The Haftarah assigned to this week’s Torah portion, Vayigash, is Ezekiel’s vision of a future reconciliation and reunification of the Northern and Southern tribes of Israel. The Northern tribes had been dispersed and exiled from their land by the end of the eighth century B.C.E. With the destruction of the First Temple in 586 B.C.E., the Southern kingdom of Judah met its end. Ezekiel preaches from exile in Babylonia in the years following that destruction, and his vision of a time when the tribes will be united and a single monarchy will lead the nation in its land must have been a comforting and hopeful buoy for a community on the verge of total extinction. Ezekiel holds two sticks, one inscribed with the name of Judah (representing the southern tribes) and the other with the name of Joseph (representing the northern tribes). God instructs Ezekiel to bring them together so that they will become one stick. The symbolism of the sticks serves to tell the world that the Israelites will again be one nation, with one king, in their land, serving the one God and sanctified by God.

Finding ourselves in the midst of the holiday season, family dynamics tend to take on greater prominence than during the rest of the year. Tension grows as excitement grows. Anticipation of family reunions, and the revisiting of longstanding (and sometimes strained) relationships raises the level of anxiety for many people. Sometimes the emotional and social exiles we experience from one another are the result of an act of God (as Ezekiel sees it—some event for which no one can claim responsibility), and sometimes they are the result of an act of a person (as in the case of Joseph and his brothers—some careless or intentional act that leaves us hurt, angry and resentful). Sometimes, we can’t even remember what started the whole uncomfortable dynamic, but we can’t imagine freeing ourselves of it!

It would be wonderful if we could write our names on stick, hold them together, and cure all that separates us. But that’s not the way it works. Ezekiel’s vision, however, does offer us some guidance. With one God, with one mission, with one sense of direction, we are made whole despite our differences. We don’t need to agree on all things to be one people. In fact, according to our sages, when two sides argue over an issue, and each side is truly dedicated to serving God in their position, the argument is worthy of being preserved! Such disagreements, however, are not meant to divide us. They are meant to bring us closer because of the passion and dedication we see in each other. Imagine how different our political or religious discourse would look, both in Israel and here in the United States, if members of every party or movement trusted that their opponents’ sole interest was the serving of the greater good. Perhaps compromise would more easily be reached if we didn’t have such a terrible track record of self-interest; perhaps more common ground would be explored. Within our own family structures, imagine how much better we would get along if we forgave insult, if we believed that we all want to be loved and accepted, if we opened the door to reconciliation and allowed two to dwell as one for a while.

I can’t promise that God is going to bring about reconciliation and unification to the north and the south, the secular and the religious, the Republican and the Democrat. But I know that I can open the door, just in case.

Rabbi Craig Scheff

“Nes gadol haya sham – A great miracle happened there!” We say it every year as we sing our traditional Chanukah songs or play dreidel over chocolate coins with our kids (or for higher stakes with our friends). We remember the struggle for religious freedom and the wondrous divine interventions that have added color, imagination and a spiritual connection to our historical narrative. This year, with Thanksgiving coinciding as it does, we add a level of family togetherness and a greater sense of gratitude to our light-filled ritual. Through The blessings, the songs, the games, the candles and the food, we try to connect to a far-away place in a far-away time.

In recognition of the holiday, we deviate from our regular cycle of Haftarah reading, and we substitute a special reading for Shabbat Chanukah. Sixty years after the destruction of the First Temple in 586 BCE, the prophet Zechariah, having returned from the Babylonian exile, describes his vision of Joshua the High Priest being absolved of all sin and restored in robes and ornaments of the priesthood. His vision continues with a description of the seven-branched menorah of gold in a rebuilt and rededicated Temple. (Note: this is the 7-branched candelabra that stood outside the Jerusalem Temple’s Holy of Holies, not the chanukiah!) The Israelites had been slow to return to their homeland from Babylon, and slower to engage in the rebuilding effort. Perhaps this was Zechariah’s effort to inspire them to believe that the time was at hand. The prophet goes on to connect to the menorah the message that our faith in God will always lead us further than our individual or collective military or political accomplishments: “Not by might and not by power, but by God’s spirit.” Written long before the Maccabees fought their battles, Zechariah’s words bring comfort and hope to the disenfranchised.

