Chanukah is ending but not without kindling in us what we need to remember about being Jewish. Lighting the menorah began in history as an act of courage and renewal following the defeat of the Syrian Greeks by the Hasmoneans. Outnumbered, Judah Maccabee and his small band of soldiers were victorious. They recovered their Jewish sacred space and prepared it for worship, again. Since then, we’ve been outnumbered many more times. But it’s not our synagogues that we rushed to restore. After the destruction of the 2nd Temple in 70CE by the Romans, rabbinic Judaism reshaped our Jewish future. Unlike the Temple, the synagogue was not the most important place in the Jewish community. The synagogue, Greek for “gathering place,” was a house of worship, study, and community. The most important place in the Jewish community would be and continues to be the Jewish home. I’ll repeat myself and say, again, “If Judaism isn’t happening at home, then it isn’t happening.”

In Israel, in all the pictures of the kibbutzim that were destroyed on October 7th, we saw pictures of homes and schools that were destroyed, burned, and gutted. We saw some pictures of sacred items, like a singed and dented menorah. But we didn’t see the ruins of a synagogue that anybody was rushing to restore. Why not? In Judaism, the building, often simple and unadorned, is a place that is made sacred, not by word or blessing, but by deeds. By comparison, the church, especially a Catholic church, is believed to be heaven on earth. The church takes on a sacred quality that infuses the entire space. But the most important place in the Jewish community is the Jewish home.

Pictures of homes in southern Israel that were destroyed on October 7th, are not just lost shelters and dwelling places; they represent the loss of active Jewish life. Inside those homes, families observed Shabbat, did mitzvot for their neighbors on the kibbutz, and they lived by Jewish norms that united them as a people. If they prayed on Shabbat or holidays, they probably gathered in a community room where the Torah was placed on a table, and a local rabbi or service leader facilitated the service, read from Torah, and taught a lesson. But the meal, Sabbath rest, and the mitzvot that filled their lives happened at home.

When all the hostages are returned to Israel, and the war ends, families will want to choose life at home, again. Sadly, they’ll find only scars left behind and little else, not even a cruse of Chanukah oil. But they will find a generous community that wants them to begin anew with familiar and comfortable surroundings. It reminds me of the day when, in 1997, Rabbi Karff z”l and Joan’s z”l home was struck by lightning and burned to the ground. Joan told me that she was making tea in the kitchen when lightning struck the house and smoke came through the electric outlets. It was the beginning of the unimaginable for them. After the crisis and they were settled into a new home, Lisa and I paid a visit to Sam and Joan. We brought with us a teapot, special tea, and hopes that Joan might pick up where she left off in the kitchen that day, presumably making a cup of tea for a quiet afternoon. That’s my hope for the residents of the kibbutzim that were attacked by terrorists. Not everything can or will be restored, but we’ll learn what they need, and we’ll do our best to help them choose life without fear and without wanting for anything they deserve.

As Chanukah ends and Shabbat begins, let’s remember the theme of Chanukah, to be brave and courageous as we bring light and hope to dispel the darkness.

L’Shalom,