Friends,

This week, I had the honor of attending the Virginia Center for Inclusive Communities' Board & Chapter Summit, celebrating a remarkable milestone: 90 years of pursuing a bold dream of communities that are welcoming, respectful and fair to all. From its origins as the National Conference of Christians and Jews, to its evolution as a leading force in the Commonwealth for belonging in our schools and workplaces, VCIC has been a steadfast partner to our Jewish Peninsula.

The summit brought together leaders grappling with a sobering reality: inclusion work today faces unprecedented challenges. We explored a question that resonates far beyond organizational strategy: How do we respond when our deepest values are under attack? When do we push back? When do we step back? When do we finesse our way through seemingly impossible terrain?

As I sat with these questions, I found myself thinking about Jacob.

In this week's Torah portion, we encounter our ancestor alone in the darkness, wrestling through the night with a mysterious figure: an angel, a man, perhaps even a manifestation of his own fears. The struggle is real. The struggle is physical. And when dawn breaks, Jacob emerges transformed but limping, wounded but victorious. His name becomes Israel, meaning "the one who struggles with God."

And then, something curious: we are commanded never to eat the sciatic nerve. Why this specific prohibition?

Why memorialize Jacob's injury in our dietary laws for all generations?

The 19th century Russian Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin offers an insight. The sciatic nerve runs from hip to knee. It is the nerve of movement, enabling us to walk forward and backward, to advance and retreat. In prohibiting its consumption, the Torah isn't simply commemorating Jacob's wound. It's issuing a warning about our most human temptation: paralysis.

When we face conflict, whether wrestling with our own shortcomings, navigating family tensions, standing up for justice in our community, or confronting hatred, the easiest choice is often to freeze. To stay stationary. To convince ourselves that inaction is somehow neutral, that silence is safe, that standing still preserves us.

But the prohibition of the sciatic nerve teaches us otherwise. To claim our identity as Jacob's descendants means accepting that movement is not optional. Growth requires struggle. Justice demands engagement. Love sometimes means limping forward despite the pain.

This is what I witnessed at VCIC this week: an organization refusing to be paralyzed. Yes, the challenges are real: budget cuts, political headwinds, pushback against inclusion work. But rather than freeze, they are adapting, innovating and doubling down on their mission. They understand that the work of creating belonging cannot wait for easier times.

And our Jewish community will walk alongside them, as we always have.

I'm proud to share that the UJCVP Endowment has begun working with fund holders to launch a fund for VCIC's rapid response to incidents of antisemitism and bias, ensuring that Peninsula schools can access critical anti-hate and inclusion training, even when budget constraints threaten to freeze progress. We know how important their work is in our schools, especially with the rise of antisemitism. VCIC is often my first call when an incident of antisemitism arises in our region, and we have been blessed with their thoughtful and serious attention every time. Now is the time for more schools to have access to these resources, not less.

Jacob limped away from his wrestling match, but he walked away transformed. His wound became a sacred reminder for all his descendants: staying still is not an option. Our calling is to engage, to struggle and to move forward.

Shabbat Shalom,
Eric Maurer
CEO
emaurer@jewishpeninsula.org