Open Door

‘Here comes the sun…’ The Beatles’ lyric played around in my head on the day that the sun finally appeared after the long, cold, harsh winter. Of course, this being England, the sun will come and go… But at least, we have felt the warm glow of the sun’s rays on our faces and seen the landscape bathed in light.

Interestingly, the calendar of the Jewish festivals set out in the Torah (see, e.g. Leviticus chapter 23) does not include any commemorative dates during, either, the winter or the summer. The first festival is Pesach in the spring and the last is the late harvest feast of Sukkot in the autumn. Meanwhile: between Shavuot, in the late spring/early summer, when our ancestors rejoiced over their bikkurim, ‘first fruits’, and Yom T’ru’ah, the ‘day of blasting’ on the first day of the month of Tishri, there were no festive days.

For those who have spent time in Israel, it is easy to work out why our ancestors did not celebrate festivals during the summer when the land is baked dry. Ha-shemesh – the sun – is a blessing – but it can also be a curse. Even in this green and pleasant land, we have discovered this, in recent years, when the winter and spring rains have not come, and the southern counties of England, in particular, have suffered drought.

Significantly, the catastrophe of the siege and then destruction of Jerusalem and King Solomon’s Temple by the Babylonians in 586 BCE resulted in the addition of new dates to the Jewish calendar in the winter and summer. And so, on the 10^th of Tevet, in the midst of winter, the calendar marks the start of the Babylonian siege of the city, on the 17^th of Tammuz at the height of summer, the breaching of the city walls, and then, three weeks later, the destruction of the Temple and Jerusalem on the 9^th of Av – Tishah B’Av. The biblical Book of Lamentations – Eichah – recalls the intense suffering of those last weeks. Of course, that was a long, long time ago. But then, the second Temple was destroyed by the Romans in 70 CE at Tishah B’Av, and that date has also spelt other miseries – including, the expulsion of the Jews of Spain in 1492. And in our own time, the world as a whole has witnessed deeds of devastating destruction in the summer heat around Tishah B’Av: the dropping of the atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki on August 6^th and 9^th 1945.

Our Erev Tishah B’Av service on July 15^th will give us an opportunity to remember the burning underside of summer time. In the meantime, another lyric comes to mind: ‘Summer time and the living is easy…’ The context of that song – the slave system in 19^th century North America – reminds us that, of course, the summer is a time to appreciate the gifts of life, even in complex circumstances.  So: may we all enjoy the summer and the blessings of the sun!                 Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah

Reflections

Reflections: a full moon on a dark night, shining silver across the sea; the midday sun transforming the waters into a sparkling spectacle of dancing points of light. Nature offers us glorious reflections.  But the word has two meanings: Reflections form the material of our inner life as well as of the world around us, as we reflect, ponder, consider and reconsider. And our interior reflections often remain unexpressed. We don’t just spend a third of our lives sleeping, a good proportion of our waking moments is devoted to reflecting and inhabiting our private, internal world. Essentially, this is what distinguishes us from all the other creatures of the Earth and is the essence of our humanity. It is the heart of consciousness.

Jewish life is apparently so focused on doing and acting, and on words, both written and spoken, that we may forget that every written and spoken word of Jewish teaching is the product of thought and reflection and that, unless we are caught up in a reflex response, before we act, we think. The Torah tells us that when Moses read the Book of the Covenant to the people following the Divine Revelation at Mount Sinai, they declared, na’aseh v’nishma, ‘we will do and we will listen’ (Exodus 24:7). That declaration became the catchphrase of Jewish life. However, when we insist that deeds take precedence, we forget that before our ancestors declared, na’aseh v’nishma, ‘we will do and we will listen’, they had heard the mountain quake with thunder and listened to the voice of the Eternal.

