Sermons

A few moments ago, the person standing here in the pulpit, leading the Shabbat Morning Service, was a young woman: Kate Goffi.  Today, we are witnessing the moment when Kate becomes a bat mitzvah, literally, a ‘daughter of the commandment’, and by standing before us, signals that she is taking responsibility for her own Jewish life, and beginning her journey towards Jewish adulthood.

Kate is doing this in a very particular way: by leading the congregation in prayer and in the study of the sacred text which is at the heart of Judaism: the Torah. In a few minutes, Kate will come up again to the bimah – the platform, which stands in front of the Aron ha-Kodesh, the Holy Ark, and she will give a d’var Torah, her commentary on the Torah portion of this week, which is Yitro. She will then read from the Sefer Torah, the Scroll of the Torah, on behalf of the congregation. In other words, Kate will, once again, lead the congregation. And so, before she starts reading from the scroll, she will call the congregation to the Torah reading with the words, Bar’chu et Adonai ha-m’vorach, ‘Bless the Eternal, who is blessed’ – the words with which she also called the congregation to prayer, earlier in the service.

Kate: I’m not sure that when you were preparing for today, you thought about yourself as a leader-in-waiting – but here you are, leading us! You have been helped, of course, by your tutor Harry, and you couldn’t have done it, without the support of your parents. But even with all the help you have received – including from your teachers, Melanie and Eileen – you have done it. I’ve not decided to retire early – and I’m pretty sure becoming a Rabbi has not featured in your thoughts about your future occupation – at least, not yet! Nevertheless, you have demonstrated today that in an important sense, you are fast learning the skills you need to become a leader.

How does one become a leader? By leading. The story of the Exodus from Egypt shows us that the first leader of the Exodus, was not Moses, but Miriam, his elder sister: If it hadn’t been for her initiative, Moses might never have survived, when his mother and sister placed him in a basket in the reeds of the River Nile, in an effort to save him from Pharaoh’s genocidal decree. It was Miriam, who stood by and waited to see what would happen, and when Pharaoh’s daughter found the baby, arranged that Moses’ mother became his wet-nurse (Exodus 2). But Miriam didn’t, simply, like the midwives, Shiphrah and Pu’ah before her, who saved the lives of the new born boys (Exodus 1), facilitate her baby brother’s survival: last week’s portion, B’shallach relates that at the time of the Exodus, Miriam was designated as a prophet – n’vi’ah – led the women in song and dance, with timbrels, when the waters of the Reed Sea parted. And she didn’t just lead the women, like Moses, she sang on behalf of all the congregation (Ex 15:20-21)

Miriam became a leader by taking the lead. But given that Miriam was the elder of the triumvirate of leader siblings: Miriam, Aaron and Moses, and that she clearly played such an important leadership role in the Exodus, and the subsequent journey through the wilderness, it is astounding that the Torah actually tells us so little about her. But then, we all know that she lived during patriarchal times, when fathers and husbands ruled their daughters and wives, and sisters played second fiddle to their brothers.

But, significantly, Miriam never became any man’s wife. This made her position in the social order rather anomalous, but it also gave her more room to manoeuvre: struggling with a younger brother (Numbers 12) is not quite the same as having to deal with the power of a husband. Interestingly, the haftarah, the reading from the prophetic books that accompanies B’shallach, is the Book of Judges chapter four, verse 4 to chapter 5, which centres on the leadership of the prophet, Deborah. Deborah, like Miriam, sang a song of victory – and, significantly, Deborah was also unmarried. In addition to calling her a ‘prophet’ – n’vi’ah – the text also tells us that she was eishet lappidot. Most translations, translate eishet lappidot as ‘wife of Lappidot’. However, there is no character called Lappidot in the whole of the Hebrew Bible – so, clearly, the Hebrew means something else. In Hebrew, the words, ‘woman’ and ‘wife’ are the same word: ishah; so, eishet means wife of…, or, woman of… Interestingly, the Hebrew word lappid, means ‘torch. Since Lappid is a masculine noun, the usual plural is lappidim. However, since Deborah is referred to as eishet lappidot – the ot ending is the feminine plural – in the absence of a man called Lappidot, the most logical literal translation is ‘woman of torches’ – or, in more comprehensible English, ‘a torch-bearing woman’, or, simply, and more bluntly: ‘a fiery woman’. The association of Deborah with torches – and, indeed, fire – makes a lot of sense: she did, after all, as Judges chapters 4 and five relate, not only serve as a Judge and leader of her people in times of peace, but also, together with the general, Barak, she led the people in times of war – which is how she got to sing a song of victory with him.

So, both Miriam and Deborah were not simply like the matriarchs, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah, strong women, they were also leaders. And – they were also both unmarried – which is probably why they were able to occupy leadership positions in societies that were usually led by men. Of course, male domination is not simply a thing of the past: there are many societies in the world still today, where men hold all the public power, and women are relagated to the private sphere of the home. And it’s not just in other countries that women’s lives are circumscribed in this way: in parts of the Jewish and Muslim communities here in Britain, for example, while boys are taught to participate in the public arena, girls are trained to be wives and mothers, whose primary purpose is to serve their families.

Fortunately, however, there is more than one way of practising Judaism. Today marks the yahrzeit, the anniversary of the death of the first female leader of Liberal Judaism in this country, Lily Montagu – zichronah livrachah, may her memory be for blessing, who died at the age of 89, on January 22^nd 1963.  Lily Montagu, together with Claude Montefiore and Rabbi Israel Mattuck, was one of the three leaders, who formed Liberal Judaism in this country – one of the ‘3 Ms’, as they are affectionately called. In her article on Lily Montagu, published in 1994 in Hear Our Voice (edited by Sybil Sheridan and Sylvia Rothschild, SCM Press), the first anthology of women rabbis writings, Rabbi Dr Margaret Jacobi, now the Rabbi of Birmingham Progressive Synagogue, writes about this ‘pioneer in religious leadership’, who also, throughout her life, engaged in social work, mostly in London’s East End, and was dedicated to improving the lot of young working women. Brought up in an observant Orthodox Jewish family, Lily Montagu became attracted by the Reform movement in Germany and the United States, and after meeting Claude Montefiore at the age of 25, became committed to this new form of Judaism. A year later in 1899, she wrote an article for the Jewish Quarterly Review on, ‘The Spiritual Possibilities of Judaism Today’, which was so well received that it inspired a gathering of like-minded people, which led to the establishment of the Jewish Religious Union in 1902.

Lily Montagu was the catalyst for the development of Liberal Judaism in England. But interestingly, she asked Claude Montefiore to lead the new movement. And then, when the Liberal Jewish Synagogue was founded in St John’s Wood, London, in 1911, and Dr Israel Mattuck came over from the US a year later to be its first Rabbi, he took centre stage. And so, although Lily Montagu led children’s services and Shabbat afternoon services at her Girls Club, which later became the West Central Synagogue, she was reluctant to lead services at the LJS. Indee, it was not until June 1915, at the request of Rabbi Mattuck, that she gave her first sermon there. Subsequently, Lily Montagu did stand regularly in the pulpit, and also became one of the co-founders of the World Union of Progressive Judaism, and was one of the principal organisers of World Union activities for many years. She was also one of the founders of the London Society of Jews and Christians, which still exists, and which predated the Council of Christians and Jews by several years.

Both Claude Montefiore and Rabbi Mattuck, saw themselves as leaders; was this how Lily Montagu saw herself, too? Interestingly, she never married: was this why she was able to devote so much time to Liberal Judaism? If she had married, would her duties to her husband and family have come first? Questions like these are never asked of men because they simply would not be relevant: historically, men have never had to choose between marriage and family and a role in the world. Of course, during the 20th century, women’s lives changed dramatically, as women began to challenge the patriarchal status quo. But still today, while more and more women work, and are also found in the professions, most of the leaders remain men in every sphere: in business, politics, law, education, medicine – and, of course, religion.

Which brings me back to Kate. Kate: thankfully, unlike Miriam and Deborah and Lily Montagu, you have the choice to get married, if you want to, and go out into the world. Just look at your parents: your mum and dad both have careers, and they both look after the home, and share the care for their children: you are very fortunate to have such wonderful role models! And if the confident and accomplished way you have led the service this morning is anything to go by, you have real potential to be a leader. When I asked you, as part of your preparations for today, to think about what it all means to you, your answers revealed a deep level of understanding and real maturity. For you, ‘Being Jewish is all about friends, family and festivals. About getting together and doing things as a community. It’s also about both old and new traditions.’ I think you managed to summon up everything in just a few short words! And your reflections on becoming bat mitzvah were just as pertinent: ‘My Bat Mitzvah marks a point where I start to take responsibility for my actions, and I am recognized in my own right. I will also start to try and give more of a contribution to the synagogue as a whole.’ You are very aware of how you have changed over the past year – again, let me quote you:  ‘I feel I have got more confident in both myself and my Judaism. I have got more independent and responsible, and am relying less on other people.’ You are also rather pleased that you have ‘got a few centimetres taller’ and are now ‘taller than Nana!’ Like many young people, you ‘love spending time’ with your ‘friends, whether it’s just hanging around or going on a trip’, but you also love reading – and not just because it’s a way of getting out of tidying your room! You love the opportunity that reading gives you to enter ‘another world… that’s totally different’.  At the same time, your feet are firmly on the ground: you don’t know what you want to do in the future yet, but you do know that you ‘want to do something that interacts with people… something useful that helps others.’ In this spirit, thinking about what you could do to help make the world a better place to live in, you ‘would like to help young carers who have to look after and support their families because their parents are unable to.’

