Rabbi Stiefel's Monthly Article

Rabbi Sharon Stiefel

Current March 2026

Our Neighbors

We are proud to be Minnesotans.

Proud that Minneapolis and its residents were nominated for the 2026 Nobel Peace Prize. Proud of neighbors who show up for one another. Proud of communities that stand up to ICE and refuse to let fear define who we are. In a time of anxiety and rising authoritarianism, Minnesota has offered something powerful: a model of neighborliness rooted not in slogans, but in action.

The word neighbor carries deep resonance in Judaism.

In Hebrew, a neighbor is a shachen. A neighborhood is a shechuna. Both come from the root shin–kof–nun, meaning to dwell. A neighbor is not merely someone who lives nearby; a neighbor is one with whom we share dwelling space. The root suggests proximity, intimacy, and life lived together.

You may recognize that this same root forms one of our names for God: Shechinah — the indwelling Divine Presence. The Shechinah is not distant or abstract. The Shechinah dwells among us. Similarly, the Mishkan, described in the Torah as the portable Tabernacle our ancestors built in the wilderness, shares that same root. It was the dwelling place of God in the midst of the people.

To dwell together is holy work.

When we speak of neighbors, we are not speaking only of geography. We are speaking of presence. Of showing up. Of building spaces where holiness can reside because trust and care has been cultivated.

Recently, there has been much conversation, here in Minnesota and beyond, about the role of neighbors in resisting authoritarianism. One article I highly recommend is Garrett Bucks’ “Seven Reasons Why Hosting a Silly Little Potluck (or Game Night, or Porch Hang, or Book Club, or Group Hike) Is Essential to Defeating Fascism.” Bucks argues that in the face of rising threats, the most urgent action is not a dramatic, heroic gesture. It is something quieter and more powerful: intentionally building local community ties. Potlucks. Mutual aid. Porch conversations. Shared meals.

Oppressive regimes thrive on isolation. They depend on fear and fragmentation. But networks of trust built through everyday connection create resilience. When we know one another, when we care for one another, we are capable of rapid and courageous collective action.

Jewish history teaches us this lesson repeatedly. We survived not because we were powerful, but because we were connected.

I know that Mayim Rabim is already one such network of care to those within our congregation. And yet, the call of this moment is to go even deeper. Not only are we close to one another within the Mayim Rabim community, we must also cultivate closeness with those who live around us. If we have not already, we need to introduce ourselves to neighbors, help one another shovel snow, show up at neighborhood gatherings, organize a book group or a block party. Build the web stronger and wider.

Because when we dwell together, when we create a shechuna, the Shechinah dwells among us.

And when Divine Presence dwells among neighbors bound by care and courage, no force of fear can ultimately prevail. Together, we show up for those in need, who are living in fear of detention or deportation. We make our collective voices heard by protesting injustice, patrolling neighborhoods, packing and delivering groceries, bearing witness at immigration courts and giving tzedakah. 

This is not abstract. This is real. This is sacred. We hold our neighbors—those in need and those working together to help them --close.

And in doing so, we make room for holiness.