What is the difference between hearing and listening? It is our power to reflect that transforms what our ears hear into what the mind understands. As human beings, we are always struggling to make sense of our experience. As Jews, we are engaged in the same process. On the second day of Pesach, we began counting the Omer, a ritual of counting the days to Shavuot that has its origins in Temple times, when the priest would waive an omer, a sheaf of grain, from the Shabbat in Pesach until the day before the new Festival – a period of seven weeks, hence the name, Shavuot, ‘Weeks’ (Leviticus 23:15-21). All we have to do is count the days. But is it enough for us to celebrate the Liberation and Revelation experienced by our ancestors and retrace their steps from Egypt to Sinai? We don’t live then, we live now. So, where are we going? We need to reverse their declaration at Mount Sinai, saying, nishma v’na’aseh – ‘we will listen and we will do’, and reflect on our own experience – individual and collective – of being Jews in the 21^st century. As we continue to remember and honour experience of our forebears, the Omer period is also an opportunity for us to reflect on what it means to be a Jew today.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

What Is History?

What is History? That may seem an absurd question: Isn’t ‘history’ a chronicle of what happened in the past? A fascinating book with this title by E.H Carr, first published in 1961, challenges this naïve assumption. Professor Carr demonstrates that the ‘facts’ of history are those aspects of the past which historians have chosen to study. Absolute objectivity is impossible. All history is selection and interpretation. How a historian sees and understands the past depends on the conditions of the present; the social, cultural, economic and political context in which he or she works, and the stance she or he takes in that context. The brilliant historian, the Marxist, Eric Hobsbawm, who died a few months ago, is an excellent example of a master of his craft, who was completely open about his left-wing perspective.

What is history? History is, above everything, political. The history of Chanukkah is a prime example. Mah Chanukkah? What is Chanukkah? A passage in the Talmud begins with this question, and then, after stating that ‘On the 25^th of Kislev commence the days of Chanukkah’, goes on to relate that when the Hasmoneans prevailed against and defeated ‘the Greeks’: ‘they searched and found only one cruise of oil which lay with the seal of the high priest, but which contained sufficient for one day’s lighting only; yet a miracle was wrought with it and they lit with it for eight days.’ (Babylonian Talmud: Shabbat 21b).

The Babylonian Talmud was edited around the year 500 CE. The events it describes took place circa 640 years earlier, in 164 BCE. Curiously, the First Book of the Maccabees, written in the latter part of the second century BCE – that is, not very long after the events it describes – says nothing about the miracle story. Nevertheless, it relates that it was ‘decreed that the days of the dedication of the altar should be kept, with gladness and joy at their due season year after year, for eight days from the 25^th of Kislev (I, 4: 57-59). Meanwhile, the Second Book of the Maccabees, a slightly later work, provides a very different explanation for why the new festival was to be celebrated for eight days: ‘They celebrated it for eight days with rejoicing in the manner of the festival of Sukkot, mindful of how but a little while before at the festival of Sukkot they had been wandering about like wild beasts in the mountains and caves’ (II, 10:6).

So, why did the sages of the Talmud relate a story about an eight-day oil miracle and not give the more prosaic explanation that the first Chanukkah was a delayed Sukkot celebration – which was then inaugurated as an eight-day festival? A clue to answering this question flows from another question. Why did the rabbis exclude the Books of the Maccabees from the Hebrew Bible? Put simply, they did not want to glorify the Hasmoneans, who became corrupt after achieving power. While providing insight into the Jewish past, the texts of both the Bible and the Talmud reflect the political concerns of their authors and editors. And so, the passage the sages chose for the Haftarah reading for Shabbat Chanukkah underlines their message: ‘Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit says the God of Hosts’ (Zechariah 4:6).

Chanukkah Samei’ach!

Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah

RAIN – Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah

Rain. Yes, after an unusually dry winter and exceptionally warm weather in March, by April this ‘green and pleasant land’ was in drought. And then, by the end of June, with daily flood alerts, it was a soggy quagmire and had endured the heaviest rainfall on record for two months in a row – which almost became three months, as the rain continued to fall, day after day after day for the first three weeks of July. Well integrated into British culture, we Jews are as obsessed with the weather and as adept at making it a subject of daily conversation as everyone else on ‘… this scepter’d isle… / This precious stone set in the silver sea’ (from Shakespeare’s Richard II, Act 2). With John of Gaunt, we rejoice in everything that makes this island exceptional – including being at the mercy of the ‘gulf stream’ that went so exceptionally astray. Thank goodness, we had the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee celebrations to distract us for a while – and then, Wimbledon, of course.

