When the World Plays Tricks, Torah Offers Treats

Shabbat Lech L’cha · Halloween Weekend · Dodgers in the World Series – 10/31/25

Three stories – one sacred, one playful, one unfolding under stadium lights – converge this Shabbat. The Torah says Lech L’cha, “Go forth.” The children don Halloween costumes and wander into the dark. And the Dodgers, once again, walk onto the grand stage of October hope.

Three stories of courage, of stepping into uncertainty, of believing that something beautiful might still unfold. Each asks the same question in a different language: When life calls us to risk, will we have the courage to step forward?

Baseball: Failure Wrapped in Faith

Let’s start with baseball. Because anyone who loves this game knows the ache and the awe of waiting. You can do everything right – train, plan, pray – and still you must face the mystery of what happens next. Baseball is a game of failure wrapped in faith. Even the best hitters – those with a batting average above .350 – miss most of the time, yet they return to the plate believing the next pitch could change everything. Because Baseball is covenantal; you commit to the game before you know the outcome. You promise to keep playing, even when you don’t control the ending.

That’s the rhythm of the spiritual life, too, isn’t it?! You keep showing up. You keep swinging. You stay in covenant with hope. Holiness, like baseball, happens not in perfection but in persistence; not in certainty, but in showing up again. Every pitch is possibility. Every inning is hope reborn.

Halloween: Courage on Front Porches

And where faith shows up in ballparks, courage shows up on front porches. As we gather right now in shul, children walk their neighborhoods on Halloween, a night of masks and make-believe, of tricks and treats. Children knock on doors, unsure what they’ll find: sometimes laughter, sometimes surprise (like a huge chocolate bar), sometimes things that make them afraid.

We smile at how creatively they costume themselves, and we know that adults wear masks and costumes too: smiles that hide exhaustion, confidence that conceals doubt, humor that shields heartbreak.

Maybe we wear masks because the world so often rewards pretending more than truth. Such that sometimes the most sacred act is to take off the disguise and say: “This is me…uncertain, imperfect, still seeking blessing.”

The Hidden Holy One’s Invitation

That’s the essence of Lech L’cha: the Hidden Holy One’s invitation to step into the unknown and trust that authenticity itself can be holy. And we sometimes do take off the mask, and we see what’s really out there.

We live in a world that plays tricks on us: It tells us that success equals worth; that youth lasts forever; that if we just plan carefully enough, we can keep chaos at bay. It convinces us that

strength means never needing help; that love will protect us from all pain; that fear is simply wisdom in disguise.

But fear’s real costume can be paralysis, the quiet voice that says, “Don’t risk. Don’t reach. Don’t reveal.” Ignore the call; don’t venture forth.

And sometimes we play along. We pretend we’re fine, convince ourselves we can manage alone, forgetting that faith begins the moment we admit we can’t.

Even our Biblical ancestor Abram must have felt that tension. The Zohar, the central book of Jewish mystical Kabbalah, teaches that when God said to Abram, Lech L’cha, what did Abram do first? He turned to his wife Sarai, so that together they could decide whether to answer the call. The mystics say that in that shared “yes” – “Yes, we will go forth!” – the Divine Presence rested between them, turning their partnership into holiness itself.

Faith, the mystics teach us, is not a solo act. It’s the shared courage to walk toward blessing, a movement from aloneness to oneness.

When the World plays tricks, Torah offers treats

So, the antidote to all those tricks – the fear, the hiding, the hesitation – comes, as it so often does, from Torah itself. When the world plays tricks, Torah offers treats. Not the kind wrapped in foil, but the kind that wrap the soul in strength: Shabbat – sacred rest in a restless world. Kehillah (community) – the belonging that reminds us we’re never alone. B’rachah (blessing) – gratitude that turns the ordinary into the holy. Torah itself – wisdom for walking when the map disappears.

These are the treats that don’t melt, they deepen: like the taste of challah on a tired Friday night, and like the arms that hold you when words run out. Torah’s treats don’t just sweeten life; they sustain it.

And sometimes, Torah’s treats aren’t found in words or rituals at all, but in people who live them.

"I’ll walk with you"

Earlier tonight, we blessed Matthew Silverstone and Melissa Schoenfeld at their aufruf. They, too, together heard that quiet call, and answered as one. Like Abram and Sarai, they are choosing covenant. Choosing to go forth, not alone, but together. They remind us that love, like faith, begins with risk and ripens into blessing. The sweetest treat of all, they are learning, is finding someone who says, I’ll walk with you.

Their journey reminds us that each of us, too, stands somewhere on the edge of our own Lech L’cha, about to go forth, not knowing where it will lead. How will we answer that call?

So tonight, as the Dodgers chase glory, as children collect candy, as Abram and Sarai step forward, and as Matthew and Melissa walk hand in hand, we too are invited to go forth.

The world will keep playing its tricks – fear, fatigue, distraction, doubt. But Torah will keep handing out its treats – connection, courage, gratitude, and love. May we go forth with hearts open, souls steady, faith resilient, and hope renewed, trusting that the sweetest blessings still wait to be revealed.

it's Not Grand Heroism

And maybe that’s the real meaning of Lech L’cha: to keep showing up, even when we don’t know what’s next, and to trust that faith itself will lead us toward blessing. What Lech L’cha asks of us isn’t grand heroism. It’s the quiet faithfulness of showing up to the people who need us, to the prayers that center us, and to the world still waiting for our courage.

Maybe that’s how we move from Shabbat into Sunday – by carrying its steadiness into the week ahead, by answering the call Lech L’cha again and again, and by stepping forth toward the promise that sweetness and blessing still abide.

Ken Yehi Ratzon. May it be God’s will.

Shabbat Shalom. Mazal Tov. And Go Dodgers!

---

Rabbi's Note: What does a rabbi preach about on Shabbat when four major moments converge at services: the Torah portion Lech L’cha (in which Abram is called by God to journey forth to an unknown place), the American holiday of Halloween, the sixth game of the World Series (in which the Dodgers must win to stay in the series), and the aufruf of a young man who grew up at the synagogue? Here’s how I played it! (BTW, Dodgers won that night.)