I have had the privilege of spending the last week in Israel. To be here the week leading to the holiday is a gift. Sufganiyot (traditionally jelly-filled doughnuts, though increasingly more and more fancy-shmancy) can be found in every bakery. Families are preparing for school vacation. This holiday, more than any other, occupies a special place in the heart of the average secular Israeli. There is a greater sense of individual ownership of this holiday above the major festivals and even Purim. Its ritual is home-based, and there are few requirements that cause the Iess observant to feel that they can’t observe and appreciate the holiday to its fullest. The Maccabee spirit is one with which the many Israelis who have served in the IDF can identify. The victory of the few over the many characterizes a large part of Modern Israel’s narrative. As each person kindles his or her own menorah (now you can insert chanukiah!), the average Jew can fill the role of Joshua the High Priest, celebrating national sovereignty and exercising personal sovereignty, affirming a spiritual connection to God, a shared past and a common destiny. As Jews living outside of Israel, we carry this light beyond the physical boundaries of the holy land; we are charged with delivering it to the rest of the world.

In the moment that we light our chanukiyot, the words of the prophet Zechariah remind us that we are all builders of holy places in our lives. If we dedicate ourselves to the lighting of the lamps in the spirit of God, we can indeed achieve that which all the military might and political power cannot. Each of us is the high priest, each of us represents the menorah, and each of us can raise up lights of peace, of hope and of the divine in ourselves and in others.

Rabbi Craig Scheff

This week we read one of my favorite Torah stories. Jacob leaves home, happens upon a place, lies down, places a stone beneath his head, upon a stone and has a dream. Angels ascend and descend on a ladder that stretches from the earth to the heavens. He awakens and exclaims, “God is in this place, and I did not know it.” From a theological perspective, I am troubled by the idea that Jacob sees God as limited to this particular place. I hold tight to the notion that God is in all places at all times. Even the darkest places.

This weekend we commemorate the 75th anniversary of Kristalnacht, the Night of Broken Glass. November 9, 1938 ushered in one of the darkest periods in Jewish history in particular and in the history of humankind. If I am to be consistent, then I must also believe that God was in this place and in all the places where human beings suffered (and continue to suffer). I must then ask myself, “What is God doing while the innocent suffer?” I have come to the conclusion that God’s angels are constantly descending the ladder from heaven with messages for us, challenging us to ascend the ladder toward the Divine. God prays to us, “Hear My voice, as you did in the days of old, and raise your humanity to the level of Godliness with which I endowed you.”

We live in a world where bearing the brunt of the bully is accepted by too many as a rite of passage. God is in the locker room, the school hallway and the workplace. God has told us what is good and right. And God has given us the power to stand against those who would tear down a human being in order to elevate themselves. God is indeed in this place. Perhaps the question we should be asking is, “Where are we?”

Dedicated to my grandmother, Sonia Neiman, on her 94th birthday.

Rabbi Craig Scheff

As big a sports fan as I am, I do not regularly incorporate sports into my sermons. It is the perception among some of my congregants that I do, but I rarely initiate a sports conversation in synagogue (unless I am talking about my kids!). If I am referring to the Red Sox, Patriots, Celtics or Bruins, it is usually because someone has decided to give me a hard time about a tough loss, or to let me know they were thinking of me when my team went down. I truly appreciate all the good-natured jabs (most of the time!), and I realize that sports is just one more avenue that can serve to connect us to each other, and can offer an occasional lesson that can be applied more broadly to Judaism and life.

This past month, however, I decided to devote my ongoing learning classes to sports and the lessons we can learn from them. I was pleasantly surprised to have a class of more than two dozen students each of the three evenings I was teaching, with many participants who rarely attend ongoing learning sessions, and with a much higher ratio of male students (80 percent) than I had ever had for a class. Not bad for a Thursday night in an egalitarian, Conservative congregation in Rockland County, New York! Over the three sessions, we studied texts from our Jewish tradition offering insights that could be applied to the way we view team sports, individual competitive sports, and the sports that place us in nature (like fly fishing and hiking). We explored the dynamics of team-building (or community-building), responsibility to and for one another, the value of a shared vision and shared goal, the importance of seeing a potential coach and teammate (or teacher and friend) in every person, the drive to excel and succeed, the danger of succeeding at someone else’s expense, the need for physical health and exertion, the need for mindfulness, the urge to master our environment, and the power of awe and humility – all through a Jewish lens.