We might wonder how we who live in this rain-soaked ‘demi-Paradise’ are able to take an imaginative leap into the parched wilderness, where our ancestors wandered for forty years, or into the arid land beyond the River Jordan, where they subsequently settled. Significantly, the Daily Prayer, Ha-T’fillah, includes this line in the second blessing, called G’vurot, which focuses on God’s ‘powers’: Mashiv ha-ru’ach u’morid ha-geshem – ‘You cause the wind to blow and the rain to fall’. The rubric found in Orthodox prayer books is very telling: ‘From the day after Simchat Torah until the eve of Pesach, say…‘ It might make more sense if the rubric said, ‘say in Israel.’ As it happens, this year, exceptionally, there was a lot of rainfall there, too …. Nevertheless, the usual pattern is for there to be no rain in Israel for at least six months. And so, as soon as the festival of Sukkot is over, and all the temporary abodes open to the elements have been dismantled, the addition of a few words about wind and rain…

There is also another side to the story of rain. The second paragraph of the Sh’ma (see pages 539-541 in Siddur Lev Chadash) speaks of God ‘providing the rain that the land needs, the early and late rain in due season’, if the people obey God – and ‘shutting up the skies, so that there is no rain, and the ground does not yield its produce’, if the people are ‘lured away to serve other gods and serve them.’ It’s a stunning evocation of biblical reward and punishment theology, which also underlines humanity’s dependence on what comes from the sky above. We may reject the notion that God rewards and punishes us, but as David Cooper suggests in his reworking of the text, ’seduced’ by our ‘desire to dominate and possess’, are we not wreaking havoc on the planet? A question to ponder – and a challenge – as we celebrate harat olam, ‘the birthday of the world’, and begin the season for t’shuvah; the time for ‘turning’ our lives around.  Shanah Tovah!

SHABBAT – A DAY FOR CEASING – Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah

In general, Jews are very active – one might say, hyperactive! The Torah begins with a burst of Divine creative activity of, literally, global proportions. Then, we read in Genesis chapter 2 that God ‘ceased on the seventh day’ – va-yishbot ba-yom ha-sh’vi’i (:2) – and the phrase is repeated again in a slightly different way: shavat – God ‘ceased’ (:3). The Hebrew root, ‘to cease’ is Shin Beit Tav – from which the noun, Shabbat, is derived.

So, Shabbat is about ceasing – specifically, ceasing from work. That Genesis passage also repeats references to work three times. According to the Torah, on the seventh day, God ceased from the work of creating the world. But the Eternal One did more than cease. The passage tells us that God ‘completed’ the work on the seventh day – that is, created Shabbat – and then ‘blessed the seventh day and made it sacred’ – va-y’vareich Elohim et-yom ha-sh’vi’i va-y’kaddeish oto (:3).

So, the seventh day; a sacred day for ceasing: Shabbat. It was a revolutionary concept in ancient times, when societies were divided between those who had power and leisure, and their slaves, who laboured unceasingly. Shabbat: a universal day of rest for all – including, as we read in the two versions of the Shabbat commandment, one’s servants, domestic animals and the stranger (Exodus 20:8-11; Deuteronomy 5:12-15).

Shabbat: a gift to human civilisation. But we now live in a relentless 24/7 culture – where nothing ceases, even for a moment. So, we have the challenge of finding ways to enjoy the sacred gift of ceasing – at least for a moment. Perhaps, it is not possible to cease from all the activities which make up the daily round. But we could make a start by ceasing from the ones that most enslave us – and what those activities are, will be different for different people. Perhaps, the person who is always on their mobile phone and laptop, could switch off these devices for a few hours, and take the opportunity to be with family and friends. Of course some people have no choice but to work on Shabbat, but even a long working day can be interrupted. If we cease, mindfully, even for a brief interval, we give ourselves the chance to feel the benefits of being rather than doing.

As progressive Jews who live complex lives, and do not wish to adopt an absolute approach to Shabbat and turn the day into yet another burden, finding meaningful ways of experiencing Shabbat can be difficult. Over the past couple of years, I have been working with Rabbi Rachel Benjamin to create a Liberal Judaism booklet on Shabbat, which is due to be published in 2012.  Hopefully, it will be a useful resource – and a source of gentle encouragement…

Learning From Bank Holidays

Why do banks have holidays? I’m not sure about the secular answer to that question, but I do have a sense of the Jewish answer. Originally, ‘holidays’ were ‘holy days’. The Torah (see Leviticus chapter 23) records the first holy days of the people Israel: Shabbat (the Sabbath), Pesach (Passover), Shavuot (weeks), Yom T’ru’ah, ‘the day of blasting’ (the shofar), later known as Rosh Ha-Shanah (literally, ‘the head of the year’), Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement), and Sukkot (Tabernacles) – in that order.

