Friday, 17 June 2016

In the Aftermath of Murder - Orlando and Jo Cox MP

An awful week which began, late for me post-Shavuot, with news from Orlando limps to a conclusion with news of the murder of Jo Cox MP.

I condemn the loss of life. Regarding Orlando there is something particularly despicable the way gay people were targeted for their sexuality. In Yorkshire the attack on a representative of the democracy we all take so much for granted is an attack on the nature of our society. But this telescoping misses the personal devastation for loved ones, parents, partners and children. I offer prayers of comfort to all who mourn.

I took the opportunity to watch Jo Cox’s maiden speech, given so recently. She observed her constituency was enriched by immigrants, ‘be they Irish Catholics or Muslims from Indian Gujarat or Pakistan,’ and went on to insist that ‘while we celebrate our diversity, we are far more united and have far more in common than that which divides us.’ I was reminded of Prime Minister Bibi Netanyahu’s comments in the aftermath of the Orlando attack. Netanyahu remarked on the wickedness of attacking people for their sexuality and went on to say the shooting ‘wasn't merely an attack on the LGBT community. It was an attack on all of us, on our common values of freedom and diversity and choice.’

Particularly if reports of a ‘British First’ inspiration behind the attack on Jo Cox are to be believed, both these attacks seem rooted in an inability to tolerate difference and variety. As Jews, members of a people, who have represented difference, in so many ways, over so many years and in so many societies, we are called upon, yet again, to stand up for the values of diversity. To be a Jew is to believe in the absolute value of human life not despite our differences but precisely because of them. Unstable times tempt us to believe we should retreat into ghettos where we pretend it is possible to surround ourselves only with those who see the world precisely as we do. We all, I am sure, feel this temptation - even if, thankfully, we don’t respond to this temptation murderously. But the temptation needs to be resisted. It is neither holy, nor sustainable nor, in the context of a Jewish history that teaches otherwise, in our own best interests.
May the memories of those who have been murdered be for a blessing,
Shabbat shalom,

Rabbi Jeremy

Thursday, 9 June 2016

A Three Part Guide to Jewish Life - Part Three - Otherness

[Apols this is a holding post - I'm doing a cut back version of this
please ignore, or come back in a couple of days]

A Three Part Guide to Jewish Life - Part Two - Love

A Three Part Guide to Jewish Life - Part Two - Love
Last week I wrote about belief. You can find that article at This week I want to connect that analysis to elements of Jewish observance such as Shabbat and Kashrut. The connection is a connection of love.

We are, of course, commanded to love both God (that obligation comes from the Shema) and our fellow (a command Rabbi Akiva considered the single principle underpinning the entire Torah). At first these obligations seem disparate. God is the power beyond all particularity and form, whereas humans are weak and distinct. But they are connected by the single most radical idea in Judaism - the notion that humanity is created btzelem elohim - in the image of God. The Etz Hayim Chumash points out that all kinds of Ancient Near East traditions considered the King divine, but the Torah goes far further insisting all humanity contains divinity. Each of us; men, women, the powerful and the powerless... contain this spark. It's a notion powerful enough to justify human rights, democracy, or frankly any liberation movement you care to name.

Certainly taking these twin obligations as one it becomes impossible to claim to love God while treating any human poorly. The reverse is equally true. If you place the love of all humanity at the heart of your every action you embody what it truly means to love God. Certainly the best advice for anyone unsure about belief is don't worry so much, concentrate on loving your fellow. The magic of the staggeringly profound nature of our existence may seep in slowly, but don’t worry about theology, just get on with loving.

So what does it mean to be loving? Provocatively the Torah doesn’t understand love as an emotion. Rather love means action. In Talmud Sotah (14b) the Rabbis struggle with how to fulfill the Biblical obligation to 'walk in way of God,' - how to behave in a godly manner. They come up with a list of Divine accomplishments that are most remarkable for their being least remarkable. Just as God visits Abraham as he recovers from circumcision, so we are called upon to visit the sick, and so on. Nowhere are we called to be anything other than Menschen - humans whose humanity is embodied in acts of kindness.

