Tonight, the congregation I serve is celebrating the thirteenth anniversary of the dedication of its Temple building. We're calling it the Temple's "bar mitzvah." A bit gimmicky? Perhaps. Buildings, of course, cannot accept the obligation of doing mitzvot—or read from Torah, for that matter. But I do believe that, done with the right intention, such a celebration represents the best within Jewish tradition.

Anyone who has ever been through the process of building a new synagogue building (I have, but not at my present congregation) knows what a labor of love it is, and knows how many people need to contribute their love, labor and treasure to make it happen. When a group of people come together to create a new spiritual home, they are doing much more than putting up walls and a roof. They are making an existential statement that says, "We are Jews who are proud to be here. Each of us dedicates a bit of ourselves to something that will last and have an impact far beyond ourselves. We have faith in the power of community." It is a powerful statement about our communal identity, our attachment to the past, our deepest desires for the present, and our profoundest hopes for the future.

Thirteen years ago, that kind of a statement resounded loud and clear from a small group of Jewish families in and around Stuart, Florida. They were no longer content to be a scattered, loosely connected, and homeless community. They wanted to plant a tree in the ground that would grow, and it did.