Holidays were once ‘holy days’, which are holidays, as everyone today understands the word – days, when people do not work. As we read in Leviticus 23 concerning Shabbat, which was then, and remains, the model for the major Jewish holy days: m’lachah lo ta’asu – ‘you shall do no work’ (:3).

So, what is really meant by ‘holy days’ – sacred days? The Jewish sense of the sacred is that which is ‘set apart’: the seventh day is set apart from the six days of the working week; festival days are set apart from the other ordinary days of the year. The first mention of the sacred in Torah concerns the seventh day. We read in Genesis chapter 2: ‘God blessed the seventh day va-y’kaddeish oto – and made it sacred – because on it God ceased from all the work involved in creation’ (:3).

Work means productive activity, and sacred days are days when that productive activity ceases. So: banks have holidays! But in our unceasing 24/7 global culture, which ensnares us in a world-wide-web in every aspect of our lives, not just in cyberspace, perhaps, we have reached the point when only banks have real holidays? A time when banks alone have days when all those tasks which keep the wheels of the daily round turning, cease? How many people switch off their computers, mobiles and smart-phones and cease from work for one day a week – Saturday or Sunday (let alone the whole ‘weekend’)? How many people don’t even ‘switch off’ when they ostensibly go on ‘holiday’?

During the next two months, the banks in England will have a holiday – on Monday May 7^th. During the same period, together with Jewish congregations the world over, BHPS will celebrate Pesach and Shavuot and mark the seven-week journey of our ancestors out of slavery in Egypt, to the revelation of their liberator-God at Mount Sinai. Perhaps, this year, we might think of turning the first and seventh ‘holy days’ of Pesach and the ‘holy day’ of Shavuot into real holidays? It’s a thought…

What’s in a Name? The Apple that (maybe) Wasn’t – Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah

Arguably, the most famous apple since time began was not, perhaps, an apple at all. As we read in Genesis chapter 3 (:6): ‘So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took from its fruit – mipiryo – and ate, and then she gave also to her husband, [who was] with her, and he ate ‘.

The word for fruit is p’ri – as in the blessing for p’ri ha-gafen, ‘the fruit of the vine’, we recite on Shabbat and festivals, and the blessing for p’ri ha-eitz, ‘the fruit of the tree’, we recite before we eat a piece of apple dipped in honey on Rosh Ha-Shanah.

Pr’i ha-eitz: The fruit of the tree. As it happens, there were actually two prohibited trees in the centre of the Garden of Eden – the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge (Gen. 2:9), which as the woman gazed with longing, somehow had coalesced into one (Gen. 3:2)… So did the Sages of old consider the fruit of that infamous tree to be an apple?

The rabbis came up with several possibilities (Midrash Rabbah B’reishit). Perhaps, the woman took grapes? Since the Torah says, ‘she took from its fruit’ – mipiryo – , and not, simply, she took its fruit – piryo – maybe, she created something from the fruit – say, wine – and gave that to her man…? On the other hand, the verse that follows might provide an answer. As we read: ‘Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig-leaves together, and made themselves garments.’ (Gen. 3:7). Perhaps, the tree which furnished the newly self-conscious pair with their first clothes, was the same tree that had provoked them to transgress God’s command?

The notion that the forbidden fruit was an apple does not feature at all in Jewish tradition. Indeed, interestingly, apples are not included in the seven species of the land, listed in Deuteronomy chapter 8 (:8) – namely: wheat, barley, vines, figs, pomegranates, olives and date-palm honey. And yet apples are mentioned in the Bible. Proverbs 25:11 speaks of well-chosen words being like ‘apples of gold’ – tapuchey zahav – in a setting of silver. More significantly, among the luscious fruits, including, grapes, figs and pomegranates, evoked by the lovers in the erotic love poetry of the Song of Songs, there are several references to apples. For example: ‘Like an apple tree among trees of the forest, so is my beloved among the youths. I delight to sit in his shade, and his fruit is sweet to my mouth.’ (2:3).