Lovers are not slapdash, rough or approximate. And so too in our relationship with God. If we love God it matters whether there are 49 poles in the sanctuary, or fifty. It matters whether one eats a cheeseburger or remembers to call one's mother Shabbat eve. And so we arrive at the heart of the entire system of Jewish do-s and don't-s. It's an attempt to articulate how to be a lover.

Should we say a blessing before we eat food? Of course we should. This is how we develop the spiritual discipline that allows us to understand our place on this planet. Then the pursuit of detail follows; what should we say before we eat this or that, what should we say after? These questions, and thousands like them, drive rabbinic Judaism - how do we balance competing claims of different refractions of different divine images? How we should treat poshtei yad - beggars on the street? What if they might spend the money on booze, their dog or their gang master? Thankfully we have a system of working these issues through - it's called Halachah. Sometimes, admittedly, the pursuit of detail can blind. Sometimes we can lose the bigger picture - but the bigger picture is acting in a loving way.

Even areas of Halachic that seem distant from this idea of love connect. Shatnetz - thou shall not mix wool and linen - is superficially unlovely. But it is part of a series of obligations to hold different elements of creation differently. Don't eat meat and milk together, don't yoke an ox and a mule together etc. These are attempts to have us understand everything is not the same. That clothing, food and the like are not merely our playthings, they define our relationship with the world. If we treat clothing purely as something for us to use and are blind to the difference between clothing that comes from plants and clothing that comes from animals, how are we supposed to care about the treatment of animals, or the wages paid to cotton pickers in Ukraine, or the working conditions of garment manufacturers in some awful factory that collapses under the weight of human greed - ours as much as the manufacturers? Mitzvot are calls to become observant. As we observe it we become more observant, and the more we see, the more we understand, the more capable we become of acting in a loving way.

We don't need to re-invent the entire interplay of morality and ethics and compassion with our every purchase and every bite. Instead we can observe Shabbat, keep Kosher, even wear non-Shatnatz clothing and use these pathways of love to become ever more loving.

That’s the Jewish legal system; a system of walking in the path of the Divine, recognising the image of God in all humanity and trying to do the right thing to do in the ever more complex web of relationships, pulls and tugs that make up our existence.

A Three Part Guide to Jewish Life - Part One - Belief

This is what I don't mean by belief. There is now evidence gravity waves exist. Physicists are relieved, they no longer have to believe, they now have evidence. In science beliefs are provisional theories which exist only to be superseded by data. That's fine, but nothing to do with belief as I understand it.

'What is finite to the understanding,' said the German philosopher of religion, Ludwig Feuerbach, 'is nothing to the heart.' Belief is the realm of that infinite to the understanding. It’s not a provisional theory, it’s a spiritual, emotional reality which doesn’t respond to laboratory testing.

There is something wilful about this kind of belief. One has to open one's heart to the possibility of meaning in places beyond science. One has to believe, as it were, in the possibility of belief; in a realm which makes calls on who I am and how I should live.

At the opening of the Mishneh Torah, Rambam expressed this belief as follows; The base of belief and the pillar of wisdom is to know that there is a First Cause which is the causation of all causation from heaven to earth and everything in between. (Yesodei HaTorah 1:1)

When Rambam built all Jewish life from a belief statement it was a radical departure for Judaism. The Torah never explicitly commands to belief, but Rambam is surely right; without some reference to something, 'beyond,' Judaism collapses into a grab-bag of cultural peculiarities. But if there is something beyond humanity, beyond calculation then there might be a purpose to our existence as humans and as Jews.

In the rabbinic imagination Abraham, rejects the nonsense idolatrous world of his childhood and embarks on a search. Abraham wandered from place to place when he saw a bira doleket - a castle in flames. He wondered: "Is it possible that the palace has no owner?" The owner of the palace looked out and said, "I am the owner of the palace." So Abraham our father said, "Is it possible that the world lacks a ruler?" G‑d looked out and said to him, "I am the ruler, the Sovereign of the Universe." (Bereishit Rabba 39:1).

