In continuing this ongoing discussion on the nature of Jewish identity in this country, I would like to compare going to church with going to synagogue. My sense is that people go to church thinking about many things, but high on the list are faith, God, mystery and the sacred.

I am not at all certain that most Jews come into the synagogue thinking in these terms. On the contrary, we have a good deal of: "Rabbi, I'm not very religious," or "Rabbi, I'm very Reform." (I personally shudder when I hear that and think, "Whatever does that mean?" Is this person saying that he or she has deep commitments to the ideas espoused by Abraham Geiger or Samuel Holdheim or Isaac Mayer Wise?) As I write and say repeatedly, people come to synagogue looking for some engagement with their Jewish identity. They come wondering about what makes them Jewish. It is not exactly a search for the sacred, but my hope is that it is not altogether different. Frequently, I hear that people come looking for what our secular American culture calls "meaning." The question then becomes whether a search for Jewish identity in a synagogue by a self-proclaimed non-religious Jew can be transformed into a meaningful engagement with the Jewish tradition.

One venue is Shabbat worship - if only we could discover a way to get more people to attend services. I have never heard anyone say after attending a Shabbat service at Temple Micah, "That, Rabbi, was a terrible experience!" It is true that perhaps people wish to spare my feelings, yet I wonder whether any of you have ever felt that or heard it expressed. What then is my argument for Shabbat prayer and why do I insist that it can offer something deep and resonant for everyone?

Consider this statement from Harold Bloom's challenging new book, Where Shall Wisdom Be Found? "It is Jewish," he writes, "to vacillate... between the need to be everything in oneself and the anxiety of being nothing in oneself." I love that statement. This is Bloom's powerful rephrasing of the Hassidic axiom that each one of us should carry a scrap of paper in both of our pockets. In one pocket, the scrap should read: "For my sake was the world created." The other pocket's scrap: "You are but dust and ashes." Bloom says that Jewish wisdom reveals to us the vertigo that is the human condition. That is the beginning of prayer.

In prayer, we search out the deepest realms of the self and the outer reaches of the universe. Prayer asks that we search for what religion calls the "sacred" both within ourselves as well as in the world around us. Is there something in the Western canon that enables us to deny the possibility of the sacred so easily? To deny is one thing, but to do so with such ease gives me pause. Prayer helps us find our place in the universe. Prayer surrounds us with signs and symbols that tell us who we are. Prayer connects us to the wisdom of an ancient past. Prayer provides a social context for our dreams and joys, sorrows and regrets. Jewish prayer invites us to question. Prayer helps us find who we are and provides a path towards ultimate meaning. The questions, as I said, are what prevents us from taking this path? What are the roadblocks placed before us by the culture that we live in? These questions are for another column.

Micah Mitzvah-doers are at it again. So many of you have responded generously to our tsunami fishing boat project, done in conjunction with American Jewish World Service. Thank you. Now, as we prepare for Passover, I call your attention to our project on behalf of the D.C. children's foster care program. The opening lines of the Passover Haggadah read: "My father was a wandering Aramean..." Passover challenges us to help those who still wander from home to home. That's why we are working on a project to help children in foster care.

Hope to see many of you at our Purim service at 7 p.m. March 24. Be prepared to have fun!!!