All the usual clichés applied to this 2003 Red Sox team in the post-season. Emotional roller-coaster. Gut-wrenching loss. Heartbreak. In the seventh game of the ALCS series, we experienced nervous apprehension, eager anticipation, unmitigated joy, dread, shock and disbelief, dizzying anger, desperate hope and crushing disappointment. We experienced all of that - an entire Red Sox Nation, bound together by a sense of imminent redemption.

And for that confident hope, I am grateful. In Jewish tradition, we say that Shabbat offers us a foretaste of the world to come. By observing one day a week in an atmosphere of peace and calm, we renew our belief in the potential for a world that is whole and redeemed. And though we may not reach redemption itself, we can return to the world with a sense that it is within reach.

The Red Sox gave us that foretaste of redemption. Here it is, the 17th of October, and the baseball season has extended well into leaf-peeping season. Our high holy days prayers were buoyed by the summer bubble of peanuts and crackerjacks. The joyous Sukkot season was accompanied by joy in Mudville. We witnessed a real team of players, men who enjoyed being together and enjoyed playing the game, without the burden of the past or fear of the future. We were inspired, once again, to believe.

But redemption continues to elude us. This is not, it seems, the year.Despite all of our best efforts, despite the faithful invocations of Cowboy Upand Go Sox,despite our personal rituals of wearing Red Sox jerseys, holding bobble-head dolls, lighting red candles, shouting at the pitcher, the batter, the manager, we could not bring the Moshiach.

We could not do it, because it was not ours to control. Whether we are the fans of the winners or the losers, we are not responsible for what happens on the field. This is the difference between baseball and life, because in baseball we can only be spectators. In life, as unpredictable and uncertain as it is, we can do more than pray or prophesize.

And so it is time to return to our lives. It is time to remember that we have other joys to celebrate, other responsibilities to bear, and other arenas in which we have some measure of control--or not. Baseball offers a wistful escape from all that is broken and painful in our world, but it cannot replace the joys of coming together for a bar mitzvah or a wedding, recovering from serious illness, witnessing the miracles of our children and grandchildren as they grow and change, or even sharing a baseball game together as a family.

On Simchat Torah night, our main purpose is to rejoice. We draw protective circles around our congregation, binding ourselves to one another as a community. I want to thank the Yankee fans, in advance, for not gloating. And if you do see a Yankee fan rejoicing, know that there is more to life that we share and that brings us more joy than all the World Series wins in the world, or even one World Series win. There may not be joy in Mudville tonight, as there is no joy in many parts of our tattered world, but somehow, we scrape up the courage and the strength to find joy where we can.