A New Maggid for the End of Pesach

Arami Oveid Avi

The opening line at the heart of the telling of the story of the Seder doesn’t mean An Aramean tried to kill my father. For what it’s worth the Hebrew for an Aramean tried to kill my father is ‘Arami Ratza Lhaaveed et Avi.’

Arami Oveid Avi means my father was a wandering Aramean.

The authors of the Haggadah have pulled a fast one. They set the verse up to mean something it simply doesn’t mean with an introductory line about Laban, and so, in a moment, this verse becomes a verse about how in each and every generation someone has risen up against us to destroy us.

But the original meaning is clear, it’s been clear to every Biblical commentator who has ever commented on it. The verse appears at the opening of what is called ‘Parshat Bikurim’ - the section on the first fruit. At the time of presenting the first fruit to the Priest in the Temple a Jew would come before the priest, with their basket of fruit and repeat our story, as Jews - Arami Oveid Avi, Vayered Mitzraima, Vayigar Sham Bimtei Meiat - our ancestor was a wandering Aramean who went down to Egypr, and dwelled there few in number - the rest we know.

The original verses refers to Jacob, Israel, who left Israel and went down to Egypt because of the famine.

In the Seder the original verse gets tweaked a bit to emphasise the ‘in each and every generation someone has stood up against us to destroy us,’ part of being Jews which may well, indeed be true.

But I want to retell the story of the Seder fixing this Rabbinic sleight of hand, returning this verse about wandering to be a verse about wandering. And I want to save my Rabbinic sleight of hand for another verse, at the end of this passage of the Haggadah. As if Rabbinic sleight of hand was a joker one can only play once.

One other element will also have to be part of my retelling of the Seder. I’ve been here - on this sceptre’d aisle for some time now. My great-grandparents arrived here. So to truly capture the essence of being a wandering soul I’ll avail myself of narratives from those whose wanderings are more recent than mine. So a seder where, in each and every generation we wander.

אֲרַמִּי אֹבֵד אָבִי, וַיֵּרֶד מִצְרַיְמָה, וַיָּגָר שָׁם בִּמְתֵי מְעָט; וַיְהִי-שָׁם, לְגוֹי גָּדוֹל עָצוּם וָרָב.

My ancestors wandered - we’ve become too accustomed to the fun parts of Fiddler on the Roof - the dancing with bottles on our heads, the chorus line ‘Tradition’ - but the reality was hard, even in the best of times, and the best of times where too few.

Here is the poem Simon Frug wrote in the aftermath of the 1903 Pogrom of Kishinev.

Streams of blood and rivers of tears, deep and wide they flow and roar, our misfortunes, great and timeless, has laid its hand on us once more.

Do you hear the mothers moan, and their little children cry? In the streets the dead are lying; the sick are fallen down nearby.

Brothers, sisters please have mercy! Great and awful is the need. Bread if needed for the living. Shrouds are needed for the dead.

Of course our ancestor, Jacob, left his homeland because of famine, not violence. But then in this strange contemporary world in which we live one so often seems bound up with the other.

Just this week the International Development Secretary Priti Patel visited the largest refugee camp in the world, Bidibidi in Uganda, home to some 280,000 refugees from South Sudan. They have no food, no water - or rather nothing that has not been brought in for them by development and care agencies. But the cause of their fleeing is violence.

וַיֵּרֶד מִצְרַיְמָה, וַיָּגָר שָׁם בִּמְתֵי מְעָט; וַיְהִי-שָׁם, לְגוֹי גָּדוֹל

And in that new land we helped. Jacob arrived in Egypt at the instigation of his son, Joseph, Second only to the King, the man who could understand the strange dreams, the man who could structure the famine-resilience effort that saved Egypt.

And in this new land we helped. As Jews we have much to be proud of. There’s a wikipedia page of British Jewish scientists, noting, the 14 Nobel prizes won, there Chemists like Rosalind Franklin - part of the story of the discovery of DNA, and Ernest, latterly Sir Ernest Chain, who discovered how to isolate and concentrate penicillin. I could have gone for the British Jewish comedians, the British Jewish captains of industry, the British Jewish heroes of philanthropy ... In this new land we have helped.