Kate: I don’t want to pre-empt your wonderful commentary on today’s portion on the subject of leadership – but I do just want to say one thing in that connection before I close: When Moses’ father in law, Yitro, advised him about how to identify leaders – of course, they were all ‘men’ – to share some of the responsibilities of leadership, Moses’ role as a leader was actually enhanced, not diminished. As the eldest sister, you have already taken the lead in your family, and today you are demonstrating your ability to lead the congregation in prayer and study. May the achievement of this day inspire you to continue to be a leader in all that you do. And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah

Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue – Adat Shalom Verei’ut

22^nd January 2011 – 17^th Sh’vat 5771

When does childhood end and adulthood begin? Until modern times, childhood was very short, and children assumed adult responsibilities from one day to the next, as they were put to work, or were married off. Of course, this still happens in some parts of the world even today – but not here, not in Britain, or Europe, not in most of what is called ‘the developed world’ – and not in most of the ‘Jewish world’, either.

I have gone to Israel many, many times. My first visit was in blistering heat in July 1978. I then spent seven months living on a small radical kibbutz less than two kilometers from the Lebanon border in the Western Galilee, from late 1978 to 1979. Returning to Israel most years, up to the present day, the biggest gap between visits was when I was studying to become a rabbi at the Leo Baeck College, from 1984 to 1989 – having chosen the rabbinate over making aliyah.

ISRAEL – TOL’DOT

I have gone to Israel many, many times. My first visit was in blistering heat in July 1978. I then spent seven months living on a small radical kibbutz less than two kilometers from the Lebanon border in the Western Galilee, from late 1978 to 1979. Returning to Israel most years, up to the present day, the biggest gap between visits was when I was studying to become a rabbi at the Leo Baeck College, from 1984 to 1989 – having chosen the rabbinate over making aliyah.

So, you could say I’m a seasoned traveler to Israel. Except: it’s never possible to say that about going to Israel; each visit, in my experience, has been utterly unique – even when I have returned to the same places. Because the same places are never the same: because the geological fault-line between two continents that runs through the heart of the land seems to be mirrored in perennial instability within the society as well: the political and economic circumstances always in flux; the bruising interactions between all the different Jewish constituencies, classes, ethnicities, and cultures – secular, religious and political – generating multiple conflicting loyalties; the relationships between Jewish and Arab Israelis – also a diverse people; encompassing Druze and Bedouins, town dwellers and farmers – shadowed by loss and mistrust; the relationships between Israelis and Palestinians, which vary, depending on the Israelis and the Palestinians concerned – as well as, on whether we’re talking about Gaza or the West Bank – defined by an exhausting perennial contest…  One land; so much diversity and complexity; so many competing narratives; so impossible to grasp – and yet so fascinating and inspiring – which is why I have returned, again and again.

And so, no surprise then that, despite having been in Israel so many times, the Israel tour I co-led with Rabbi Charley Baginsky of Kingston Liberal Synagogue and Dana Friedman, the Liberal Judaism Sh’lichah (Israel Emissary) was also a completely new experience. It would have been more straightforward to have stayed in three main centres and taken trips to various sites of interest. But we wanted to do something different. All Jewish tours to Israel are like pilgrimages; but we wanted our tour to be a real journey in and through the land, so that all the participants, whatever they already knew about Israel, and whether or not they had been there before, could really discover the country – a bit like, the leaders of the tribes, commissioned by Moses to reconnoiter the land beyond the Jordan in the second year of their journey through the wilderness (see Sh’lach L’cha, Numbers 13ff.).

It would have been ideal if we could have flown to Eilat, and then worked our way up the land from the southernmost point. As it was, we flew to Ben Gurion airport, stayed the night in Jerusalem at the Rabin Youth Hostel, and then left the next morning to go down south, to the Aravah desert. Our destination was Kibbutz Lotan, which is part of the progressive movement, and is on the border with Jordan. Israel is 60% desert and the Aravah is one of the most intense deserts in the world, and is, technically speaking, unable to sustain life. And yet, the Zionist pioneers and their descendants have created life there – as the saying goes, they ‘made the desert bloom’. It’s not a myth; it’s true – and it’s also the purist part of the Zionist story: because there, in the Aravah, the pioneers really did create something out of nothing. And so, today, not just date-palm plantations, but flowers for export, and one of the largest dairy farms in Israel: Yotvata. Yes, milk cows in 40+ degrees of heat! It’s all a bit crazy – which is why Kibbutz Lotan has become an ecological centre, recycling everything, including transforming rubbish into buildings.  Of course, it’s hard to live in the desert – Kibbutz Lotan is small, and the fifty or so members rely on Thai workers to help them with their agricultural tasks, which must be conducted on a large scale to make economic survival possible. Idealism versus realism: It’s a balancing act all over Israel.

After a fascinating stay in Lotan, which included a muddy hands on experience of ecological farming in the desert, the following morning we set off, northwards, our coach climbing through a very different and startling terrain: the upper Negev desert. There, we took a hike in over 100 degrees of heat in the centre of Machtesh Ramon – the site, eons ago, of a sea – which takes the form of a massive basin of rock, 9 kilometers wide. We didn’t all go on the hike, of course – the sensible ones went to a shady place on the northern rim of the Machtesh, by the development town of Mitzpeh Ramon, and waited for us.

After lunch in that desert shade, we continued our journey northwards to S’deh Boker, the kibbutz where the first Prime Minister of Israel David Ben Gurion spent a lot of his time, modeling the life of the ‘new Jew’. Home now to Ben Gurion University, here we learnt some more lessons about ecology, and were shown some of the ecological investigations being conducted at the University, which has become one of the world centres for such research.

The Northern Negev is an important area for the Bedouin nomads, and skirting the city of B’eir Sheva, where Abraham and Sarah settled 4000 years ago, we saw many Bedouin encampments on our way to Arad – one of the cities built in the desert after the establishment of the State of Israel. Arad is home to a number of artists – as well as the writer, Amos Oz, and we ended our day by visiting the studio of an artist who worked in glass, before sleeping at Arad’s Youth Hostel.

The next morning we set off for the Dead Sea, and a tour of the Dead Sea Works at its southern tip – a large factory, established in 1934, that mines potash and other minerals for agricultural use throughout the world. Like the kibbutzim in the Aravah, the Dead Sea Works bring home what it means to transform a natural landscape into an environment, shaped to meet the needs of large-scale human habitation. I love the Dead Sea, but it’s always a shock to see it, because it is shrinking each year – by 1 to 2 meters – as the water sources that feed it are diverted to support the growing populations of Israel, Jordan and nascent Palestine.

The Dead Sea region, the lowest point on Earth, 450 meters below sea level, is famous for its densely salty sea, and for its wadis – or ravines. While, like the Aravah, very little rain falls there, the rains, which descend on the Judean Hills above it in the winter, rush down the crevices, briefly flooding the landscape. There are also springs, and those who walked up Nachal David, at Ein Gedi, experienced the pleasure of the fountains and pools of deliciously cool water in the intense heat. As the Bible tells us, and archaeological finds confirm, King David built ‘strongholds’ at Ein Gedi, and those who visited the ruins of the second century synagogue saw clear evidence of community life in ancient times. Booked in for the night at the Ein Gedi Youth Hostel, another day’s exploits in the desert concluded with a relaxing float in the Dead Sea.

The following morning, we began the day by visiting Masada. I went with the brave group that got up at four o’clock in the morning to walk up the famous landmark and see the sunrise. The site of a huge palace built by King Herod, Masada is best known as the refuge where the Zealots held out against the Romans after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem for four years, and then, chose to die – all 960 of them – rather than succumb to their enemies. How did they survive all those years? They managed to draw on the water sources deep in the rock. Leaving Masada, on our way northwards, we were given another reminder that despite the heat and the barren mountains, people were able to live by the Dead Sea: the caves of Qumran where the scrolls were discovered in the late 1950s, confirming the existence of the Essenes, the all-male monastic Jewish sect that lived in that area during Roman times.

After leaving the Dead Sea, we traveled up the Jordan Valley, the Palestinian territories and Jewish settlements to the west, Jordan to the east, making a lunch stop at the site of the old Kibbutz Gesher, whose members held the line against the Jordanians in the 1948 War of Independence. Continuing northwards, we arrived at the Kinneret, the Sea of Galilee, where we visited the cemetery, which is the final resting place of many of the pioneers, including those who established the first kibbutz, Degania, and famous Israeli figures, like the poets, Rachel, and Naomi Shemer. The day’s touring ended with our arrival at Karei Deshe, the Youth Hostel on the northern shore at 4 p.m. – which gave us time to enjoy the beautiful location, including a swim before dinner.