The experience of wondering about the purpose of existence allows for an encounter with that purpose. Belief arises from a quest; why we are here, who shall we be? Belief provides a framework for understanding our lives as something other than a decaying atomic dust.

Of course, to the atheist, we are just this collection of meaningless dust. But my call is that we should open our heart to the other possibility. This is a little circular - in order to find meaning we need to will ourselves to believe that there is meaning. But that doesn't worry me. If I live my life as if there is a purpose I might stumble on that purpose. If I live my life as if there is no purpose, I won't. I (perhaps like Pascal) will take that gamble. I'm also a fan of people who live their lives with this kind of belief. The religious fundamentalists scare me and nihilists, too often, strike me as selfish, boring even.

Belief has gone out of fashion these past years, atheists are winning the PR battle, but let me share two exercises to help us feel easier with this notion of belief.

The first is borrowed from the writings of Abraham Joshua Heschel, probably my most significant Jewish teacher. We should, wrote Heschel;

live life in radical amazement. ....get up in the morning and look at the world in a way that takes nothing for granted. Everything is phenomenal; everything is incredible; never treat life casually. To be spiritual is to be amazed.

Radical amazement is the single key to unlock a life infused by belief. To live life amazed is not a retreat into ignorance, in fact quite the reverse. The more I understand about evolution or quantum physics the more I am amazed at the beauty of the world.

The more we develop a sense of finding humdrum life remarkable and miraculous - breath, smiles, the ability to put one foot in front of the other - the more we can inculcate a willingness to find belief and meaning. Developing a sense of radical amazement in our lives also, I believe, makes it easier for us to complete the next spiritual exercise.

Develop the practice of gratitude

In so many ways gratitude is integral to a Jewish existence. The very Hebrew term for Jew - Yehudi - comes from the same root as the word for gratitude. We should say thank you more often, place ourselves in a position of grace - how much we receive. Heschel again, 'The cure for the soul begins with a sense of embarrassment.' How can we be worthy of our lives? The more we pause to show our gratitude the more we open to the possibilities of feeling in our souls that which is beyond scientific measurement, that which is beyond the rational.

In next week’s reflection I will attempt to join the dots between this kind of belief and the doctrines of Jewish day-to-day existence.

Friday, 3 June 2016

Wherever You Go I Go

This time next week we will be on the cusp of Shavuot. The exodus, begun at Pesach, reaches the moment of revelation. But perhaps the most glorious Biblical text, associated with the holiday, is the Book of Ruth.

In this stunning novella Naomi loses both her sons and turns to her daughters-in-law and attempts to send them away. She is too old to have another husband, she tells them, and even if she were to remarry and have more sons, how could they possibly await their maturation? No, Naomi insists, she has nothing to offer these young women, and indeed Orpah does leave her. But Ruth does not.
Ruth’s response to being turned away is one of the great verses of the entire Torah, ‘‘Don’t entreat me to leave you; for wherever you go, I will go, where you will dwell, I will dwell, your people will be my people and your God will be my God. Where you die I will die and there will I be buried.’ It is a verse of utter commitment. We say to converts - in the blessing shared at the Bet Din, that they have ‘thrown their lot in with the people of the God of Abraham.’ Their model - our model - is Ruth.
Naomi has tried to send Ruth away, or at the very least void any responsibility she might feel to stay. She has, she says heart wrenchingly, nothing to offer. But she has failed to understand Naomi’s commitment to her adopted family. Her commitment is not predicated on what she can get. It’s predicated on love. This is the stuff of Buber.

Martin Buber’s great work, I and Thou, suggests there are two kinds of relationships; ones founded on reciprocity - what is there in it for me - called ‘I-It’ relationships, and then there are the ‘I-Thou’ relationships, not predicated on reciprocity. In these latter, far more rich relationships, the things we do for others are done out of love of them, they are not selfish, they are not calculating, they are open hearted. This is why this story becomes such a touchstone for conversion to Judaism - we want converts who convert from love, not because of what they might get out of a relationship with Judaism. This is why this story is such a touchstone for any relationship with Judaism. Indeed any relationship at all. When we do things for love we make Ruth’s declaration - we go with you wherever you go. When we calculate, measure and plot we live our life as a series of I-It relationships. So, as we near Shavuot, come up the mountain, don’t calculate. Just leap.

We are excited to celebrate Shavuot with you. We have a stunning Tikkun Leyl planned, with the wonderful Josh Baum and other guests sharing Torah, and opening hearts - and ice-cream tubs. Come for dinner or come for the evening or stay all night. Come for our regular morning services, in particular the welcome on second day of Yom Tov - also featuring Yizkor, is particularly warm. More information on booking for the Tikkun Leyl dinner is here - hurry booking deadline is soon.
Shabbat shalom

Rabbi Jeremy

Thursday, 12 May 2016

I'm a Zionist

I'm a Zionist because I believe the Jewish people have a right to a nation in the Land of Israel. Not the only right, and not all the land, but a right that stretches back through time and a right no less just than the rights of so many other nation states of both modern and ancient creation.

In the words of the Israeli Declaration of Independence, "the Land of Israel was the birthplace of the Jewish people. Here their spiritual, religious and political identity was shaped. Here they first attained to statehood, created cultural values of national and universal significance and gave to the world the eternal Book of Books. After being forcibly exiled from their land, the people kept faith with it throughout their Dispersion and never ceased to pray and hope for their return to it and for the restoration in it of their political freedom."

I applaud the extraordinary achievements of a state whose created only a blink of the eye ago; Israel's contribution to the global society in which we all live, in worlds of thought, art, science, commerce, medicine is staggering. I applaud Israel's democracy, its commitment to freedom of speech and press, its vigorously independent judiciary, I even applaud a society where Prime Ministers and Presidents have been incarcerated for criminality and abuse of office. It was Hayim Nachman Bialik who said the Jews would know that their dream of a nation state had been fulfilled when there were Jewish prostitutes, Jewish thieves and a Jewish police force. That part of the dream is fulfilled. Normality deserves respect set against the disaster that is the current fate of so many other countries forged in the last decades But there is still much more to dream.

My dream is a dream of peace, two states for two peoples. There are hard compromises that must be fought for by both Jews and Palestinians. The physical and psychological scars of years - frankly millennia - of violence and hatred need to be given time to heal, but more importantly there is a desperate need for courageous leadership on both sides of the Green Line and the support of the entire international community. In the meantime, good fences may be necessary, but the dream is the dream of the Biblical prophet Micah, "They shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, nor shall they learn war any more. But they shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig-tree; and none shall make them afraid." Despite the pain and the violence, I still dream this dream.

I stand in respect for those whose love for, and need of, a Jewish home led for them to make the ultimate sacrifice to her survival. The memory of 23,477 fallen soldiers and victims of terror attacks has rightly been honoured this week by the entire nation of Israel and will be honoured in our Shabbat service. I feel guilt that these heroes - and every able-bodied young Israeli - have made such sacrifices to protect a country I love, but in which I don't intend to spend the rest of my life. It's a stunning luxury to be a diasporic Jew in the time of the State of Israel. It's a stunning luxury to complain, as I do, of Israel's failures to live up to the totality of the vision articulated in her own Declaration of Independence, 'of [a] country developed for the benefit of all its inhabitants; based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel; [ensuring] complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex; failures to do even more to bring a Two-State solution into being. These are the critiques of love, as the Rabbis of Bereishit Rabba taught, 'all love without critique isn't love.'

Happy Birthday Israel.

Shabbat shalom

Rabbi Jeremy

Monday, 9 May 2016

Yom HaShoah - Holocaust and Authenticity

Want to talk about the Holocaust.

It's a lovely day, we have a lovely BM to celebrate, but still it's worth talking about the Holocaust, in the week of Yom HaShoah - the Day of Holocaust memory - in particular. For Jewish communities across the world this is way we emerge from the festival of our freedom - Passover. We celebrate being free and then, on the anniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, we commemorate the worst act in our history, and the worst act in human history.

There is something spiritually powerful about locating a commemoration of the Holocaust in the week after Passover, almost as if to say - you were slaved, you are now free, but never forget how fragile that freedom is, how easily all the things we free Jews take for granted - the ability to practice our religion, the ability to walk down the streets knowing that the police are on our side, even the ability to inhale fresh air - were taken from us again, only a blink of the eye ago.

But the reason for the co-incidence of Passover and Yom HaShoah is both simpler and equally powerful. The date was chosen to commemorate the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. Soon after their conquest of Poland the Nazis commanded Jews to concentrate in tiny ports of cities they once thrived in. Some four hundred thousand Jews were concentrated into a 3.3km2 area of Warsaw. To give you a sense of what that means; the London Borough of Camden is as half as numerous and seven times the size. And then the deportations started; 7,000 Jews a day were taken East, supposedly for resettlement. 

Actually they were taken to their death at Treblinka. In two months 300,000 Jews were, to use the jargon liquidated. When the Germans came into the Ghetto on the first day of Passover 1943 the remaining survivors, already sick, hungry and weakened, decided to fight. A week after the Passover they had their greatest success, but the Nazis simply regrouped and came back again, in larger number and with more powerful weaponry. The revolutionaries never had a chance at victory in anything like the generally held sense of the term. Their leader, Mordechai Anilewicz, knowing the end was coming committed suicide, rather than fall into the hands of the Nazis.

The Nazi commandant, Jurgen Stroop, held that some 71,000 Jews were killed or deported during the revolt. But does that mean the revolution failed.
On the afternoon of 19 April two boys climbed up on the roof of a building on the Muranowski Square and raised two flags, the red-and-white Polish flag and the blue-and-white banner of the ŻZW. These flags remained there, highly visible from the Warsaw streets, for four days. After the war, the Nzai commander charged with the overthrow of the revolt, Jurgen Stroop recalled:
" flags were of great political and moral importance. It reminded hundreds of thousands of the Polish cause, it excited them and unified the population of the General Government, but especially Jews and Poles. Flags and national colours are a means of combat exactly like a rapid-fire weapon, like thousands of such weapons. We all knew that  The Reichsfuehrer [Himmler] bellowed [at me] into the phone: 'Stroop, you must at all costs bring down those two flags!'"
What does it mean to have flown those flags. Does it, did it ever, mean anything in the face of simple, brutal, heinous, murder?

Does anything?

Does anything mean anything in the face of simple, brutal, heinous murder?
You can, if you spend too long in the annals of the Holocaust start to wonder, you can become more than a little depressed at the state of humanity.
The great C20 Rabbi, Abraham Joshua Heschel, who fled Berlin in 1938, once called racism 'a maximum of hatred for a minimum of reason.' Why are we, as a human race, still so unreasonable. Even today, even still.
Here's something I found just this year, it's a clandestine poster, produced in the Warsaw Ghetto by the ZOB - the Jewish Combat Organisation. It reads,  "All people are equal brothers; Brown, White, Black and Yellow. To separate peoples, colors, races – Is but an act of cheating!"

Why are we still cheating? it's enough to make you give up .... well give up on everything. What's the point?

All of this brings me to an intellectual hero of mine, Emil Fackenheim, another Jew who escaped the Nazis by the skin of his teeth, Fackenheim was arrested on Kristallnacht - the Night of Broken Glass in November 1938 and detained in Saccenhausen, but escaped to Scotland, and then Canada. He was an ordained Rabbi, but really a philosopher. He began his academic career as an expert on Kant and Hegel. But there was something about the Holocaust that gnawed away at his ability to do regular scholarship. It gnawed for two decades and then, in the 1960s Fackenheim started to write about the Holocaust.
Can we confront the Holocaust and yet not despair [he wrote]. The contradiction is too staggering and every authentic escape is barred. We have lived this contradiction for twenty years without being able to face it. Unless I am mistaken, we are now beginning to [do that]. And from this beginning confrontation there emerges what I will boldly term a 614th Commandment, the authentic Jew of today is forbidden to hand Hitler yet another posthumous victory.
It's one of the most famous passages of my Jewish youth. Fackenheim references the 613 traditional commandments found in the Torah Ben you read so beautifully from this morning. And to this he adds this other command, the command not to give in, not to hand Hitler a posthumous victory.
We are forbidden [he went on to say] we are forbidden to deny or despair of God however much we may have to contend with him or our belief in him, lest Judaism perish. We are forbidden, finally, to despair of the world ... lest we make it a meaningless place where God is irrelevant and everything is permitted.

Powerful words, but the sense you have is that there is something not quite fully articulated in Fackenheim's 1970 work, The Jewish Return Into History. And 15 years later Fackenheim is back, with a new book, and a deeper version of the same problem.

Can there ever be, he writes in To Mend the World, an authentic response in the face of the Holocaust?

It's no longer just about being a Jew. Fackenheim, the philosopher, has fallen out of love with philosophy - Heidigger, one of the greatest thinkers of his generation was a proto-Nazi. If a philosopher of Heidigger's calibre, Fackenheim writes, can be responsible for something as awful as giving Nazism intellectual support then maybe philosophy is no longer worth the paper it's written 's on. He cites Kierkegaard's chilling assertion that a “single event of inexplicable horror ‘has the power to make everything inexplicable, including the most [otherwise] explicable events.’” It's a kind of depression. What's the point of celebrating, dancing, living even, when the Holocaust has happened and has shown all these responses to the gift of life to be so worthless. The key word for Fackenheim is 'authentic.' What could be an authentic response to Auschwitz, to Hitler, to the Holocaust - what could you possibly do that would mean anything in the face of that barbarism?

Fortunately Fackenheim is able to dig himself out of the dark pit into which he descends
[It was while studying the story of an Auschwitz survivor Pelagia Lewinska] I made what to me was, and still is, a momentous discovery: [he wrote] that while religious thinkers were vainly struggling for a response to Auschwitz, Jews throughout the world had been responding all along…with an unexpected will to live—with under the circumstances, an incredible commitment to Jewish group survival.[1]

Somehow, even in the depths of the hell that was the Warsaw Ghetto Jews put on plays, educated their children, even produced posters proclaiming the importance of treating every human being the same, no matter their faith, creed or colour. Those actions, writes Fackenheim, were authentic because they were forged in the midst of the awful events themselves.

There were Hasidim in Buchenwald who swapped four servings of bread for a chance to wear tefilin. That makes wearing tefilin today an authentic response to the Holocaust. There was even a group of philosophy students who plotted to assassinate Hitler. The plot failed, they were all murdered, but their bravery rescues, says Fackenheim, the value of engaging in philosophic thought.

And of course the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising was authentic, even if it didn't bring an end to the Nazi oppression. It's a beacon of the power of human beings to claim their own destiny, even when the breadth of choice is so parlous. To fly a flag, to launch a revolt against more mighty and more numerous opposition is authentic. We can respond authentically to the Holocaust, taught Fackenheim, despite its horror, by committing ourselves to models of response that were discovered in the midst of the event itself. A response is not about making things better, it's about authenticity, it's about the expression of humanity still counting for something.

This, in part is why we need to keep telling these stories of so long ago, stories of authentic responses to horror. It's to remind ourselves that there is a possibility to live authentically post-Holocaust.  It's why I tell myself these stories. It's why I'm sharing these stories with you today.
Ben, you are a Jewish adult now, these are your stories too, this is your charge, to tell these stories, to respond authentically, and never to hand Hitler a posthumous victory.
It's a challenge for us all,
Shabbat shalom

[1] Emil Fackenheim, The Quest for Past and Future (Bloomington, IN: Beacon, 1968), pp. 19–20.
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