It’s not just the Jews. Refugees make contributions to the society in which they find themselves and not just in that demeaning phrase of doing the jobs no-one else wants to do. Refugees light beacons for everyone else; perhaps driven by the need to make something of their lives, perhaps driven by the insecurity that propelled them - us - to this country. I, for what it’s worth, have a theory that the way refugees make contributions in society after society, in generation after generation, is not just because of a drive, but because of the way our experience of being from outside allows us to see things insiders might miss. Being an outsider is a gift. A gift for the societies fortunate enough to open their arms to strangers who might speak with funny accents, who might eat funny foods and might do things differently from the so called ‘proper’ Brits.

You see we ‘soujourn’ - us wanderers. Again, I’m not so sure about the commentary in the original Haggadah that connects the phrase Vayigar Sham to a temporary relationship with the country in which we find ourselves. I think the better contemporary translation would be to suggest Vayigar Sham means we were there as ‘hyphenated’ members of society; both British and Jewish. Just as so many other wanderers maintain a hyphenated identity. It’s not that we are treasonous, it’s not that we are disloyal to our gracious hosts. It’s that we are more than one thing. As identity is these days.

וַיָּרֵעוּ אֹתָנוּ הַמִּצְרִים, וַיְעַנּוּנוּ; וַיִּתְּנוּ עָלֵינוּ, עֲבֹדָה קָשָׁה

But it isn’t, this hyphenated identity safe. We are too easily scapegoated. Picked out for our difference.

And there rose a new Pharaoh who did not know Joseph - it’s the saddest verse in the Torah. It reminds me of the life of Jews in 12C Britain. Here we were, unable to own land, working as merchants, financing the life of society in which we lived. And then the political mood changed and we were out. Not before 49 levies to raise money from us, and various other ignominies - In 1218, Henry III of England proclaimed the Edict of the Badge, making England the first European nation to require Jews to wear a marking badge. You do know we were expelled from here in 1290? Michael Prestwich in his book on the Life of Edward I records the, perhaps apocryphal tale of a captain taking a ship full of Jews to the Thames, en route to France, while the tide was low, and convincing them to go out for a walk with him. He then lost them and made it back to his ship quickly before the tide came back in, leaving us all to drown.

That story reminds me of the deaths of the 21 undocumented cockle picking immigrants who were drowned in Morecombe Bay. In each and every generation.

It’s not that the there haven’t been those who have risen up against us in each and every generation. But I wonder if reasons of economic short-sightedness and short-term political expediency have had at least as much to do with our experience of being sinned against than any of the more classic markers of antisemitism. Certainly it feels as if economic short-sightedness and short-term political expediency are at the heart of a contemporary response to refugee-seekers in this country today.

VaYaReiU - the Egyptians did evil - they did worse to us than we deserved. Hava Nitchachma, come let us get wise and see how we can turn this situation to our advantage, the Torah reports the Egyptians saying about us. I know, you can imagine some ancient anti-refugee political faction opining, setting the mood of a country against the hyphenated strangers in their midst. And so the abuse and the deprivations and even the murder came.

And still they come, from generation to generation and from place to place.

Until ...

God steps in.

יוציאנו ה' ממצריים--לא על ידי מלאך, לא על ידי שרף, לא על ידי שליח, אלא הקדוש ברוך הוא בכבודו.

"The L-rd took us out of Egypt," not through an angel, not through a seraph and not through a messenger. The Holy One, blessed be He, did it in His glory by Himself!

"I will pass through the land of Egypt," I and not an angel;

"And I will smite every first-born in the land of Egypt," I and not a seraph;

"And I will carry out judgments against all the gods of Egypt," I and not a messenger;

"I- the L-rd," it is I, and none other!

So now I want to play my joker, the Rabbinic sleight of hand I’ve kept back for this moment.

As a child I remember this part of the Seder. All this ‘I’ and not something else. And, as children do, I misunderstood the Rabbinic purpose of all this ‘I’ and not something else. I thought it all meant that I had to see myself as if I myself had to be part of the redemptive story. I had to be part of rescuing the Children of Israel in each and every generation from the experience of oppression as the result of wandering.

Actually, I’m not so sure I did misunderstand my role in being a partner in the work of making the world a better place. That is, after all, the Jewish way. We don’t wait. We roll up our sleeves.

I remember one of my first Jewish teachers, Rabbi Laurence Kushner making a point about how we - each of us - are made in the image of the Divine. He asked us to hold up our hands. There, he said, you are looking at the hands of God.

Here’s my joker, my Rabbinic sleight of hand.