On Friday morning, we set off, still northwards, to the Hula Valley. Originally drained by the pioneers because it was a malaria-ridden swamp, in recent years the Hula Valley has been re-watered and restored to its former role as a wildlife habitat. So the valley includes lakes, which provide an essential stopping off point for the half billion birds, whose route from Europe to Africa and back, takes them down the Jordan Valley, from the source of the Jordan at the most northern point of Israel, through the Hula valley, the Sea of Galilee, the Dead Sea, and through the Aravah, to the Red Sea. Half a billion birds! A staggering natural wonder to sit alongside the sociopolitical history of this remarkable land on the eastern seaboard of the Mediterranean, this bridge between East and West, North and South; which was such a magnate for the empires that disrupted Jewish life again and again long before Christians and Muslims arrived on the scene: the Assyrians, the Babylonians, the Persians, the Greeks, the Romans.

Leaving this little Hula Eden behind us, we continued our journey northwards to the Lebanon border, before traveling south-west through hilly terrain that includes Arab villages, kibbutzim and moshavim – communal farms, where people work together, but live privately – to the ancient Mediterranean seaport of Akko. Akko is home to both Jews and Arabs, and so we visited the Arab-Jewish centre, which is located in a poorer part of the city. There we met the Director, Mohammed, who established the centre 25 years ago, and is passionately committed to Arab-Jewish co-existence. After speaking to us, he showed us round. Because it was lunchtime, and school was over for the week, we were fortunate to encounter some of the children who come to the centre after school, to have a meal, to play and to learn. In one room, a young Arab boy agreed to let us observe his violin lesson – and his eager and yet shy demeanour, brought many of us to tears. In a larger room, several children were playing games and sitting at computers, and were very accommodating of the strange visitors, who assailed them.

After lunch and a tour of parts of the old city, we set off for Haifa, another place inhabited by both Jews and Arabs, going straight to Ohel Avraham, the progressive congregation, based at the Leo Baeck Centre, for the Erev Shabbat service. The service – all in Hebrew, of course – included an array of familiar and unfamiliar tunes, accompanied by guitar-playing Rabbi Ofek, who later, after dinner, came to our hotel and led a programme of songs on the theme of ‘holy time and holy place.’

Having traveled non-stop for six days, thankfully, the seventh day, Shabbat, was a day of rest! After our own Shabbat morning service, which I co-led with Rabbi Charley, the afternoon was an opportunity to visit the famous gardens of the Bahai Temple, walk around, or, simply, relax, before setting off in the early evening down the coast to Tel Aviv – and more free time to eat and explore the centre of modern Israeli Israel.

The next morning we went to Beit Daniel, the largest progressive synagogue in Israel, where Rabbi Talia spoke to us about what it means to be Jewish, as an Israeli Jew. Paradoxically, apart from the Orthodox, Jewish Israelis identify less and less as Jews. What are the implications of this, she asked, for Israel as a Jewish state? In what sense, is Israel a Jewish state? Searching questions to consider; alongside the knowledge that well over 20% of the population of Israel is Muslim or Christian.

Following a speedy bus-tour through Tel Aviv, we were left with these questions and our own thoughts, as we took the road up to Jerusalem. There, after a period of free time, we gathered together at the Jaffa Gate of the Old City for a walk through the Christian quarter, via the relics of Roman habitation, to the Jewish Quarter and the Western Wall – the outer wall of the Temple, built by King Herod, which is all that remains of the centre of pre-rabbinic Judaism. We arrived as dusk was falling and green lights came on in all the minarets of East Jerusalem, some of which – including the green light in the minaret of the Al Aqsa Mosque that sits opposite the golden Dome of the Rock on the Temple Mount – are visible from the Jewish Quarter; a reminder, if we needed one, that Jerusalem is sacred not only to Jews and Christians, but to Muslims, too.

We probably had enough to think about already, but before our last dinner in a lovely literary cafe called T’mol Shilshom, we went to Beit Shmu’el, the headquarters of the World Union of Progressive Judaism, which is situated just outside the old city, opposite the Jaffa Gate, to meet a representative from the Israel Religious Action Centre, which campaigns for human rights and justice on behalf of all the different disadvantaged groups in Israel – including, the progressive movement, which is struggling for recognition, and whose rabbis do not have the authority to officiate at weddings and funerals. And so, our last full day ended, as it had begun, with food for thought about the nature of Israeli society.

That could have been it – but somehow, like the delicious food we ate throughout the trip, we found room for one more stimulating morsel. And so, on the last morning, before leaving for the airport, a visit to the ‘Museum on the Seam’, so-called because it is situated in a villa once owned by an Arab called Tourgeman, located on the Green line, the ceasefire line agreed by Israel and Jordan at the end of the 1948 war, which became a military outpost between 1948 and 1967. So, a museum dedicated to peaceful coexistence, on the 1948 border between Israel and Jordan; the seam which still separates East and West Jerusalem. But that’s not all: situated next to the ultra-orthodox neighbourhood of Mei’ah Sh’arim to the West, the Museum also sits on the seam between the religious and secular Jewish worlds of this complex city. The museum is a statement in itself. Meanwhile, the current exhibition on ‘The Right to Protest’ spoke directly to one of the most pressing issues in Israel today: the steady erosion of democratic rights, as the Israeli government presses on with its agenda of promoting a strong and secure fortress Israel, at all costs. Interestingly, that morning, when we went down to breakfast at the Rabin Youth Hostel, where we had begun our trip, the dining room was occupied: a large banner informing us that it was hosting ‘The Public Commission to Examine the Maritime Incident of 31 May 2010’ – that is, the one involving the Turkish flotilla on its way to Gaza…

There is so much more I could say. But I’m aware that I’ve taken up much too much time already.  Before I close, I want to mention, briefly, the missing element in my account of the Israel tour: the people. So many of the people we met – including our indomitable tour guide, Efrat – radiated pride, in the best sense of that term, as well as commitment, and a passion to engage and communicate. I’m sure that their enthusiasm inspired ours: and so, finally, a word of thanks to all the participants, who took this amazing journey, enthusiastically, every step of the way – despite the heat and the hectic pace – embracing all the challenges; without whom it would never have happened.  And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah

Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue – Adat Shalom Verei’ut

6^th November 2010 – 29^th Cheshvan 5771

As we all know, a few weeks ago there was a General Election, and we now have a new Conservative-Liberal Democrat government, and a new Prime Minister and Deputy Prime Minister. In previous governments, the Deputy PM has stood in when the PM has not been available; although past Deputies have had their own specific responsibilities as well. But the deal brokered between the Conservative and Liberal Democrat parties for the new coalition government, means that Nick Clegg is much more than a ‘stand-in’. Are David Cameron and Nick Clegg offering a new form of co-leadership?

Let me leave you with that question, as I turn now to this week’s Torah portion. On the face of it, Parashat Chukkat, at Numbers chapter 20, provides a snapshot of co-leadership in the wilderness in the form of Moses and Aaron – not unlike a PM and Deputy PM – making efforts to control an unruly mob desperate with thirst. We read (20:9-11):

Moses took the rod from before the Eternal, as [God] had commanded him. / Then Moses and Aaron gathered the assembly together in front of the rock, and he said to them: ‘Listen now, you rebels, are we to bring for you water out of this rock?’ / And Moses raised his hand and struck the rock with his rod twice, then water came out abundantly, and the congregation drank, and their cattle.

But that’s not the end of the story; the text continues (:12):

Then the Eternal said to Moses and Aaron: ‘because you did not believe in Me, to sanctify Me in the eyes of the Israelites, consequently, you shall not bring this assembly into the land, which I have given to them.’

So what did Moses and Aaron do wrong? The Spanish mediaeval commentator, Nachmanides, Rabbi Mosheh ben Nachman, also known as the Ramban, suggested that the mistake they made was to give the congregation the impression that they were going to produce water out of the rock – rather than God: Instead of saying, ‘…are we to bring for you water out of this rock?’ Moses should have said: ‘…is the Eternal One to bring you out water?’  Alternatively, most interpreters assume that what Moses did wrong was to strike the rock, when God told him to speak to it – as we read a little earlier (:7-8):

The Eternal One spoke to Moses, saying:  / ‘Take the rod, and assemble the congregation, you, and Aaron, your brother, and speak to the rock before their eyes, so that it gives out its water.’

But another Spanish mediaeval commentator, Abraham ibn Ezra, ever the rationalist, provided the most plausible explanation: when God said, ‘Speak’, Moses was supposed to strike the rock – striking is the only language a rock understands – the mistake he made, was to strike it twice.

So, what’s the point of this brief foray into mediaeval biblical exegesis? If we think of Moses and Aaron as co-leaders, trying their best to handle a challenging situation, it’s obvious that they had a daunting task, because they didn’t just have to produce the required result, they also had to demonstrate to the people, the power of God: So, in a real sense, neither Moses, nor Aaron, could lead the people; that role belonged to the Eternal One alone; all they could do was communicate God’s will to the people, and demonstrate that God was in charge.

I’m not suggesting for one moment that David Cameron and Nick Clegg may be compared to Moses and Aaron; but the story of the failure of these two wilderness leaders to affirm God’s leadership in the eyes of the people – with tragic consequences for themselves – could prompt us to think about how the new Prime Minister and Deputy Prime Minister should exercise leadership in the current financial crisis: In place of the usual ‘ping-pong’ politics, should they model compromise and flexibility? Instead of drawing on testosterone to fuel the habitual adversarial style of political debate, should they be using the coalition of their parties to foster a spirit of common endeavour?

And what do we expect them to do? Accomplish the feat of banishing the deficit, while protecting all essential services? Provide moral leadership by taking pay cuts and living more frugally?  Since we live in a democracy, and not a theocracy, the new PM and deputy PM, may not be answerable to God, but they are answerable to their parties and to us, the voters: so, again, what do we expect them to do? – and how will they demonstrate that they have fulfilled all the multi-various expectations thrust upon them by their respective parties, and by the heterogeneous electorate? With the people clamouring on the one hand, and God demanding, on the other, Moses and Aaron had an impossible assignment; but compared with the complexity of what David Cameron and Nick Clegg are expected to accomplish, that relatively minor matter of finding water in the desert seems quite straight-forward.

But of course, there was more to it than that: Water is always a problem in the desert. Why were the people clamouring for water at that moment? The beginning of Numbers chapter 20 provides an answer (:1-2):

The Israelites, all the congregation, came into the wilderness of Tzin in the first month; and the people dwelt in Kadeish; and Miriam died there, and was buried there. / And there was no water for the congregation; so they assembled together against Moses and against Aaron.

The French medieval commentator, Rashi, noted the connection between Miriam’s death and the congregation’s murmurings for water. Curiously, the reference to Miriam’s death marks a return to the narrative after a lacuna in the text of thirty-eight years. What happened during those lost years? The Sages spoke of ‘Miriam’s Well’, which accompanied the people on all their journeys through the wilderness (Shabbat 35a).

The legend of Miriam’s Well is delightful, and it suggests that Miriam’s leadership was essential. And yet, Miriam is almost completely absent from the Torah narratives: There is the story of her helping to save the life of her baby brother Moses in Sh’mot, Exodus chapter 2 (:1-2); there is an even briefer snippet about her leading the women in song and dances with timbrels at the Sea of Reeds in B’shallach, Exodus chapter 15 (:20-21). After that, the narrative does not include Miriam again until Parashat B’ha’a lot’cha, which we read two weeks ago. But when she reappears there, the story is very revealing. The text tells us at the beginning of Numbers chapter 12 (:1):

Va-t’dabbeir Miryam – v’Aharon – b’Moshe: Miriam spoke – and Aaron – against Moses.

Va-t’dabbeir – She spoke: Miriam is the prime-mover. We read (:1-2):

Miriam spoke – and Aaron – against Moses because of the Cushite woman, whom he had married; for he had married a Cushite woman. And they said: has the Eternal One, indeed, spoken only with Moses? Has he not spoken also with us?

Why did Miriam object to Moses’ new wife? Was she perhaps angry on Tzipporah’s behalf? We don’t know, but certainly, she had much more reason to be aggrieved than Aaron about Moses’ exclusive relationship with God – and significantly, she was the only one who was punished: with a temporary dose of tzara’at – leprosy (:10). Despite being the eldest sibling, despite being described as a n’vi’ah, a prophet, Miriam’s leadership role is completely marginalised in the Torah. And yet, the people couldn’t continue their journey without her. The tale concludes (12:15):

Miriam was shut away outside the camp for seven days; and the people did not journey on until Miriam was brought in again.

So, why was Miriam’s death mentioned only in passing?  All the text says is (20:1) – and I repeat: ‘and the people dwelt in Kadeish; and Miriam died there, and was buried there.’  By contrast, seven verses are devoted to Aaron’s death at Mount Hor a short while afterwards (20:23-29), where we read (:29):

When all the congregation saw that Aaron was dead, they wept for Aaron thirty days, all the house of Israel.

Are we to understand that in place of formal mourning rites for Miriam, the people, in their grief and loss, clamoured for water? And what of Miriam’s brothers? Did Moses and Aaron find it so difficult to control the people because they, too, were grief-stricken? After all, Moses owed his life to his resourceful and courageous older sister; was that why he became so enraged as he stood before that rock?  And as he looked at that rock, did his thoughts turn, perhaps, to another rock; the stone that marked Miriam’s grave?

Which brings me back to Messer’s Cameron and Clegg and the challenges they must grapple with: As they make efforts to provide effective leadership in the current crisis, isn’t it obvious what is lacking? Where were the women during the Prime Ministerial debates? Where are the women in the new government? Once again, the majority of the ministers are men. Once again, after thirteen years of Tony Blair, followed by Gordon Brown, another two youngish men-in-suits sit at the helm of British politics. And as the Labour Party goes about finding a new leader, are we any doubt that he will be another youngish man, too? Of course, all the recent male-leaders are ‘new men’, who probably know how to navigate themselves around the kitchen, as well as around the Cabinet, and participate in the care of their children. But nevertheless, as long as the government and the majority of the political parties are so male-dominated, can we really expect a new form of leadership, and a new approach to the problems we face?

Of course, there is another question: Would women really manage it all any differently? After all, look at Margaret Thatcher – known as ‘the best man’ in her Cabinet. But Margaret Thatcher was a lone woman. As I draw to a close, let us reflect on Miriam at the Sea of Reeds (Exodus 15:20-21):

Miriam, the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand; and all women went out after her with timbrels and with dances. / And Miriam sang to them…

Moses’ leadership depended on his special ‘mouth to mouth’ (Numbers 12:8), ‘face to face’ relationship with God (Deuteronomy 34:10), which set him apart from the people; Aaron’s priestly leadership separated him from the people, too.  By contrast, on the one occasion that the Torah mentions Miriam as a leader, she stands, not alone, but with the women who follow her; taking a timbrel in her hand, she empowers the women to do likewise.  But Miriam did not just lead the women; she sang to all the people; the women and the men; the Hebrew says she sang lahem – to them, masculine, not lahen, to them, feminine: Hebrew is a completely gendered language, and the use of the masculine form on its own denotes both genders. Miriam modeled an inclusive form of leadership that was empowering and enabling of others – both women and men. The American anarchist, Emma Goldman, is reputed to have said, ‘If I can’t dance, it’s not my revolution.’ Maybe, just maybe, if not just one woman came to the fore, but, rather, many women participated in leadership, on equal terms, women and men might all get a chance to dance during the revolution, and begin to find new inclusive ways to lead and to govern, and new approaches to resolving crises and conflicts: Bimheirah b’yameinu – speedily in our own day. And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah, The Liberal Jewish Synagogue, 19^th June 2010 – 7^th Tammuz 5770

Some of those who are gathered here today can remember back to 1935. For those who can’t – and that includes me – just try and imagine what life was like in the mid-1930s: the depression had taken hold, Hitler was in power in Germany, Mosley was preparing to march through the streets of the Jewish East End… Was it a hopeful time – or was it is a fearful time? Judging by the way the founders of this congregation went about establishing a Liberal presence in what had hitherto been an Orthodox Jewish community that had been ensconced since the early 1800s, one might say that on balance, those went about transforming 29 New Church Road into a synagogue, felt optimistic about the future. Indeed, their vision was rewarded: within two years, the congregation had become so successful that it moved to new premises here at 6 Lansdowne Road – indeed, took up residence in a 1930s building that reflected perfectly the modern outlook of the members of Brighton and Hove Liberal Synagogue.

What did it mean to be a Liberal synagogue back in those days? It meant being part of a Liberal movement in Jewish life that began in Germany in 1810, and was founded in this country in 1902. Apart from the observance of Shabbat and most of the festivals, it meant giving priority to ethical teachings and values over ritual practices, like the dietary laws of kashrut. It meant treating the genders equally when it came to life-cycle moments and participation in religious services and study. It meant a much shortened liturgy and conducting the greater part of Shabbat and Festival services in English. It meant a more formal approach to music with the use of choir and an organ.

The list goes on… One cannot underestimate how radical and innovatory Liberal Judaism in England was in the early decades of the 20th century; it was very modern, very avant-garde, very different from traditional Judaism – indeed, for those Jews were not Liberal it did not seem Jewish at all, and in a very crucial sense it wasn’t: Liberal Judaism, like Rabbinic Judaism, following the destruction of the Temple by the Romans in 70 CE, although rooted in Jewish tradition, was an entirely new form of Jewish life. While Orthodox Judaism responded to modernity by building a fence around the Torah, Liberal Judaism embraced modernity with all its democratic values – not least, modernity’s rationalist impulse and belief in progress.

