The Home We Build
By Jonathan Shaw
Sukkot is a time when we build a temporary shelter. When we recall what followed our ancestors’ exodus from Egypt, we remember a people who traveled through the desert for many years without a settled place of their own. Even so, they prayed, celebrated and remained connected to God. The Ark of the Covenant traveled with them, and God’ s presence accompanied them. The absence of a home did not diminish their faith; their prayers were heard throughout their journey.
In many ways, Temple Kol Ami, too, creates Jewish life within temporary walls. We worship in a shared space. For some, it already feels like home. For others, something may still feel absent because the building is not ours alone. Yet perhaps Sukkot offers another way to understand our circumstances. A sukkah derives its Jewish character not from its appearance or possession, but because of what we bring into it, what we create within it and what it ultimately comes to represent.
During our ancestors’ years in the wilderness, their Judaism grew stronger. Why should the same not be true for us today? Jewish belonging is not secured by property or measured by the size of a budget. Buildings and
For Once, They’ re Accusing Us of Something True
By Rabbi Chanoch Oppenheim
Editor’ s note: The Charlotte Jewish News asked Rabbi Oppenheim to reflect on a question that has occupied many in the Jewish community: Three years after Oct. 7, what has changed, and what has remained the same?
For thousands of years, antisemites have spread blatant falsehoods about Jews. We poisoned the wells. We used the blood of Christian children to bake our matzah. We killed Jesus. We controlled banks as well as governments and plotted world domination. Stalin accused Jewish doctors of conspiring to murder Soviet leaders. The Nazis declared us an inferior and dangerous race. The accusations changed with the centuries, yet they all shared one thing in common: they were all lies.
Three years after Oct. 7, something has changed. Increasingly, the charge being leveled at Jews is different: We are Zionists. We do believe the Jewish people have a right to live in our ancestral land as a nation. For centuries, Jews confronted claims that were blatant lies. This time, however, we don’ t answer,“ That’ s a lie.” We answer,“ Yes, we do.” It’ s true that we have the right to
the Land of Israel.
This doesn’ t mean every decision made by an Israeli government is correct, nor does it mean Palestinians don’ t matter or that their suffering should not concern us. But beneath all the debates over governments, borders and policies sits a more fundamental question: Do the Jewish people have a right to a homeland in the Land of Israel?
Over the past three years, many have been startled by how controversial that question has become.“ From the river to the sea” is now chanted across college campuses, at demonstrations and on social media. Some people debate what every person chanting those words intends, but there’ s no ambiguity in the slogan because it raises a simple question: If Palestine is to extend from the Jordan River to the Mediterranean Sea, where exactly is the Jewish state supposed to be?
For decades, the debate centered on what Israel should do. Increasingly, the question is whether Israel should exist at all. That shift has prompted many Jews to consider something we do not always articulate: Why does Israel matter to Judaism in the first place?
Our relationship with the Land did not begin in 1948 nor with modern Zionism. For thousands of years, Jews faced Jerusalem in prayer, expressing a daily longing to return. At our weddings, we broke a glass and remembered Jerusalem.
At the conclusion of Yom Kippur and the Passover Seder, Jews scattered around the world have declared,“ Next year in Jerusalem.” Israel was never just a place where Jews hoped to find safety. It was the place they envisioned as home. The world’ s religions have holy sites; the Jewish people have a homeland.
Rabbi Yaakov Weinberg, OBM, former dean of Ner Israel Rabbinical College, once commented on the Jewish mission to be“ a light unto the nations.” We tend to understand that mission in terms of individual Jews: By living honorably and bringing Jewish values wherever we happen to be, we fulfill it. Although we have brought much light to the world in the places we have lived, the ultimate vision was that the Jewish people were meant to become a light to the nations as a nation, living in our own land.
The biblical story of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba illustrates this principle. She travels to Jerusalem and encounters
The Charlotte Jewish News- October 2026- Page 29
not merely the wisdom of one remarkable Jewish man, but a functioning Jewish society. She sees what a nation built around G-d’ s wisdom can look like.
That is a far more ambitious Jewish mission. Israel gives the Jewish people an opportunity we did not have during two thousand years of exile; we are meant to bring Jewish values into the life of an entire society.
How does a Jewish country care for the vulnerable, administer justice, conduct war, welcome immigrants and balance ancient values with modern life? Israel does not always get those questions right but neither do we as individuals. Having a mission does not mean perfectly fulfilling it, it means knowing what we are trying to become.
Perhaps that is also why what is happening in America feels so different now. Israel has been part of American political debate for decades, but today’ s attitudes toward Zionism itself can become a feature of campaigns in America’ s largest city, entering our entertainment and cultural spaces. Jewish students, meanwhile, are being asked not simply what they think about a particular Israeli government, but to disavow Zionism itself.
financial resources can support Jewish life, but they do not give it character. A congregation takes shape through the people who enter, the families who gather and the children who learn. The structure itself is not the congregation. We are.
Temple Kol Ami is part of a relatively small Jewish community, where relationships hold particular weight. Our size need not be viewed as a weakness. It is in fact one of our greatest assets, creating opportunities to deepen our relationships, support one another and grow. There is room among us for different congregations, varied traditions and diverse expressions of Jewish life. Our strength lies not in minimizing those differences, but in finding common purpose across them.
Once, our ancestors stood and prayed together as they charged a path forward. In time, they found a place to put down roots. One day, Temple Kol Ami will, too. Until then, our prayers, traditions, families and shared Jewish identities will continue to transform every setting in which we worship. We define the space. It does not define us.
Perhaps the interplay between what is transient and what endures is among the greatest lessons Sukkot offers. A sukkah does not last, but the relationships formed and memories carried forward continue to bind us long after it is dismantled. Most important, these valuable experiences teach us what will truly matter when the time comes to build a sanctuary that reflects who we are.
Right now, we must continue showing up for one another and welcoming our neighbors. There is always room for one more person at the table. This Sukkot, may we remember that what makes a home is not its actual walls, but the people who gather within them.
Temple Kol Ami is a Reform Jewish congregation formed in the spring of 2010 to answer the needs of a growing and diverse Jewish community in the greater York County area. We are a warm, caring and egalitarian community, cherishing tradition while yearning for expression in modernity. To learn more, email yorksynagogue @ gmail. com or visit templekolamisc. org.
For centuries, the world has repeatedly told Jews,“ you don’ t belong here.” We were expelled, confined to ghettos and treated as perpetual outsiders. Now, after the Jewish people have returned to the one land with which we have maintained an unbroken connection throughout those centuries, we increasingly hear,“ You don’ t belong there either.” Perhaps the question is not only how we answer those who say it, but whether we ourselves still understand why we belong there.
There is something almost ironic about this newest accusation against us. After centuries of being accused of what we were not, we are increasingly being challenged to defend something we actually are: a people stubbornly, inexplicably and eternally connected to a tiny piece of land. This time we don’ t respond with an apology or defense, we use it as an opportunity to remember who we are and what we stand for.