—buoyed, perhaps, by the promise of hot soup. I gathered everyone into the Sukkah for the blessings, planning to pull the shlock roof down immediately afterward. But when I tugged the rope, the shlock didn’t descend gently. It slammed down, sending the accumulated rainwater in the s’chach-the cut off branches covering the Sukkah, cascading onto the heads of everyone huddled inside—many of whom had just removed their hoods to recite the blessing. 

We scrambled to fetch towels and then served steaming bowls of soup as our guests dried off beneath the now‑sagging plastic roof. Worried about leaks in our shlocky shlock, they ate quickly and then made their way—still dripping—to the next Sukkah on the walk. 

Even on that soggy Shabbat of Sukkot, I was grateful we could fulfill the mitzvah of welcoming guests. The faces of those drenched but good‑humored visitors remain vivid in my memory—a reminder that sometimes the most memorable festival meals are the ones that don’t go quite as planned. 

Sukkot and Shabbat are both framed in our tradition as times of hospitality. Sometimes, when you practice Shabbat hospitality, things go awry. You burn a dish, a guest drops a plate, a child spills some wine, or a shlock roof slams on a wet Sukkah. But the beauty of a long-term commitment to this mitzvah of welcoming guests on Shabbat and festivals  is an understanding that each opportunity to share a meal with guests has surprises. These unexpected accidents are often what we remember in the act of hosting. Like Rabbi Aiger, we learn to comfort our guests and to help everyone to transcend discomfort to experience the true rest-Menuchah and joy-Oneg of Shabbat.