Ah … progress … when Liberal Judaism was first founded in this country in 1902, progress was taken for granted; to paraphrase that overused new Labour slogan of the 1997 General Election: things could ‘only get better’ … – but unfortunately, they didn’t: the First World War, with its tragic and catastrophic loss of the lives of so many thousands of young men; the rise of fascism and Nazism in the 1930s, which led to the annihilation of one third of the Jewish people and the murder of hundreds of thousands of other groups – Gypsies, gay men, the disabled – all those who did not meet the Aryan notion of perfection. In a way, when this synagogue was founded in 1935, the ideal of progress had already been severely tarnished and was on the verge of being obliterated by the forces of irrational hatred – although the optimistic founders of BHLS probably did not realise it at the time. So, progress had already had its day in 1935. But despite the challenges brought by the Second World War, after it was over the membership of BHLS grew, activities expanded – not least, the legendary youth club, first set up in 1946, that managed to keep going with its increasingly un-youthful membership for many years, drawing in people from the wider Jewish community to participate in its varied and enjoyable range of programmes and events.

Brighton and Hove Liberal Synagogue was ‘the place to be’ for so many people during those years. At the same time, gradually, during the 70s and 80s, the impact of the Sh’oah began to make itself felt – both the scale of the loss of six million individual lives, and the loss of thousands of Jewish communities across the continent of Europe. And so, led by a new post-war generation of rabbis, this congregation, together with its sister congregations elsewhere, began to become aware of its responsibility to maintain the traditions of Jewish life. In the words of the late Emil Fackenheim, we refused to ‘give Hitler a posthumous victory’. But the Sho’ah was not the only impetus: the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948, created a new self-confident Jewish presence in the world, and the transformation of Britain into a multicultural society gave Jewish congregations a new reason to celebrate Jewish distinctiveness. And so, following the lead of the Liberal movement, this congregation began to reclaim many of the rituals and practices that had seemed so irrelevant back in the heady days of the dawn of the 20th century.

To some of those whose Liberal Jewish identity was formed during the first decades of Liberal Judaism, these developments have looked like a backward step – and worse: a retreat into ‘orthodoxy’. At the same time, it is clear to everyone, including ‘classical’ Liberals, that the changes in Liberal Jewish life in general over the past thirty years or so, and in this congregation, in particular, have been much more complex: on the one hand, we now have a prayer-book that we call a Siddur, using the traditional name, that opens from right to left and follows the rabbinic order of the service; on the other hand, that same Siddur, includes a covenant ceremony for daughters, alongside the traditional b’rit milah ceremony for sons. On the one hand, Bar Mitzvah has made a comeback; on the other hand, girls also celebrate becoming Bat Mitzvah on equal terms, and Confirmation at age 17 has been transformed into Kabbalat Torah with young people choosing to continue their Jewish learning for a further two years after they have become Bar and Bat Mitzvah. On the one hand, we have reintroduced the commemoration of Tishah B’Av, the day that marks the destruction of the first and second Temples; on the other hand, we do so with a new liturgy that includes, both, all the destructions of the Jewish people, and remembrance of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, and the terrorist attacks in the United States on September 11^th 2001. On the one hand, the synagogue kitchen is now kosher; on the other hand, the synagogue not only promotes ethical eating, including fair-trade, championing justice and inclusion in every area of life, it openly includes, and indeed welcomes and celebrates mixed faith couples, lesbian and gay individuals and couples, single people, and a wide variety of individuals, with complex histories and journeys, some of whom are Jewish, some of whom are Jew-ish, and some of whom are not Jewish at all.

When, back in the mid-1980s, Brighton and Hove Liberal Synagogue changed its name to Brighton Hove Progressive Synagogue to signal its hope that it might be possible for the Liberal and Reform movements to merge, the congregation also, without realising it, reinvented the word ‘progressive’ for a new era in which simple progress was a thing of the past. And so, this progressive synagogue stands for and embraces everything that is forward-looking, open, inclusive, egalitarian and centred on the promotion of justice and human rights. And yet, we know that things won’t simply ‘get better’: we have to take responsibility for ensuring that our values are translated into practice each and every day – not least, in the way we respond, both, to those who cross the threshold, and to individuals and groups in the wider community.

For the past three weeks an exhibition of the history and life of the congregation has been on display, thanks, in particular, to the hard work of Betty Skolnick one of the vice- presidents. As we look back and reminisce, and also savour events of the more recent past, I hope we feel proud of who we are, what we are and what we have achieved, and that we feel a sense of gratitude for the leadership of successive Councils over the years, and for the contribution made by all the rabbis and lay ministers, who shaped the life of the congregation: Rabbi Goldberg and refugee Rabbi Lemle, Revd. Archie Fay, Rabbis Baylinson, Richards, Sirtes, Benjamin, Ginsbury and Wallach, Aubrey Milstein, whose passing we mourned in August 2008, and, during the 1990s, Rabbis Wolff and Glantz.

I also hope that we look forward to the future with that same optimism and expectation that emboldened our founders to establish Brighton and Hove Liberal Synagogue in 1935. I have now been rabbi of BHPS since December 2000. Before I close, I would like to end by sharing with you my vision of the years ahead. As we celebrate our 75th anniversary, my hope is that the kind of future we are journeying towards includes seven strands, which woven together will make the fabric of congregational life, vibrant, strong, flexible, whole and enduring:

1. A commitment to life-long Jewish learning that translates into a full programme of Jewish educational opportunities for members and friends of all ages

2. A ‘Keeping in Touch’ network of caring interactions across the congregation that ensures that ‘contact’ takes place not only between the synagogue professionals and lay leaders and ‘the rest’ of the congregation, but also between people of all ages, with activities taking place in people’s homes as well as in the synagogue building

3. A pallet of Shabbat activities – including, meditation, discussion and dance, as well as a variety of services – running parallel with one another, enabling people with a variety of interests, passions and needs to express their differing ways of being Jewish and celebrating Shabbat, before gathering in one place at the end of the morning to celebrate kiddush and eat together.

4. Active participation in Jewish life beyond the synagogue doors: in the local Jewish community and its cross-communal activities, in the national movement of Liberal Judaism, in Progressive Judaism across the world, and, in particular, in Israel

5. Engagement with the wider non-Jewish community of Brighton and Hove and beyond,  encompassing multi-faith encounter and study, cross-cultural and social justice initiatives, ecological projects, and ‘arts and culture’ events that are part of the city calendar

6. The re-configuring of the festivals, beyond the provision of worship services, to create links between all the different dimensions of synagogue life, and with the wider community, both Jewish and non-Jewish, so that the festivals don’t just ‘happen’ on particular dates, the themes of the different festivals, provide a framework for the whole year, connecting together both people and the key activities associated with each theme.   And, finally:

7. The fostering of a ‘participatory democracy’ culture at BHPS to ensure maximum involvement of all the different ‘constituencies’ within the synagogue in the development of the congregation.

We are 75 years young and going strong. As we pause on the threshold between the past and the future, please join with me in giving thanks to the Eternal One, with the words of the Shehecheyanu, the blessing for new experiences and special moments:

Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu, Melech ha-olam, shehecheyanu, v’kiy’manu, v’higi’anu laz’man ha-zeh.

Blessed of are You, Eternal One, our God, Sovereign of the universe, who has kept us alive, and sustained us, and enabled us to reach this time. And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah

Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue, 22nd May 2010 – 9th Sivan 5770

I usually write my sermon on a Friday.  But BT informed us that we wouldn’t be connected to the internet in our new home until midnight on Thursday – ten days after our move – and I knew that I would need to catch up on a back-log of emails on Friday that during my stints in my shul office I had not managed to reduce significantly.  Consequently, I decided to write my sermon on Wednesday – my non-congregational work day.

So there I was on Wednesday sitting at the desk in Jess’ study – mine isn’t ready yet – looking out on the view outside the window, trying to think about what it means to be a Jew and to live a Jewish life.   We haven’t moved to the middle of the country-side – were just off the A259 passed Newhaven on the way to Seaford by Bishopstone.  But the front of our house faces the plain that leads to the sea – which we can see to the right – and the Downs that stretch out ahead and to the left.  Apart from clusters of houses on the hillside across the plain, to the right-side of the house, the rest of the vista is simply the plain, a slice of the sea, and the sloping Downs – and 360 degrees worth of sky that is not obscured by the homes on either side of us.

It’s a bit different from staring out at a row of identical Victorian terraced houses…  It’s a bit different from living in crowded Brighton.   And it’s exactly twelve miles along the coast west-wards from any signs of Jewish life…   So what does it mean to be a Jew in all that space, and natural East Sussex beauty – and all that sky?   My booba, my maternal grandmother, who grew up on the outskirts of the small town of Siemiatycze not far from  Bialystok in the Russian Pale, would have wondered what all the fuss was about.  When Rosa Mindel Tuchmacher, as she was called then, arrived in the East End around 1902, and went to live with a cousin, who had made the move a few years earlier, her cousin remarked that Rosa’s rosy country-flushed cheeks were ‘like two red apples’.  The pogroms aside, which had forced booba’s departure, and which she described to me in blood-curdling detail, I also remember her talking to me longingly about spending her childhood days playing in the woods and swimming in the bubbling stream…  That’s a dimension of shtetl life that we don’t tend to think about…  And then, there were the animals – not just the wild creatures in the woods: the chickens and the cow that lived in the backyard, providing the family with fresh eggs and milk.