Let this verse - Ani Adonai - I God, come to mean that I am the one who partners with God to bring light where there is darkness and freedom where there is slavery. For when there is no ‘I’ acting, there is no God acting either. We have seen that too many times.

So this is the job.

To be the hands of God.

God has told us what to do - to love the stranger and refuse to oppress the stranger for we do understand the experience of the stranger in a strange land.

And all that is required is that now we act.

Brings me to welcome the support of the New London Synagogue Asylumn Seeker Drop In.

You can find out more and make a contribution here - http://www.newlondon.org.uk/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=612&Itemid=1541

Who Will Teach Me To Wonder? - Sermon Version Shabbat Parah, Parashat Hukkat

Who Will Teach Us To Wonder

When, Jack, you and I sat and thought together about your Devar Torah we went through the piece you read from the Torah scroll. The strange tale of a cow, killed and burnt, whose ashes are sprinkled in the water to make someone ritually contaminated by death ritually pure.

I asked you if there was anything in the story you found interesting. And you said, with characteristic insight and honesty, ‘no.’

So we changed tack, and you got to give a terrific devar torah on the terrific story of the golden calf. And though your devar torah was indeed terrific, it means I’m left with the cow ash.

Thanks.

This tale of cow ash is undeniably odd. It’s odd to imagine there is something contaminatory about death, and odder still to think that ash from a cow, mixed in with cedar and hyssop and scarlet stuff should do anything to remove such an odd affliction. The good news is that I’m not the first person to struggle for a way of relating to all this oddness.

Here’s a Rabbinic text, about a rabbi who was alive 2000 years ago.

An non-Jew asked Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai, ‘This is a bit like witchcraft. You bring a cow, burn it, grind it, take its ashes. If one of you is defiled by a dead body you sprinkle two or three drops on them and say to him, ‘You are pure.’ Rabbi Yochanan asked him, ‘Have you ever seen a man possessed by the demon of madness?’ ‘Yes’ he said. ‘And what do you do? ‘We bring roots and make them smoke under him and then we sprinkle water on the demon and it flees.’ Said Rabbi Yochanan, ‘let your ears hear what you say with your mouth. It is the same for this spirit of uncleanness [and he explains the odd ritual away. But then the Midrash continues]

When the non-Jew left, Rabbi Yochanan’s students said to their master, ‘Master, you pushed off this man with a straw, what explanation will you give to us?’ he said to them, ‘By your life, it is not that death defiles, nor that this water purifies. The Holy Blessed One says, ‘I have laid down a Hok - a decree [it’s not to be understood, it’s something to be followed even though you cannot understand it].[1]

The key word is the Hebrew word hok - something that cannot be understood and isn;t designed to be understood. The ritual of the cow is a Hok. The fact that it doesn’t make rational sense isn’t because it’s stupid and the fact that we - not even Jack - can understand it - isn’t because we - and certainly not Jack - are stupid. Rather this hok is something not to be understood.

I’m interested in what it means to have things, in our lives that we understand, to have things in our lives that we strive to understand and - most of all - what it means to make a space for things that cannot be understood.

I’m aware suggesting we make space for things which cannot be understood is counter-cultural, especially for a Synagogue full of people who understand so many things and quest to understand so much more.

I’ve nothing against the quest to understand. In fact questing to understand the world and everything in it is one of the most exquisite things a person can do with their lives.

I get that there are 37.2 trillion cells in the human body, each one a direct descendent from one single zygote - that’s extraordinary.

I get that every atom in every one of these cells was already present at the very beginning of time and that therefore each of my 37 trillion cells is, in some sense, recycled star dust.

There is nothing wrong with the quest for greater and greater knowledge, and if I had one thing to say to neurologists attempting to understand the nature of brain-damage, or civil engineers attempting to work out how best to build buildings that can withstand the destructive power of an earthquake it would be to say, go, go, go, lives depend on your passion to understand more.

But ...

There is a but.

The but is that as we understand life we have this tendency to turn life into bits of data we can compute, manipulate and control.

And even if there is something out there we can’t understand yet, if we think that this thing is there capable of being understood if we just tried a little harder, we start treating everything in life as a bit of data that can be manipulated and controlled.

We start to think that life can be calibrated and controlled.

And here’s the scary thing for people who like to calibrate and control.

The really important things in life are not quantifiable, they are not measurable and they are certainly not capable of being manipulated like pixels in a computer programme or the spread of bonds and stocks in our investment portfolios.

And the reason the really important things in life are not capable of being manipulated is not that we aren’t clever enough yet.

It’s because the really important stuff in life is beyond control.

The gift of love is not manipulable.

The ability to feel joy isn’t controllable.

You can’t measure artistic worth on a spreadsheet.

Wonder isn’t something that can be programmed.

Really this is all about our ability to appreciate wonder.

There are loads of people telling us to try to understand more, and control more, and learn more. There are loads of people telling us if only we tried a little harder we would do better in these exams or that six-month performance review and all the rest of it.

But who will teach us to wonder?

Who will teach us to appreciate that the world is not ours to control.

It’s ours to protect and serve.

Who will teach us that time isn’t simply a unit of production to be set into a productivity spreadsheet, but rather the essence of human life; time is to be celebrated and marked, not put to the service of commercial gain.

We’ve got the balance wrong - too much seeking to control and not enough wonder about that which is beyond control.

We need more people to teach us about wonder.

It’s a subtle point I’m trying to make,

It’s one thing to work to wipe out polio, or tackle malaria or cure cancer, but somewhere we, in our comfortable Western existence, seem in danger of forgetting that death isn’t something to be eradicated as if it were an infectious disease. Death is at the very heart of what it means to mortal. We can eat more fruit and veg, exercise, treat and cure more and more disease, but we can’t escape what it means to be mortal, unless we turn ourselves into something no longer human. 

Death is a wonder, a Hok, something to defeat understanding. That’s why death is so scary - not because we can’t understand it yet, but because it is beyond understanding.

That’s why we need a ritual to help us deal with our inability to understand death.

That’s why that ritual, itself, needs to escape understanding.

That’s why we need a Hok featuring cow’s ash.

And here’s the real problem of forgetting about wonder and thinking everything falls into the twin categories of controllable and almost controllable;

by promoting the notion of control we strip out our appreciation of wonder from the world.

If we say the really important things in life are the things we can measure and control we are in danger of arriving at our deathbed proud, or ashamed, of the amount of money in our bank accounts.

And no-one arrives at their deathbed counting how much money they have in their bank accounts.

It’s really not about the stuff we can measure.

It’s really about our ability to wonder.

I did something I don’t usually do, when thinking about this sermon.

I googled the question, ‘who will teach me to wonder?’

And there, answer number three was a link to Psalms 119:27.

Let me tell you about Psalms 119:27.

It’s not an easy verse to translate, something like this;

Bring me to understand the path of what you demand of me and I will chat with your wonders.

The leading Rabbinic commentary Malbim points out the importance of it being the PATH of the precepts. It is, for Malbim the path up Mount Sinai, the path that leads beyond human understanding.

We seek an understand of that we know we cannot understand.

It’s a little paradoxical.

We address ourselves to the path up the mountain knowing that there are truths beyond human grasp.

And the reward is we get to be in 'siach' - in conversation - with wonder, with mystery.

We don’t get to understand, we certainly don’t get to control.

But we do get, in fleeting moments of insight, a sense of being in conversation with that which is wonder.

The great American writer, William James, in his Varieties of Religious Experience, tries to explain the sort of momentary encountering of the ineffable that is at the heart of great moments of religious insight. The word James uses is noetic - these are kinds of understanding that cannot be spelt out in letters, they cannot be published as respectable scientific literature or made subject to double blind testing of hypotheses and controls.

Noetic experiences are beyond language, beyond measurement, they are experiences of being in siach - being in conversation with wonder.

When an artist, when asked to explain their painting responds, ‘I can’t really explain it in words, if I could have explained it in words I wouldn’t have had to paint it.’ She is talking about a noetic truth.

And noetic truths might just allow us to make sense of our lives in ways even more important than the quest for measurable knowledge.

So, Jack, all of us, let us do lots of great, inspiring, life-saving science. But let us also keep a place for wonder. Let’s keep looking for opportunities to walk paths that don’t reveal all their secrets even under the most powerful of microscopes. Let’s lift up our eyes to wonder in the hope of a siach - a conversation with that which is noetic - beyond.

Because if we lose the ability to wonder, if we lose the ability to appreciate that which cannot be comprehended, we lose the ability to treasure all that is most special about our humanity.