So, what was the fruit of that tree? Perhaps, it was an apple, after all? Tu Bishvat – the 15^th day of the month of Sh’vat – designated by the Rabbis as the New Year for Trees (Mishnah Rosh Ha-Shanah 1:1), falls this year on February 8^th. It has become customary to eat 15 different fruits of three types on Tu Bishvat:  fruits or nuts with an inedible outer shell and an edible inner core; fruits with edible outer flesh and pithy, inedible cores; and fruits which are edible throughout – including: apples. So, enjoy!

A VISION TO HELP US ON OUR WAY

Since the synagogue building closed for redevelopment after Yom Kippur, the congregation has been a hive of activity in every place: at Ralli Hall, where we celebrated Sukkot and Simchat Torah, and continue to meet for Shabbat morning services and the Beit Lameid (Religion School); in the homes of members hosting Erev Shabbat gatherings; at Lansdowne Place, our new venue for adult study classes and meetings, as well as the synagogue office. Meanwhile, in the past few weeks we have also celebrated a number of special birthdays and anniversaries together, and there have been so many additional hives of activity, focusing on the building, its re-design, fundraising…

Our special congregation has not only managed the move and the transition to our temporary abodes – with the help of so many wonderful volunteers – we are thriving. What is more, we have discovered benefits that we hadn’t anticipated: the warmth generated when people welcome Shabbat together in someone’s home; the way in which the bimah-less ‘Magrill Room’ at Ralli Hall – named after beloved former BHPS chairman, Stephen Magrill – makes the Torah and the Ark accessible to all.

BHPS is alive and well. And as we embark on the process of re-developing 6 Lansdowne Road, we are doing more than renewing the fabric of the building, we are also creating a context for the renewal of the life of our congregation: a multifunctional, accessible space that enables us ‘to meet, to study and to pray’ (Siddur Lev Chadash, p. 484), and which also makes it possible for to create links with the wider community. And so, in addition to being a venue for annual events, like the Sacred Music Festival and the Brighton Festival, we will also be able to host a variety of cultural, interfaith and educational programmes, and so transform BHPS into a dynamic hub in Brighton and Hove. An example, of what I’m talking about, is an interfaith event I have organised together with Sufi practitioner, Evlynn Sharp, which is taking place onDecember 10^th at the Quaker Meeting House in central Brighton to celebrate Human Rights Day. We have called it ‘Creating the Tent’, and it will be an inclusive, spiritual gathering with contributions from Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist and Quaker perspectives, and include talks, chants, creative exercises, discussion and silence. Our refurbished building will be the perfect venue for similar ventures in the future.

The more down-to-earth among you may be thinking: it’s all very well talking about activities in our refurbished building, but first of all, we need to raise a good deal of money. I agree! Let us all do what we can to raise the funds we need – and let us also remember that as it was for our ancestors in the wilderness, it is the vision of what we are seeking that enables us to make the journey.

                                                                                                        Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah

TURNING OVER A NEW LEAF IN THE BOOK OF OUR LIVES

There are many ways of interpreting the word which is the theme of this issue of Open Door: ‘Leaves’. I would like to invite you to reflect on ‘leaves’ as in the ‘leaves of a book’ – but not just any book: the book of our lives.

Throughout the High Holy Day period, we sing the plaintive refrain, which reflects the image of God writing down our deeds in a book – and expresses the fervent hope that we will be inscribed in ‘the Book of Life’: Zochreinu la-chayyim, Melech chafeitz ba-chayyim, v’chotveinu be’sefer ha-chayyim, l’ma’an’cha Elohim chayyim. ‘Remember us for life, for you, O Sovereign, delight in life; and inscribe us in the Book of Life, for Your sake, O God of life.’

However, although the emphasis during the yamim nora’im, literally, the ‘awed days’, is on God as a supreme Sovereign passing judgement on our lives, and recording our deeds, in reality, we are the ones doing the writing. The 11th century Spanish Jewish philosopher, Bachya ibn Pakuda, wrote, ‘Days are scrolls; write on them only what you wish to be remembered’ (Duties of the Heart).

