People are more interested in God than I realized. Again, in October, my Vine column elicited all sorts of responses, including this one: "I am so glad to see you writing about God. You never write or talk about God." That is not my perception of myself, but I am glad to have the opportunity and the invitation to keep digging.

In my opinion, the Judaism of the 1960s that I was raised in was a God-deficient Judaism. Words like "mystery," "awe," "wonder," "spirituality" and "sacred" were not part of the vocabulary of the synagogue. Looking back on it, our Jewish experience was essentially an ethnic one. "Services" were certainly an integral part of Jewish life, but they were viewed as just that, "services." "Prayer" was never talked about, and "worship" probably would have been viewed as a Christian word.

What "services" were about was never discussed. Reaching for God, searching for your inner life, seeking to commune with your soul--these ideas were foreign to us. The role "services" played was to manifest Jewish identity, to publicly assert both our Jewishness and our Judaism. But the Jewishness--that is, culture and ethnicity--seemed to take precedence over the Judaism, the constellation of ideas, beliefs and theologies that comprise our tradition. "Tradition" was very important. Praying, or singing at services, was great. I especially loved the Festival services at my synagogue. Yet I never connected that singing to reaching for God. Being "Jewish" entailed a lifestyle that was not closely examined but was critical to pass on. I loved it--after all, I became a rabbi--but I was never invited to explore my faith, my sense of the holy.

As the times have changed, our Judaism has changed enormously. Even as I know that our "services" still preserve our past, I am certain that I think about our worship at Micah in ways that are radically different than those of my rabbinic predecessors a generation or two ago. I think of prayer theologically, in terms of faith, myth and sacred ritual. The joyous, upbeat musical sound created by Teddy Klaus, Meryl Weiner, the adult and youth choirs and the pick-up band inspire my soul to praise God for the gifts of heart and mind, for the joy of being alive and living in a community that sustains me and for the beauty that surrounds us when we take the time to look and really see. The quiet music reveals a different beauty, the contemplative qualities of heart, mind and soul. I thank God for my gifts and am moved to consider my obligations to others. The periods of silent prayer ask of me that I go deep into my soul and search for the "better angel" within me.

Prayer thus becomes an expression of my faith. How then do I understand God? I begin with the Jewish value placed on human life. We throw every mitzvah out the window when it comes to saving a life. We can violate nearly every commandment to save a life. (We cannot take a life to save a life, nor can we commit a sexual crime.) Human life is the ultimate value.

I considered this several years ago while standing in front of a glass museum case in Katzrin on the Golan Heights in Israel. I was looking at small worship statuettes that were about 4,000 years old and had been unearthed at a nearby archaeological excavation. The idols were naked, pregnant women with large accentuated breasts. It was starkly obvious that the community that held these idols to be holy gods was a community that considered life sacred. These were the theological forbearers of our ancestors who were worshiping the source of life. Jewish faith was not conceived in one fell swoop. Time passed. Faith gave way to faith, and our ancestors retained the fundamental conviction about the sacredness of human life. But that core belief was brought to a higher plane--One Invisible God of the universe--the Source of Life. Our God was realized. That is the faith I cherish, the source of life that binds the universe, the God I worship and search for.

May the lights of the Hanukkah candles burn brightly in your home, witness to our people's faith, our triumphs, our hopes.