Jewish life begins at home. A congregation can support Jewish life, but cannot be a substitute for Jewish life. This is equally true for adults as it is for children. Judaism informs the way we live, think, work, even read. When I am working with people studying for conversion, I frequently tell them that Jews read the newspaper differently than non-Jews. Front page articles on Israel grab our attention immediately, as do articles on genocide in Darfur. Our Jewish identity guides us through the newsprint that sits before us as we sip our morning coffee. I am not embarrassed to say that articles on Jewish Nobel Prize winners also grab my attention. These are not critical examples. They simply serve to illustrate that Judaism is daily, internal and acted out everywhere.

I recently wrote a short essay for the Synagogue 3000 Web site entitled, "Let's Kill Mitzvah Day." The article was meant to draw attention to what I feel to be the terribly mixed message that is contained in a phenomena that has swept the country and become common at many synagogues--namely, designating one given Sunday during the year for members to volunteer in hospitals, clean parks, work in soup kitchens and do other mitzvot. All of these individual acts are, in themselves, laudable. God knows that we have enough projects going at Temple Micah from Underwear Month to Sukkot in April and everything else in between. Our own list is exhausting. But to advertise, organize, promote and champion a Mitzvah Day presents Judaism as an event as opposed to a way of life. Judaism is what we do when we get up in the morning--and, for a Jew, every day is mitzvah day and every waking moment an opportunity for mitzvot.

I love the old Hassidic story in which the rabbi is asked three questions:

1. Who is the most important person in the world?

2. What is the most important act?

3. What is the most important time?

His answers, of course, are that the most important person is the person you happen to be with at any given moment of your life, the most important act is to help that person and the most important time is now. This lesson bespeaks so much of the depth of the rabbi's traditional world. Each one of us is incomplete. Each one of us needs repair. Our task in this world is to engage every person as a soul mate with whom we are lost. This is the wisdom and the mercy that undergirds Martin Buber's theory known as "I-Thou." Buber's teaching runs contrary to the way we have grown accustomed to living. The people we meet are competitors or subordinates or bosses or customers or patients or clients. Buber wants us to see other people, as the Hassidic rabbi taught, not as an "other," but as a "Thou," a fellow creature reflecting God's sacred image.

A synagogue cannot teach that lesson alone--a synagogue can only reinforce what is learned elsewhere. In that sense, a synagogue is a marker, a teaching tool that can reinforce the lessons of Torah that are lived in the home, in the workplace and on the street. A synagogue is a community of people, each of whom is looking to give and receive, teach and learn. If you view the synagogue as a gas station where you go for "services," you will drive away empty every time. This is a guarantee.

This is what makes Jewish education for children such a complicated endeavor. Judaism is neither a subject to be learned nor an event to be prepared for. It really is a way of living. Jewish education "works" when it is an extension of life at home. For families that have some familiarity with Kiddush, challah, prayer, seder, mitzvah, Israel and Shabbat--those other markers of Jewish life--Jewish education flows naturally. When those terms and the conversations, songs, arguments, prayers or rituals that go with them are foreign, Jewish education at the temple becomes an enormous, perhaps impossible, challenge. Without the support of the home, Jewish education becomes, like the work that goes into Mitzvah Day--simply a way to prepare for another event--this one called bar or bat mitzvah.

This month is Hanukkah--a chance to celebrate and rekindle the ancient Jewish dream of freedom. In America, a land of plenty, we have become inundated by seasonal gift giving. This Hanukkah, let the sparkle of the candles inspire all of us to engage fully in Jewish living. Eight candles--eight mitzvah opportunities so that our light glows for others. This Hanukkah, may all of our hearts be full with blessing and song.