In these days of personal computers and smart phones, very few of us still experience the sensation of sitting, pen in hand, a blank sheet of paper in front of us – even school pupils are more likely to type on a screen than to write on a piece of paper. But, of course, ibn Pakuda was speaking metaphorically; whatever the technology we employ to communicate, we are, ultimately, responsible for our actions. It is up to us to decide what to do – and what not to do; what to say – and what not to say.

In the month preceding Rosh Ha-Shanah, the month of Elul, and during the ten days, which begin on the first day of the seventh month, and end as the sun sets on Yom Kippur, we have the opportunity to take the book of our lives in our hands, to read what we have written so far, and to consider, as we look at the blank leaves beyond, what we are going to write in the next chapter. Of course, the future is not certain and we are bound to be overtaken by events we cannot predict, which are beyond our control. Nevertheless, on the basis of how we have lived up to this point, we can make decisions about how we will live from this day onwards. We can decide to break old habits. We can make different choices and explore new pathways.

As the season turns, and the leaves fall from the trees, may each one of us find the courage, to turn over a new leaf in the book of our lives, and begin a fresh chapter. But that’s not all. As we say goodbye to 26 Farm Road, and begin the process of rebuilding 6 Lansdowne Road, may we also resolve to participate in the writing of a new chapter in the life of our congregation.

Shanah Tovah! May the year that lies ahead be a time of renewal for each one of us, for our loved ones, for our synagogue, for the Jewish people, and for all the peoples of the Earth.

Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah

The Jewish Calendar

The Jewish calendar is regulated by both the moon and the sun. On average, the moon revolves around the Earth in 29½ days and the Earth revolves around the sun in 365¼ days, which means that a 12-month lunar year is about 11 days shorter than a solar year. If Jews followed the moon year alone, seasonal festivals, like Pesach, which is supposed to occur in the spring, would occur 11 days earlier each year, and would soon fall out of season.

To ensure that the moon year does not fall out of step with the sun year, the Jewish calendar adds an extra month seven times in the course of a 19 year cycle. Since Adar is the last month of the year, an additional month of Adar is added in the 3rd, 6th, 8th, 11th, 14th, 17th and19th years of the cycle, becoming Adar Rishon, the ‘first Adar’. In this way, the regular month of Adar, which includes the festival of Purim, becomes Adar Sheini, the ‘second Adar’. As a consequence of this adjustment, the first month of the year, Nisan, occurs 11 days earlier each year for two or three years, and then jumps forward 30 days, balancing out the drift.

What is known as the ‘civil calendar’ has long abandoned any correlation between the moon cycle and the months. In the Jewish calendar, however, months are either 29 or 30 days, corresponding to the 29½-day lunar cycle. Rosh Chodesh – literally, ‘head of the month’ – is the first day of a new month. Traditionally, where a month has 30 days, the 30th day is also regarded as Rosh Chodesh, since, technically, the new month begins after 29.5 days. In these cases, two days of Rosh Chodesh are observed. Within Liberal Judaism, however, the first day of the new month alone is Rosh Chodesh.

In ancient times, Rosh Chodesh was very important, second only to Shabbat, and was celebrated as a women’s holiday. During the rabbinic period, the association of women with the new moon was lost, and was only revived with the development of Jewish feminism in the 1980s. Nowadays, much of this revival revolves around the practice of reciting birkat ha-l’vanah, ‘the blessing of the moon’, when the first sliver of the new moon is first sighted – around the 3^rd day of a new month. The majority of Jews, however, whether observing one or two days as Rosh Chodesh, do not really celebrate the new moon as such, although they may attend synagogue, where they will read ya’aleh v’yavo, an additional prayer, inserted into the T’fillah, the daily ‘Prayer’, sing psalms of Hallel, and hear an additional Torah portion. Indeed, for most synagogue-goers, awareness of the passing of the months is confined to the announcement that is inserted into the Shabbat morning service preceding a new moon.

So how can we become more aware of the changing moons and the Hebrew months? A simple way is to buy a Jewish diary – which you can order from the Leo Baeck College via the synagogue office! And once you have your diary, why not check the Hebrew date each day, and cloudless skies permitting, step outside and look for the moon.

Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah