It is not yet 9 a.m. I am wearing sweatpants and flip-flops. Mascara has not yet touched my lashes, my cheeks are pale and the right side of my mouth is drooping. I've just had a cavity filled and the few words I manage as I leave the dentist's office can only be discerned by the hygienist, a woman with years of practice deciphering the guttural sounds of the Novocain impaired.

As I am about to grab the bill and make my way out the door and groggily back to my apartment, a voice behind me says, "Hello, Rabbi." It is an unexpected greeting, but most assuredly not an unwelcome one.

As I wend my way throughout the city (and the nearby suburbs) each day, whether I am on my way to work, running errands or meeting friends, I invariably find myself face to face with a member or two of the Micah community. Over the past several days, in addition to my meeting at the dentist, I was warmly greeted at the nearby Whole Foods, on the Metro heading home from a ball game and in a downtown restaurant.

When I was a child, my parents were very involved in the Parent and Teachers Association at the local grammar school. At least a few times during any given school year, I would make my way into the living room of my childhood home--teeth brushed, p.j.s on--expecting a quick good-night kiss from my parents, and was met instead by Mrs. Kogan or Mrs. Suber, carefully going over the details of an upcoming plant sale or science fair.

At that time, it was most unsettling to have my worlds collide. I couldn't imagine that teachers existed at all outside the walls of the classroom, let alone inside the boundaries of my personal space.

Today, I enjoy seeing Micah members at the places I consider my personal haunts--the local independent bookstore, a city park, the sub-par but quick and convenient Chinese take-out. In a city smaller than my hometown, but large enough to feel impersonal at times, seeing Micah members reminds me that I am part of the weave of people that makes the fabric of a strong, yet diverse, community.

The idea of community has been on our minds and our lips a great deal recently. Though we strive to build community in all that we do, we worry that we don't always achieve our aims. As the congregation grows larger, we want to ensure that it doesn't become impersonal.

Hillel, the great Jewish sage writes in Pirke Avot, "Don't separate yourself from the community." Two-thousand years ago, he understood the human tendency to compartmentalize our lives, to stay inside the familiar.

I am pleased when I am able to share a few words with one of you outside of the temple walls. I would be even more pleased if all Micah members were able to do the same. To know each other, to feel comfortable exchanging friendly greetings--or sharing meaningful conversations--both inside and outside of our home on Wisconsin Avenue.

We hope you will let us know what we can do to enhance your community experience, to help you feel connected.

Until then, I'll look forward to seeing you in the produce aisle.