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Every fall, across Sukkah-studded neighborhoods and citron-scented synagogues, Jews gear up for one of the most hands-on mitzvot (commandments) of the year: shaking the lulav. And every year, at least a few people stop mid-shake and ask the obvious: “Wait...why am I shaking it this way? And why do I say the blessing on the lulav instead of the etrog? And what’s with the 360° spin choreography?”
Let’s dive into the surprisingly layered world of lulav-waving, where direction matters, mystics have opinions, and unity trumps individual greatness.
What Are We Even Shaking?
First, a refresher: the arba minim ("four species") are the lulav (palm branch), hadassim (myrtle), aravot (willow), and etrog (citron). Bound together – except for the etrog, which is held separately – they are waved in six directions during Sukkot prayers. The goal? Symbolically acknowledge G-d’s presence everywhere and sprinkle a little unity along the way.
But as simple as it sounds, questions abound: Why do we wave in specific directions? Why do some people insist on doing it in the Sukkah? And seriously – why is the etrog, the star student of the group, left out of the blessing?
Shake It Like You Mean It: What’s the Deal with the Directions?
You may have noticed there’s no one-size-fits-all four-species-waving choreography. Some communities shake front–right–back–left–up–down. Others start right or go counterclockwise. One enthusiastic shul-goer even recalled someone doing “straight three, back three, up three, down three” as if it were a spiritual workout.
So what’s the correct order?
According to the Shulchan Aruch (Code of Jewish Law), the classic order is: forward, right, backward, left, upward, downward (Orach Chayim 651:10, with commentary in Mishna Berura 651:47). This pattern reflects a clockwise circle beginning in the direction one faces – traditionally east in synagogues. The idea is to envelop oneself symbolically in divine presence, wherever it may be.
But then came the mystics. The kabbalistic tradition, especially as taught by Rabbi Isaac Luria (the Arizal), brings its own twist: south, north, east, up, down, west (Peri Etz Chaim, Sha'ar HaLulav, ch. 3). Each direction represents spiritual channels of divine energy. The message? G-d’s presence permeates every point in space, not just where you're facing.
Whether you follow the halachic or kabbalistic choreography for your four species, the consensus is: don’t stress. Communities should stick to their customs and not turn prayer time into a game of spiritual Simon Says.
Waving in the Sukkah: Custom, Kabbalah, or Convenience?
In many Sephardi and Chassidic communities, there's a popular custom to exit the synagogue after the Chazarat HaShatz (repetition of the Amidah), step into the Sukkah, make the blessing over the lulav, shake it, and then return for Hallel and Hoshanot.
Two primary answers emerge. First, from a practical halachic standpoint: anything that can reasonably be done in the Sukkah should be done in the Sukkah, as per the Talmud (Sukkah 28b). That includes eating, relaxing, learning – and yes, even shaking a lulav. It’s all about making the Sukkah your temporary home for the week.
The second explanation is more mystical. Rabbi Isaac Luria, again, encouraged taking the lulav specifically in the Sukkah, and preferably before davening, to channel the right spiritual flow for the day (Sha’ar HaKavanot). He even recommended davening the morning service in the Sukkah if possible.
Of course, not everyone agrees. Some point out that splitting the blessing from the Hallel (during which the species are waved again) is less ideal halachically – like blowing the shofar after Musaf instead of during. Still, if you’re already planning to shake it, and the Sukkah is a few steps away, the mystical view says go for it.
The Etrog Dilemma: Why Bless the Palm Branch?
Let’s talk about the etrog. The poor citron gets separated from the the rest of the four species, cradled protectively in its little box, and then – left out of the blessing entirely?!
The blessing we say is: "Al netilat lulav" (“on taking the lulav”). But what about the other three species? And especially the etrog, which, according to midrashic symbolism, is the most impressive of the bunch – it has both ta'am (taste, symbolizing Torah) and rei'ach (fragrance, symbolizing mitzvot), unlike the others which only have one or neither.
Shouldn't we bless the best?
The Talmud asks this very question: Why name only the lulav? Answer: because it stands tallest (Sukkah 37b). It physically towers over the others – even the hadassim and aravot are bound to it. Its centrality in form led to its centrality in language.
Some suggest a deeper message: the lulav represents unity. It holds the other species together, despite their differences. In contrast, the etrog stands alone. Sure, it's symbolically perfect, but it's the lulav’s embrace of the others that earns it the spotlight. G-d prefers achdut – unity – over individual excellence. Just ask the divided Jews of the Second Temple era. Or don’t. They’re still paying for it.
What’s the “Right” Way? It’s a Matter of Minhag
As with many Jewish rituals, when in doubt, ask: “What’s your community’s minhag (custom)?”
There are halachic foundations, kabbalistic expansions, and geographic variations. Jerusalemites might follow one tradition, Moroccan Jews another, and Lithuanian yeshivot yet another. Some communities wave before Hallel, others during. Some prioritize spiritual symbolism, others stick to halachic clarity.
In the end, consistency within the community trumps personal experimentation. Don’t mix and match traditions just because you saw someone else doing the lulav cha-cha differently. Stick with your crowd and wave in rhythm.
A Final Shake (and Takeaway)
Whether you wave your four species south-north-east or front-right-back, whether you bless in the Sukkah or by your seat, whether you clutch your etrog like a delicate treasure or proudly hold up your lulav like a green sword – the beauty of this mitzvah is in its multidimensionality.
It's physical, spiritual, communal, mystical – and maybe even a bit comical. It's a reminder that Judaism isn’t just about thought – it’s about movement and direction. Literally.
So this Sukkot, when you're surrounded by palm fronds, citron peels, and directional debates, take a deep breath, find your flow, and shake like you mean it.