Shabbat shalom

---

[1] Bemidbar Rabbah 19:8

Who Will Teach me to Wonder

Thinking about the impossibility of understanding the Hok of Shabbat Parah and falling in love with Psalm 119:27

דֶּֽרֶךְ־פִּקּוּדֶ֥יךָ הֲבִינֵ֑נִי וְ֝אָשִׂ֗יחָה בְּנִפְלְאוֹתֶֽיךָ׃

I can't really translate it properly (yet), something like

Bring me to understand the path of what you demand of me and I will chat with your mysteries

Malbim points out the importance of it being the PATH of the precepts. It is, for Malbim the path up Mount Sinai, beyond human understanding.
And I love the reward, to be in 'siach' - conversation - with ultimate mystery.

It's not a verse I've ever really considered before - comes in that monstrously long Psalm you just want to skip over. But I think I've just stumbled over my new favourite articulation of my relationship with Mitzvot.

And how did I stumble over this jewel in the rough?
I googled, 'who will teach me to wonder' and this verse, courtesy of some angel buried in Google's algorithm waved their wand.
So I post the story on-line

Ahhh, the life of a C21 Rabbi.

Coming Soon - Pesach

My thanks to everyone involved in making Purim at New London such a fabulous experience.

And now Pesach!

First night Seder is Monday night 10^th April. If you are looking for hospitality, or able to offer hospitality, please let me know.

The New London Communal Seder, led by Cantor Jason and I, is Tuesday night 11^th April. Booking is open and we urge anyone planning on coming to book in time to allow proper arrangements to be made for catering. It’s a terrific night and members and guests are all invited. More info here.

Our flagship pre-Pesach event, the Taste of Refuge Seder, has already sold out. My apologies for those who had planned to book later. We will share reflections and also some of the materials we will be using after the event.

Shabbat 1^st April will focus on preparing for the Seder. I will be teaching and have some terrific material to share as part of the services. All welcome.

Shabbat 8^th April will feature, after the service, a communal sing-a-seder-along with Cantor Jason. Bring your favourite tunes.

The 2017 NLS Pesach - Guide to Kashrut is now on-line. For more on selling Chametz through me, look out for subsequent mailings sent to this list.

Other things to look forward to in the coming month;

29^th March the book launch of New London member Anne Summers’ terrific Christian and Jewish Women  in Britain 1880-1940. More here.

Monday morning 10^th April, 7:15am, Shacharit featuring a Siyum on the occasion of the Fast of the Firstborn, all (not just firstborns) warmly invited.

Purim, in the best possible way, was chaotic. And now the journey to Seder - order. May that journey be matched by an equal journey from darkness to light and oppression to freedom for all.

It’s my honour to be able to share this journey with you all,

Chag Kasher V’Sameach - A happy and kosher celebration,

Rabbi Jeremy

Women's Torah

I received a mail from a member recently. She wrote about some of the Synagogue’s recent decisions on the role of women (which she supported) and shared the following;

"Whilst I acknowledge religious texts are historically overwhelmingly written by men, there are numerous brilliant contemporary texts and commentaries written by women. I would like to see women's books and teachings held up as a source of inspiration, be it in sermons or at Cheder, as much as men's works. I believe acknowledging women and their work (other than as wives and mothers) as equal sources of inspiration is one of the most important actions we can do at this time and one of the best gifts we can offer to children of any gender."

Well, amen to that - at least in theory. In practice, the process of accessing these ‘numerous brilliant contemporary texts’ isn’t so easy - for me. I’ve been trained  - and spent my entire Rabbinic existence - surrounded almost exclusively by male voices. And even when contemporary scholars are women, they are so often writing about a male pre-existing canon of authority. I remember, as a second year Rabbinical School student, encountering feminist Jewish theology for the first time (Judith Plaskow’s terrific ‘Standing Again at Sinai’) and realising how much of Judaism required radical rethinking. Many of the works that have most shaped and moved my sense of Judaism since have been written by women. Perhaps that’s inevitable; welcoming a new voice will bring newer insights than turning continually to the similar.

Those in shul a couple of weeks ago will have noticed a terrific poem by Merle Feld included in the handout (do read it if you weren’t around). I’ve also turned to my many colleagues around the world for suggestions as a book list - ah the joy of social media - now available on-line here. This Shabbat w are introduced to what becomes the central organising structure of Jewish life throughout the wanderings in the dessert - the Mikdash or Sanctuary. Inspired by an analysis of  Judith Antonelli, I’ll be discussing the implications of the way a surprisingly high number of Rabbinic texts considered the Mikdash as a woman. All, of course, most welcome.