Even the urban Jews of that generation, like the man my booba met and married in the East End, Solomon Waltzer, who grew up in the city of Czernowitz, which was in the far east of the Austro-Hungarian empire at that time – even his family had come to live there from a village.  Indeed, even my father and his parents, Julius and Paula Klempner, who lived in the centre of Vienna until the Nazis marched in, in 1938; for all their urban sophistication, they were part of families that had originally come there from very small towns in the midst of rural Rumania.

Yes, we tend to think that Jews live in urban clusters, but it wasn’t always the case, and in recent years, after a century of city-dwelling, Jewish people have been moving out to the wilds, even beyond surburbia, in increasing numbers.  We only have to consider the local Jewish community of Brighton and Hove:  in addition to the successive waves of 18+ year olds, who have moved to cities, like London, Leeds and Manchester, there are all those people who now choose to live in various parts of East and West Sussex.

So how does a Jew live outside an urban centre, at some distance from a synagogue and Jewish community?  How does a Jewish couple or a Jewish family live Jewishly in a context that does not mirror and reflect Jewish life?  The simple answer to these questions is that Jews have always carried our Jewish life with us in portable parcels wherever we have roamed – in our m’zuzot, which we fixed to the door-posts of our homes, in our candle-sticks, and challah cloths and kiddush cups, in our saucepans and chopping boards, in our books and, for the more musical, in our violins.  And even without these external ‘signs’, generation after generation,  as we journeyed from place to place, we have carried our Jewish life within us – in our hearts and in our mouths: in the songs we sang and the stories we told and the recipes our hands conjured up from memory.

This week’s Torah portion, T’tzavveh, opens at Exodus chapter 27, verse 20, with the instructions to the priests concerning the lighting of the m’norah, the seven-branched lamp-stand, in the Temple.  The Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed by the Romans 2000 years ago, and the huge golden m’norah was taken in booty.  Since that time, it has been left to ordinary Jews, to kindle the light of Jewish life in our homes every Shabbat, and during the annual eight-day festival of Chanukkah.   For the Temple was replaced not only by the synagogue, but, just as importantly, by the home.  Indeed, apart from the reading of the Torah, which is a communal responsibility, the majority of the most important Jewish rites and practices – lighting Shabbat and festival candles, the dietary laws of kashrut, the Pesach seder, the building of the sukkah and the waving of the lulav at Sukkot – were designated by the rabbis for home observance.  Where will you find the altar that was at the heart of Temple-worship?  Not in the synagogue: at home, transformed into the dining table.

So, Jews have carried our Jewish lives with us on all our journeys, and have created sanctuaries of Jewish life in our homes – especially, perhaps, during times of persecution.  This evening we will celebrate the festival of Purim in time-honoured fashion by reading the Book of Esther, which may be found in K’tuvim, the ‘Writings’, which form the last of the three sections of the Tanach – the Hebrew Bible. Traditionally, Esther is one of the ‘Five Scrolls’, connected with five significant moments of the Jewish year.  The most famous of these scrolls – m’gillot in Hebrew – it is known as the m’gillah, the scroll.  The story related in the Scroll of Esther has a larger-than-life ‘fairy-tale’ character – but like all fairy-tales, it speaks truths that are deeper than mere ‘facts’.  One of these truths is articulated clearly and chillingly by the villain of the piece, Haman, whom the King, Achashveirosh, appoints as his chief courtier.  Addressing the King, Haman says (3:8-9):

There is a certain people, scattered and dispersed among the other peoples in all the provinces of your realm, whose laws are different from any other people and who do not obey the king’s laws; and it is not in Your Majesty’s interest to tolerate them. / If it please Your Majesty, let an edict be drawn for their destruction…

‘Scattered and dispersed among the other peoples’ – that’s the diaspora in a nut-shell.  And as a ‘scattered and dispersed’ people, ‘whose laws are different from any other people’, we have suffered persecution at the hands of our inhospitable ‘hosts’ for millennia.   What is more, although the type of pre-modern autocratic society the Book of Esther conjures up is long gone in most parts of the world, the Sho’ah reminded us that we can still be singled out for ‘destruction’ – and that the liberating impulse of modernity could not prevent Jew-haters using modern technologies to devise modern methods of mass-murder.

Against this hideous backdrop the decision of some Jews in the post-Sho’ah era to leave cities and Jewish urban and suburban centres to live in the country-side could look more like flight.  And in the context of the stubborn persistence of anti-Semitism in modern guises, on the one hand, and the openness of modern society, on the other, the traditional view of the home as a centre of Jewish life becomes open to question:  Jewish life maybe portable, but that doesn’t mean that we can assume that those Jews who choose to live in the country-side are also choosing to create Jewish home-lives; the opposite may be true.  Of course, it’s not possible to generalise, and anyway, people make their life choices for complex reasons, and live in ways that are rarely, either/or.  But when we consider how contingent our choices about how to live our lives can be, we realise that however important the home may be, for Jewish life to flourish, Jewish communal existence is vital.  Look at us here this Shabbat morning: we all have homes to go to, but we draw nourishment from engaging together and we re-connect with the well-springs of our existence as a people by participating in the weekly reading of the Torah, which provides the framework of meaning for all our Jewish endeavours.

And so, back to Wednesday – and writing this sermon facing that broad, open vista:  Yes, Jess and I have transported our portable Jewish lives into our new abode, and are gradually unpacking all the special Jewish ‘signs’ that will mark our house as a Jewish home on the East Sussex landscape.  But however Jewish we make our home, the Jewish meaning of our lives remains inextricably connected with the wider Jewish world that we inhabit, which encompasses, the synagogue, and the Jewish community of Brighton and Hove, and Liberal Judaism – and, indeed, Israel.  Ultimately, living Jewishly is about, as the Sh’ma puts it (Deuteronomy 6:4ff.), the ‘words’ we hold in our ‘hearts’, when we are ‘at home’, and when we are ‘along the way’, when we ‘lie down’ and when we ‘rise up’ – and how we act and conduct our relationships in every place.   The second Torah portion today, from Deuteronomy chapter 25 (:17-19), which begins, Zachor – ‘Remember’ – and gives the Shabbat before Purim its special name: Shabbat Zachor; reminds us of Haman’s ancestor, Amalek, ‘who attacked the stragglers in the rear’ as they were leaving Egypt (25:17).  But there is another kind of remembering; the kind that is about repeatedly making connections and re-membering: re-constituting Jewish life.  Let us all commit ourselves to this task – not only when we dismantle our homes for a move, and put the pieces back together again, but also, as we go about our daily lives.  And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah

Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue – Adat Shalom Verei’ut

27^th February 2010 – 13^th Adar 5770

THE TIMES THEY ARE A-CHANGING

The Bat Mitzvah of Leah Segal

This Shabbat we have come together to celebrate both the seventh day of the week and the Bat Mitzvah of Leah Segal.  But today is not simply a double celebration.   As we go through the liturgy and read the weekly Torah portion each Shabbat, the feeling that we are participating in a great cycle, week after week, that is repeated year after year, is very reassuring.  A Bat Mitzvah – or Bar Mitzvah – on the other hand, is not at all like that:  Today is a transformational moment – and for one young woman and her family, life will never be the same again.  Becoming Bat Mitzvah means that Leah is leaving her childhood behind and embarking on the next stage of her life’s journey towards adulthood and adult responsibilities.   Life with a capital ‘L’ may be a great cycle; but the life of the individual is a line that, as the years pass by, wends it’s way in one direction.  So, there is nothing reassuring about a young person coming of age…

Now, Leah – and Ruth and Mark – I’m not saying any of this to make today even more nerve-racking than it already is!   Today is a wonderful moment of celebration – and it is very important that we inhabit that moment fully and be completely present.  At the same time, since as human beings we are blessed with consciousness and awareness of the passage of time, it is virtually impossible for us to simply inhabit the present; we are not simple, we are complex creatures – and so as we experience the wonder of today, we cannot help, also, feeling loss, as Leah’s childhood ends, and not a little anxiety about the future.

And so, we cannot help acknowledging that even Jewish life – despite the ever-repeating cycles – is about on-going change and development.  We just have to take ourselves back one hundred years and think about the journeys of our own families and all that they experienced over the course of the twentieth century.  And so, we know that as we complete the first decade of the twenty-first century and embark on a new one, what it means to live as Jews today is very different from what it meant back then.

And if we are not convinced that Jewish life has changed, let us just pause for a moment and think about what we are witnessing today: Leah’s Bat Mitzvah. Leah has already led the service beautifully for us, and in a short while I will call her up to the bimah to give her d’var Torah – her commentary – on the Torah portion and read from the scroll.  A century ago, the notion that a young Jewish woman would celebrate her coming of age in the same way as a young Jewish man was unthinkable – and not just one hundred years ago:  I didn’t celebrate my Bat Mitzvah; I stopped attending cheider – religion school classes – at the age of eight when my brother became Bar Mitzvah.  How many women here I wonder celebrated their Bat Mitzvah when they were twelve or thirteen?   And if you did mark your coming of age, did you celebrate the moment by leading the congregation in prayer and reading from the Torah?   As that nice Jewish boy, Bob Dylan, put it back in the 1960s, ‘The times they are a-changing’.

