Rabbi’s message for October 13th
Based off of Sermon from October 9, 2026 in Truckee, CA
After the fullness of Tishrei—the reflection of Rosh HaShanah, the repair work of Yom Kippur, the joy of Sukkot and Simchat Torah—the quiet of Cheshvan can feel almost surprising. No once-a-year holy days fill our calendars. We return to the familiar rhythms of work, school, Shabbat candles, braided bread, and meals around shared tables.
This quieter month offers us something precious: time to practice what we hoped to become during the High Holy Days.
As we began our Torah cycle again this past Shabbat, we encountered Cain and Abel, two brothers struggling to find their way in a world still new. One cultivated grain; the other tended sheep. Each brought an offering to God. When God attended to Abel’s offering and not to Cain’s, Cain became distressed. Before the story turns to violence, God asks Cain why he is distressed and why his face has fallen (Genesis 4:6). There is a moment here worth lingering over: Cain is hurting. God notices. A question enters the space between his feeling and what he will do next.
What might have become possible in that space?
Later rabbis imagined an argument between the brothers. Having divided the world between them, one claimed the land and the other the movable possessions. Each then made demands that left the other no room to exist: You cannot stand on my land. You cannot wear what belongs to me (Bereshit Rabbah 22:7).
An entire world was available, yet they could not find a way to share it.
Generations later, our tradition developed a practice for making room amid disagreement: machloket l’shem shamayim, disagreement for the sake of Heaven. Such debate asks us to pursue understanding and truth while remaining responsible for how we treat one another.
The Talmud offers a compelling example in the schools of Hillel and Shammai. Both schools’ teachings receive divine affirmation, yet the ruling follows Hillel’s school because its students approached disagreement with patience and humility. They studied both positions and presented Shammai’s teachings before their own (Eruvin 13b).
Imagine bringing that practice to our next difficult conversation.
Often, while another person is speaking, we are already preparing our response. A phrase catches our attention, and off we go: assembling evidence, recalling a counterexample, composing an exceptionally persuasive sentence. Meanwhile, the other person is still talking. We left the conversation three sentences ago to attend a small strategy meeting inside our own heads.
We can practice returning. “What brought you to that understanding?” we might ask. Or, “Let me see if I understand,” before offering back what we heard.
As Esther Perel states in her Conflict to Communication course: Listening is not agreement. But it does give us a fuller understanding of what we are being asked to consider. Of course, sometimes, we struggle with perfect, unemotional, non-judgemental listening. Our shoulders tighten and our thoughts speed up before we can manage any of this. In those moments, we might return to God’s question to Cain: What is happening within me? Then we can give ourselves permission to pause: “This matters to me, and I want to respond carefully.” And sometimes careful listening requires a boundary: “I’m willing to discuss this, but I need us to stop making personal remarks.” Sometimes it requires repair: “I answered before I understood you. Let me try again.”
These modest sentences carry considerable holiness.
The prophet Zechariah asks us to love truth and peace (8:19). Cheshvan gives us regular, ordinary places to practice that aspiration: the kitchen, the car ride, the meeting, the Shabbat table. We can care about the accuracy of our words and the dignity of the people who hear them. We can make room for another voice, an honest objection, a question, a pause.
The spiritual work of the High Holy Days continues in these small, steady choices. May this quieter month help us grow into people who hold conviction with compassion, who love truth and peace.
Shavua Tov.
Rabbi Lauren Ben-Shoshan