Let me also wave the flag for this Sunday’s Masorti Women’s Forum which we, at New London, are hosting for the entire movement - from 2-6pm. There are some terrific scholars, including Susie Orbach and our own Dr Anne Summers (whose book we will be launching at New London later in the month, see below). More information about the Forum here. Open to women only.

Shabbat Shalom

Write, Jews, Write it Down - Lessons of the Holocaust

This Shabbat we are marking Holocaust Memorial Day with a special event. I have invited two of our members to share the story of their work. Jenny and Dina are translators working for Yad Vashem. They work with the Oneg Shabbas archive, documents that survived the Holocaust, hidden, in the Warsaw Ghetto, by those who did not. 

“Write, Jews, write it down,” were the dying words of the great Jewish historian, Shimon Dubnow, as he was murdered by the Nazis in Riga 1941. He wanted to leave something so we can hear voices lost. Indeed there is plenty of writing, and the like, left for us. All that lacks is people will to read, to come and to hear - as hard as it may be. I do urge all members, friends too, to join us for this Shabbat. 

Dina and Jenny will be speaking during the service and also sharing insights into some specific texts with which they have been working during a sit-down-kiddush. (Youth activities will be provided outside of the Kiddush hall).

In conjunction with Holocaust Memorial Day, I want, particularly, to note the work of our member Hannah Lewis, whose story can be read here, for her heroic educational work. I’m also grateful to Freda who drew my attention to a showing of the new documentary Night Will Fall about the first footage shot by British soldiers in the liberated camps. Night Will Fall is being shown today at 9pm on More 4 (channel 14 on Freeview, 138 Sky and 147 Virgin), I urge you to record it for later viewing. More information here.

We live in strange times. It turns out that we cannot take for granted that ‘we’ - Jews, Brits, Europeans, members of the human race - know the story and even the message of the Holocaust. We must commit ourselves to doing more. The original footage which makes up the heart of Night Will Fall film was to be part of a, sadly, unfinished work directed and produced by Alfred Hitchcock, Sidney Bernstein and Richard Crossman. That work was to end with these words, ‘unless the world learns the lessons these pictures teach, night will fall. But by God’s grace we who live will learn.’

Shabbat shalom,

On Israel - the Grand Scale and the Individual

An Israeli rabbinic colleague of mine in America posted on Facebook about the two Israel-related discussions filling up his feed. His American friends, he wrote, were all processing the recent UN resolution on settlement construction and John Kerry’s recent speech on Israel’s relationship with the Palestinians. Meanwhile his Israeli friends were all engaged in the case of Sgt Elor Azaria - the Israeli soldier who shot Abdul Fatah al-Sharif, a Palestinian terrorist while the latter was handcuffed and prostrate on a Hebron street. You are unlikely to have come across the story of Sgt Azaria unless you read the Israeli press (in which case you would have drowned in comment) though this from the New York Times is good. See also this from IDF Code of Ethics author, Professor Asa Kasher.

Aside from the substantial - and there are very substantial - issues at stake, my friend observed how those most geographically close to the struggles of Israel obsessed on the fate of the individual, while those more distant looked to the bigger picture. For me, the grand scale and the microcosm simply reflect a singular issue. It’s a very religious perspective - religious Jews engage in the most tiny matters of detail because we believe that it is only in detail that our true beliefs and values are reflected. Stepping too far back, gazing from too far a distance, allows and even impels, generalisations and stereotyping. The Azaria case is appalling; appalling because of the original terrorist attack, because of Azaria’s response, because of the political pressures brought to bear on the military courts but, most of all, because none of this should have happened.

The Jewish presence in Hebron is inflammatory and, I believe, unjustifiable. I agree with the response of the New Israel Fund to the incident, posted here. The NIF noted that the murder victim was indeed a terrorist, noted also the clear culpability of the soldier, but also suggested Sgt Azaria was ‘a victim of circumstance’ - forced by an occupation into a role for he, a 19 year old, was unable to perform.

There will, of course, be others in this community who will take other perspectives. Indeed our love for Israel can only be accurately reflected in a breadth of views. I won’t be addressing this issue over Shabbat, but it is important for us to speak more about Israel, a country at the centre of our religious identity in so many ways. In fact, we will be dedicating time to so doing next Shabbat - 14^th January. Indeed I am hoping we will be joined by a guest speaker who can share a particularly deep understanding of the political issues. I will be able to share more next week.

Shabbat shalom,

Rabbi Jeremy