One topic I chose not to teach (which feels particularly relevant today), however, is the relationship of Judaism to the sports spectator. With the Red Sox appearing in the World Series tonight for the third time in ten years, I realize my children have been deprived of the many lessons I learned waiting forty years for their first championship of my lifetime (and my father’s!). As we follow our teams together and across the generations, I have discovered other connections to our rich Jewish tradition. I am not referring to the concept of “Midor l’dor” (from one generation to another), though that is certainly a worthwhile Jewish value. I am referring to the Jewish belief that the spectator has a role in the outcome of the game! You don’t believe me? Our family knows that when something good is happening in the game, one does not speak or text or go to the bathroom. One does not change one’s position for fear of changing the course of events. Every baseball fan knows you don’t speak to the pitcher when he is pitching a perfect game; every fan knows you don’t utter the phrase “no-hitter” as your pitcher takes the mound in the seventh inning. And every fan knows that announcers are constantly reversing fates and fortunes when they bring up a statistic about a player or team on a streak!

In Judaism, we say “mishaneh makom, mishaneh mazal” (you change your place, you change your luck). If it is true to our betterment, it is also true to our detriment. From spitting three times (“pooh, pooh, pooh”) to wearing a red string to ward off the evil eye (ayin ha-ra), Jews believe that what we do can cause a shift in the cosmos. Our deeds, our words, and even our thoughts can change the course of events, the alignment of our stars, the flow of God’s presence that runs through all things.

So if you are wearing socks and the Sox are on a roll . . .

Rabbi Craig Scheff

Talk about intense! This, the first day of October, is my first day to sit and digest what took place in our community over the past 25 days. By my rough calculation, nearly 8000 individuals crossed our threshold over this three and a half week period. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur were, by all accounts, filled with beauty and spiritually uplifting. The joy of Sukkot, Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah was certainly enhanced by the weather; but the prayer, song, multi-generational fellowship and shared appreciation of our rituals raised the celebration through the roof and above the sparse clouds. Long-time members were enthralled to see new faces—and so many little ones!—while new attendees marveled at the warmth, enthusiasm and passion emanating from so many. Not bad for a Conservative, egalitarian synagogue in Rockland County, New York with just over 500 families calling it their spiritual home! So you can imagine my astonishment (and perhaps you share the sentiment), as I bask in this warm glow, when I open my mail to read of the latest Jewish population survey, the first in ten years. According to the survey, conducted by the Pew Research Center, we are facing a major challenge to Jewish identification. Among non-Orthodox Jews, there is a growing segment of our community that identifies as Jewish, but without religion. Thirty-two percent of the Jews born after 1980 claim to be ethnically or culturally Jewish, but also claim to have no religion. Of particular concern is that of these self-identified Jews, two-thirds are raising children without any Jewish identity. If these results are to be trusted, then they predict that nearly a quarter of the children now being born to Jews will not be raised with any sense of Jewish identity.

I have taken you from the highs of Tishrei (the month with the most holidays) to the lows of Mar-Cheshvan (“bitter” Cheshvan, the month with no holidays), and the news of the day can certainly be deflating. In our little corner of the Jewish world, however, we know the answer to the challenge. We see it happening before us week in and week out. As Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel put it over 50 years ago, becoming a Jew is “a personal problem,” meaning that we must speak to every individual, to their joys, anxieties, fears, insecurities and searches for meaning. “Community” is merely a buzz word if it isn’t accompanied by true concern for the individual. Our communal celebration of Jewish life models one type of identification; more important, however, is the empowerment of individuals to transform their own homes into places of meaningful connection to each other, to Judaism and to God.How blessed we are to celebrate the first day of Chanukah on Thanksgiving this year. I predict that more Jews will celebrate the holiday of Chanukah this year—in its intended spirit and with greater meaning—than ever before. The secular values of our American Thanksgiving celebration prime us for a day of gratitude (and full bellies) and appreciation. Originally a day celebrating the harvest, Thanksgiving parallels our holiday of Sukkot. The first Chanukah celebration was, in fact, a delayed celebration of the Sukkot harvest festival. And just as the Raiders and Cowboys kick off the second game of the day, Jews will add to the warmth of this day by kindling our lights of dedication, freedom, gratitude and appreciation. Perhaps gifts will be exchanged; more importantly, however, a Jewish spark will be ignited in the midst of a secular experience. A flash of meaning will be reflected in every participant’s eyes. A connection will be established. A seed of Jewish identity and identification will be planted.

So don’t believe everything you read. The seeds are there. Water them with me, and we will witness another Chanukah miracle in our time.

Be’emunah, with faith,

Rabbi Craig Scheff