No Beautiful Day in This Neighborhood By Hank Silverberg I am writing this on Sunday morning in the social hall at my temple. There is a group of students nearby practicing for their B’Nai Mitzvah. It is a cold fall day with rain in the forecast, and two Stafford County, Virginia, Sheriff’s deputies are sitting in their patrol cars in the parking lot. On the other side of the wall, in the sanctuary, sits a Torah scroll that was rescued from the city of Nymburk, in what was once Czechoslovakia, during the Holocaust. It has found a safe place at this temple, which is a place where I too feel at home while my wife helps run the congregation kitchen. My four-year-old grandson is in nearby classroom learning the Hebrew alphabet, and his younger brother is crawling on the floor near his mother's ever-watchful eyes. It is 10 a.m. on Sunday when millions of Americans are at church or temple in what has been labeled as the most segregated hour in America. Yet I must question wha