Jewish life has changed – and not just in the progressive world.  Indeed, since the new millenniam dawned, a small number of women have been ordained as orthodox rabbis – yes, female orthodox rabbis.  The first was Rabbi Eveline Goodman-Thau, who received s’michah privately in Jerusalem on 18th October 2000, and became the first female rabbi to serve in Austria where she led the liberal Jewish Community in Vienna until March 2002 (1).  Interestingly, Rabbi Goodman-Thau, whom I met in Berlin at the Bet Debora conference for women rabbis and scholars in 2000, shortly after her ordination, was a child refugee from Vienna in 1938 and is descended from a long-line of rabbis and Chassidic rebbes.  Finding sanctuary in Holland and surviving the Sho’ah, she moved to Jerusalem in 1956 and went on to become a scholar in Jewish studies, before deciding she wanted to become a rabbi much later in life (2).

Rabbi Goodman-Thau is very clear that she calls herself a ‘Rabbi’) (ibid.) – so, too, Rabbi Haviva Ner-David, an orthodox woman living in Jerusalem, who was ordained privately by Rabbi Aryeh Strikovsky in Tel Aviv in 2006, while gaining a Phd. in Talmud and raising five small children at the same time (3).  Needless to say, as yet, most of the orthodox world refuses to acknowledge these women as rabbis.  And as it has turned out, the cost of public recognition within orthodoxy has been quite high – and very controversial.  The trail-blazing orthodox feminist Blu Greenberg was very enthusiastic when, on 22^nd March 2009, in an orthodox synagogue in Riverdale, Bronx, New York, Sara Hurwitz, ‘a learned and devout Orthodox Jewish woman was conferred the new title of MaHaRa’T by Rabbi Avi Weiss, senior rabbi of the Hebrew Institute of Riverdale’ (4).  The title Maharat is an acronym for Manhigah Hilchatit, Ruchanit, Toranit, which means ‘Leader in Jewish Law, Spirituality, and Torah’.  It basically describes a rabbi’s role.  However, some have asked whether the creation of a special title for women, rather than using the time-honoured one, doesn’t simply reinforce the message that it is unacceptable for women to become orthodox rabbis (5).

The debate rages on… But the very fact that there is a public debate and that orthodox women are studying as men have done for millennia, and are being recognised for their knowledge by their orthodox male teachers, tells us how much has changed – even in the orthodox Jewish world.  On December 27^th 1935 Regina Jonas became the first ever woman rabbi, when, having studied at the progressive seminary in Berlin, she was ordained privately by Rabbi Max Dienemann in Offenbach (6).  As I discovered when I undertook my research into her life and work in the early 1990s, before the Sho’ah the idea of ‘women’ rabbis was too much even for Progressive Judaism – although interestingly, Rabbi Leo Baeck, the leader of German Jewry at that time, authorised Rabbi Jonas’ ordination certificate in 1942 six months before she was deported to Theresienstadt.   Rabbi Jonas was murdered in Auschwitz in 1944 and it was not until the feminist movement of the 1970s challenged the patriarchal status quo that Progressive Judaism began to ordain women as rabbis.  And now, today, half the progressive rabbinate in Britain – around 74 rabbis in all – is female; and in the United States, the figure is several hundred (7).

Who knows what the future will bring?   Of course, not all Jewish women want to become rabbis.  The issue is not only about equal access to Jewish leadership, but equal access to Jewish life – and the struggle for gender equality is taking place across the Jewish world – even in the ultra-orthodox heartland of the Western Wall in Jerusalem.  Some of you may have heard of the current controversy concerning the ‘Women of the Wall’.  For twenty-one years now women dressed in tallitot – prayer-shawls – have been praying each Rosh Chodesh – New Moon – at the Western Wall, and reading from a Torah scroll.  They have been spat on and abused verbally and physically by orthodox men praying on the other side of the m’chitzah, the fence that separates the sexes.  But now the law is being used against them.  Rabbi Sh’muel Rabinovich, appointed as Rabbi of the Wall by secular leaders, who have always left Judaism in the hands of the orthodox, has taken action to stop the Women of the Wall.  And so, in November 2009, Nofrat Frenkel, was arrested during the Rosh Chodesh service because she was wearing a tallit and kippah and carrying a Torah scroll.  And so, on January 5^th, Anat Hoffman, the leader of Women of the Wall, who is also Director of the Israel Religious Action Center, a human rights organisation, was ‘summoned to the Jaffa Gate Police Station’ and ‘warned’ that she was ‘being investigated for committing a felony’ – that is, for performing ‘a religious act that offended the feelings of men (8).   It looks like the ultra-orthodox are winning; but I’ve met Anat Hoffman; she won’t be intimidated – and remember: the suffragettes were also arrested – and imprisoned – and the vote was finally won.

So, Leah was has all this got to do with you?   Well, today, with the support of your parents and your teachers, and the guidance of your tutor, Andy, you become Bat Mitzvah. You have already stood before us in your tallit, with it’s tzitzit, its fringes, symbolising your new status as a ‘daughter of the commandment’, taking responsibility for your Jewish life.   And, in short while you will not only read from the Seifer Torah, you will read from this week’s portion, Yitro, which relates how a rabble of ex-slaves entered into the covenant with the Eternal One at Mount Sinai.  Moses was there, of course – and his older sister, Miriam, too; the men were there – and so were the women.  The Torah has Moses speaking only to the men: ‘Be ready for the third day, come not near a woman’, he is reported to have said to them (Exodus 19:15) – and for over three thousand years since, Jewish men – both the leaders and the followers – have assumed that Judaism centres around what they say and do, as they have laid total claim to the public space of Jewish life.  But Jewish life is changing:  Here you are at the centre of this public space, this Sanctuary in your synagogue: your synagogue:  As of today, no longer a child – it belongs to you – although you’ll be pleased to know that you won’t be expected to pay a membership fee until you have completed your education, and are earning some money!   The point is, Leah, you have the absolute right to play an equal part, and to choose how you want to lead your life as a Jew – not as a Jewish woman – as a Jew.

You know this already, of course.  You are part of a generation of young Jewish women who expect to play an equal part in Jewish life.  When I asked you what being Jewish means to you, you responded – and I quote:  ‘Being Jewish means having people who are always there for you, and who you have something in common with, instantly.  It means being part of a community and connecting with people – people from all over the world, and also those who aren’t with us anymore. I love the fact that I will be able to pass this on, these rituals and traditions, and they will continue throughout the generations.’  Yes, Leah, you realise, as you put it, that becoming Bat Mitzvah ‘means growing up and officially taking on my responsibilities as a Jew today’ – and that it is also about , ‘being a part of my family’.  You understand that when you receive the scroll through the generations of your family, you will be following in the footsteps of those who went before you as you become responsible for transmitting Judaism to others – and for continuing to learn about Judaism with others: – that’s why you have already started participating with your ‘friends who are in the Kabbalat Torah class.’

Leah: it is clear that you are not the same person you were a year ago: you are, as you put it, ‘more sure of myself… I have grown up and I think that I can now understand my feelings and those of people around me far better….  I can now take more responsibility for myself and am far more independent.’   Leah, what is so special about your increasing independence is that you feel able to enjoy being part of community, where – and I quote: ‘everyone is welcome here despite all our differences.’  Leah, becoming Bat Mitzvah is about becoming more fully yourself – so it is important that for you, as you put it, ‘the synagogue is a place where I can come to learn, to be with my friends and just to think. I like the feeling of community I get… Everyone is so friendly that it is easy to just relax and feel a part of things.’

Leah:  you love being with others – and, also, ‘good with words’, you don’t just ‘love to talk’, you also, ‘like to learn about books’, as well as ‘read them.’  And then there is music, which you ‘enjoy listening to and playing.’   You are excited by life and all its possibilities for learning and enjoying yourself – which is why, at the moment, you have ‘no idea’ what you’d like to do in the future, although you do know that – and I quote:  ‘I would like to do some kind of work that interacts with other people, or helps those who are less fortunate in some way’ – and you are passionate about helping ‘the environment… because’, as you put it, ‘ every single person has to live in the world that we are creating, and if we keep on like this, it will all be ruined.  We, in the developed world, use far more than our fair share of the earth’s resources, and the hunger of poorer people is directly our responsibility. I would like to be able to change this.’

Leah:  I have no doubt that you will be involved in helping to change the world – and that you will also contribute to the continuing transformation of Jewish life.   May the achievement of this day be a source of inspiration to you as you continue your own very special Jewish journey.  And let us say:  Amen.

Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah

Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue – Adat Shalom Verei’ut

6^th February 2010 – 22^nd Sh’vat 5770

Notes

(1) www.spme.net/cgi-bin/facultyforum.cgi?ID=456).

(2)  The Jerusalem Post, 17.03.2005).

(3) jwablog.jwa.org/orthodoxwomanrabbi – Jewish Women’s Archive).

