Chanukah Extract from An Angel Called Truth

With Chanukah starting this Sunday evening I'm sharing a piece from the book fellow NLS member, Emma Parlons and I are working on. An Angel Called Truth and Other Tales from the Torah is a collection of micro-stories; one for each Parasha and Festival, told by 10-13 years who feature, or could feature, in our greatest narratives. We’ve told our Chanukah story from the perspective of a young boy who has been working with father on the Temple clean-up project. For more information go to www.anangelcalledtruth.com

“Silence please! Please do sit down. We’ll begin in a few moments.” Dad’s trying to get the crowd to settle, so we can start the dedication ceremony. But everyone wants to congratulate him, and he can’t help being the chattiest person around. “Oh yes!  It does look good doesn’t it? Thank you, thank you. It was a team effort really. My boy, yes that’s him over there, very helpful!” He nods in my direction. I swell with pride. “It was a mess, filthy; pigs roaming around, idols everywhere. I wasn’t sure we’d ever get it back to where it is today. Yes, yes, oh, do please settle down, settle down.”

The past two months have been amazing. My back hurts from hauling away rubble. My arms hurt from scrubbing. My legs hurt from all the ladder-climbing. But it’s been great fun and the temple looks amazing; everything is shining, there’s not an idol to be seen. Today is going to be great.

Dad has been in charge of lighting the Ner Tamid, the everlasting light. He deserves it; he’s worked harder than everyone. He looks so proud as a hush settles over the crowd.

“Bring forth the sacred oil,” Dad calls out. Nobody moves. We all wait. “Who has the oil?”  He calls out again, this time starting to sound a little anxious. Still silence.

Then I realise that no one has remembered to get hold of new oil. We are all in big trouble. No oil, no everlasting light, no dedication. And the press was a four-day donkey ride away – four days there, four days back. Then I remember I have seen a tiny flask of oil, with the sacred seal still attached. Everything else has been thrown out. I push through the crowd to get to the store cupboard and scramble through everyone back to the front of the crowd as quickly as I can.

“Dad, we’ve got this,” I say, opening my hand and showing him the tiny vial of oil. Dad looks unimpressed. “It’s not enough son – there’s no point.” I refuse to give up. “Go on Dad,” I say.  I’m out of breath and embarrassed, but after everything we’ve been through, I’ve got to believe it’s worth a try. “Let’s burn what we have, don’t quit now.” And, somehow, it was enough.

Prince Charles Says Thank You

The phone rang, it was the day after Rosh Hashanah. Desperate for any distraction from writing sermons I picked up. It was the President of the Board of Deputies. Of course I had a few moments. She wanted to know if I would be able to go somewhere, she couldn’t say where, to be hosted by someone, she couldn’t say whom. It sounded like a very poor thriller. It turned out to be Prince Charles at Buckingham Palace, hosting a reception to celebrate the Jewish Community of the United Kingdom. I arrived alongside the doyen of Limmud, Clive Lawton and the actor Paul Kaye. Inside, Kedassia-supervised canapes were processed around the ballroom by waiters in frockcoats with their left hands folded behind their backs. And there was Prince Charles. He gives a very good speech.

“My family and I are particularly aware that in Synagogues across the country you pray for us, in your weekly prayers. So I do hope you will accept that we, in turn, pray for, and express our thanks to, you and your families.” We were taken on a whistle-stop tour of Great Jews in British History; Sir Solomon de Medina – the first Jew knighted in 1700, Nathan Mayer Rothschild, “ennobled by my great-great-great grandmother.” There was a warm mention of “my grandmother, Princess Alice,” awarded the distinction of being among the Righteous of the Nations, having hidden a Jewish family in her home in Nazi-occupied Greece. “When my grandmother announced her wish to be buried at the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem, there was concern in the family as to how we would be able to visit the grave. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘There’s a perfectly good bus service from the airport.’”

The message was that there is strength and unity in the diversity of the United Kingdom – plenty of mention was made of the work of other faith communities - and the Prince concluded with an impeccable Dvar Torah, drawing on the charge to, “Choose life.” He was very good. As I chatted with Rabbis from across the denominations, the Chairs of both Labour and Conservative Friends of Israel and professional and lay leaders of a vast range of communal organisations, I appreciated the honour of being able to represent New London, and the Masorti Movement at the event. I felt proud of the enormous contribution Jews make to all levels of public life in this country and I reflected on this; in the entire history of the Jewish people how many times has anything similar to such a reception, perhaps most remarkable for its normalcy, ever happened?  These are, I know, strange political times, and there will be a General Election before I sit down to write again to the congregation, but it is a remarkable blessing to be a Jew living in the United Kingdom. That blessing comes with obligations to strive to continue to ensure not only our own warm inclusion in British society, but also that of other minorities also. There is indeed greater strength and unity possible in a celebration of diversity, than in a concentration on uniformity. And, as the Book of Deuteronomy counsels, we must all continue to strive to, “Choose life.”

Shabbat Shalom