(4) Oct 1^st 2009 www.firstthings.com/…/women-orthodox–rabbis-heresy-or-possibility – United States –).   Blu Greenberg wrote the ground-breaking book, On Women and Judaism.  A View from Tradition. Published by the Jewish Publication Societ of America (Philadeplphia) in 1981      it was the first book to come out of the modern Jewish feminist movement.

(5) Leora Tanenbaum; www.huffingtonpost.com/…/a-rabbi-is-not-a-rabbi-in_b_189767.html).

(6)  Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah: ‘Rabbi Regina Jonas, 1902-1944: Missing Link in a Broken Chain’. In Hear Our Voice.  Women Rabbis Tell Their Stories. SCM Press, 1994; ‘The Discovery of Fraulein Rabbiner Regina Jonas: Making Sense of Our Inheritance’. European Judaism, 95:2, December 1995.

(7) See Union of Reform Judaism: www.urj.org

(8) See Anat Hoffman’s e-letter in The Pluralist – Newsletter from the Israel Religious Action Centre, 11^th January 2010 – www.irac.org

Bah Mitzvah of  Sam Watling

This Shabbat we are marking the moment when Sam Watling becomes Bar Mitzvah – literally, a ‘Son of the Commandment’ – and so becomes a link in a chain of tradition that goes back two millennia to the time of the first rabbis, who decreed that at age twelve and thirteen respectively, girls and boys, become obligated to undertake adult Jewish responsibilities.

Bar and Bat Mitzvah, then, is a rite of passage – not unlike those practised in other cultures.  But there is a crucial difference:  This Shabbat Sam has stood before us at the lectern, and led the service – beautifully, I’m sure we all agree – and in a short while I will call him ‘up’ to the bimah to read a section of the portion of the week – the parashah – from the Seifer Torah – the sacred scroll of the Five Books, which lies at the heart of Jewish teaching; becoming Bar or Bat Mitzvah is not a collective experience; young Jews become links in the chain of tradition, one by one.

And so we have an interesting paradox: on the one hand, the sense of weighty, ancient communal obligation; on the other hand, the individual young Jew, celebrated as a unique human being.

Jewish life and teaching is defined by such paradoxes:  on the one hand, Judaism seems preoccupied with particular rites and practices centred on the particular destiny of the Jewish people as the descendants of Abraham and Sarah, and of those who experienced liberation from ‘the house of bondage’ and met the Eternal One at Sinai; on the other hand, the ideas and values of Judaism flow from an understanding that as God is one, so the world is one – and humanity is one; each human being a unique ‘image of God’ (Genesis 1:27).

The collective and the individual; the particular and the universal: No chapter in the long odyssey of the Jewish people illustrates these paradoxes better than the tale of the Exodus from Egypt:  the story of the Israelites’ redemption over three thousand years ago, as the slaves in North America in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries understood so well, carries the hope for all oppressed peoples; the story of a collective triumph, yet one that centres on the heroism of particular individuals: the midwives, Shifrah and Pu’ah, Miriam, and her mother, Yocheved, Moses and Aaron.

And there is another paradox: past and present.  Can you think of any other tale, whose messages are as relevant today as they were at the time of the events they describe, long, long ago?   It’s not just that, to our shame and sorrow, oppression is still rife in the world.  The point is that the tale of the Exodus, which reaches its climax in this week’s portion, Bo, can still teach us so much about the nature of oppression and liberation.

Just think of what we learn from it:

• Moses confronted Pharaoh: oppression is wrong and must be challenged
• The midwives, Shifrah and Pu’ah, and Moses’ mother and sister, Miriam and Yocheved, defied Pharaoh’s decree to exterminate the baby boys: for a people to be liberated, individuals need to find their courage and take the risk to be free
• Egypt was bombarded with a succession of ‘plagues’: the process of liberation from oppression involves conflict and struggle – and often, violence
• The slaves daubed their doorways with blood, and so saved themselves from the final plague: to become free the oppressed must participate in their own liberation
• ‘Let my people go that they may serve Me’: Liberation is not just about achieving freedom from oppression, but having the freedom to live in new ways
• The slaves left Egypt to journey through the wilderness: true liberation means transformation and making a new beginning in a new terrain
• The Exodus happened: liberation from oppression is always possible; the slaves, whoever they are, in every place and in every time, will go free

These are just some of the key lessons of the Exodus, which are as relevant now as they were then.  But – and it’s a big ‘but’ – however much we repeat the tale of the Exodus, both during our weekly Torah readings, and around the Pesach seder table, have we learned them yet?  And by ‘we’ I don’t just mean, Jews; the Exodus story has become part of the tale of humanity; not just ‘our’ story, it is familiar to the two and a half billion Christians, across the world today.  As we recite the litany of tyranny in every place – and remember that before the poor people of Haiti were devastated by the recent earthquake, they were oppressed and impoverished by a despotic regime – aren’t we forced to acknowledge that we simply haven’t learned the lessons of the Exodus – at least, not yet…

Which is where Sam comes in…Now, Sam – I’m not about to suggest that you, single-handedly, can make the difference:  that having studied what your Torah portion teaches about slavery and liberation, you are about to go out into the world, like a latter-day Moses…  On the other hand, I am saying that you – you, Sam Watling – with your unique set of qualities and abilities can make a difference – a big difference.  After all, Moses didn’t do it on his own – and that’s the point:  We – collectively – can change the world, and the deadly habits of persecution we keep repeating, but only if each one of us resolves to act – like Shifrah and Pu’ah and Miriam and Yocheved and Moses and Aaron – and all the individual Israelites, who marked out their houses for redemption, girded their loins, and dashed for freedom – with their half-baked dough.

Sam: today is for you an Exodus of sorts: no you haven’t been kept in chains – although being a child without control over your life can probably feel a bit like that at times – but today, as you become Bar Mitzvah, you are making a radical departure from childhood, and beginning your journey into adulthood – your own particular journey: and you have made it happen; in fact it was your determination to learn about Judaism and lead a Jewish life that brought you here with your dad to participate in the life of this congregation.

When I asked you what being Jewish means to you, you told me that being part of a Jewish community is, and I quote, ‘of great importance in my life’ and that you value the ‘nice, trusting impartial people’ you have encountered.   For you ‘the synagogue’, in particular, ‘means’, in your own words, ‘a brilliant and thriving community where I can study [and] enhance my religious views and understanding… Every time I go to synagogue I learn new things, meet new people and have a pleasant time.’   Having found a home here, Sam, for you becoming Bar Mitzvah ‘signals’, as you put it,  ‘the start of a journey, not just in my Jewish life but in my whole one; it means I am old enough to be more independent, and ready to make choices for myself . Though it does not mean I am a man, it does mean that I am becoming one as I mature and become more responsible for my actions.’   You recognise that you have become more secure in making your ‘own decisions’, and ‘more confident’.  You also acknowledge that, as you expressed it, ‘developing  my own opinions means that I argue more and become more hot-headed , especially with [my] parents.’  Well, Sam – your parents are not the first to experience the delights of their child becoming a ‘teenager’!

Sam: You have already started on your journey – but as you have demonstrated since you joined this congregation, your journey is not just about you: your determination to learn and play your part in Jewish life is palpable.  And not just in Jewish life:   Your ambition is, as you put it, ‘to work in economics (maybe international development) because I have a flare for it and find it fascinating – the facts, the figures – and how it can affect us… in a volatile world, reeling from a housing bubble. With years of austerity and slow growth predicted [economics] is incredibly useful. It can also be used to help lift people out of poverty in developing countries by providing jobs (for the right things in the right places) and money.’   Sam, your passion and your vision shines through your words – so I’m going to quote you some more: ‘I care about justice, the planet and the right of everyone to be informed properly.  I hate false accusations and believe that justice for whatever crime should be dealt out, even if it means upsetting some people.  Likewise I believe that the planet is important and is very undervalued and mal-treated.  If everyone was properly informed … so many of the world’s problems would be stopped, for it is lack of information that leads to ignorance, and ignorance can be exploited into things far worse.   To improve the world everyone must care more about others and be less ignorant.  We must… work together, whatever culture, faith or petty values.  We have to realise that everyone is just as important and that just a small thing here can make a big difference somewhere else.  We have to give to charity , lobby the government for things such as helping the developing world feed its people, stand up for the climate and human rights, even if it costs us economically and politically. ‘

Sam – you said it!  Drawing on the support of your parents and the guidance you have received from your teachers, and, in particular, from your tutor, Andy, you have learned that becoming engaged as a Jew and participating in Jewish life is about being true to yourself and valuing your own uniqueness.  You have also made connections between your individual life and the lives of others and so, have already learnt some of the crucial lessons of the Exodus.  In the Babylonian Talmud, the compendium of rabbinic law and commentary edited in Babylon – present-day Iraq – around 500CE, we read in the tractate Kiddushin (40b):

The world is judged by the majority of its people, and an individual is judged by the majority of their deeds.  Happy the person who performs a good deed: that may tip the scales for themselves and for the world.

Sam, as you begin your journey into adulthood, my hope for you is that you continue to be yourself: an individual Jew ready to make a difference for yourself and for the world.  And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah

Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue – Adat Shalom Verei’ut

23^rd January 2010 – 8^th Sh’vat 5770