Sussex Jewish News

As an undergraduate student at LSE (1974-77), I took a course-unit degree in Sociology, which involved studying three subjects each year – plus writing a 10,000-word dissertation on a theme of one’s choice in the 3rd year. One of the best things about how it worked from my exam-phobic perspective, was that students were examined each year, so by the time you got to the 3rd year, there was only one third of the degree to go.

The theme I chose to study was ‘The Role of Religion in North American Slave Resistance of the Antebellum Period’. Having been steeped for the first two years of my degree in Marxist ideology with its assumption that material circumstances determine people’s lives and choices, I was interested in examining the impact of ideas, in particular, religious ideas, on how the slaves responded to their enslavement. 

I discovered that while the slave owners force-fed Christianity to their slaves in order to persuade them that they were the descendants of Ham, cursed for seeing the nakedness of his father, Noah, and so destined to servitude (Noach, Genesis 9:22-25), exhorted by Exodus-intoxicated slave preachers, the message that the slaves took from their worship services was that God was on their side and they would be free. And so, religious teaching nurtured spiritual strength and courage, fostering personal dignity and a sense of hope despite the undignified, humiliating circumstances of slavery. Thrillingly for me, this perspective was reinforced when the magnificent TV series, Roots, was launched in 1977, as I was completing my dissertation.

Towards the end of the month, we will celebrate Pesach, referred to by the early Rabbis as z’man cheiruteinu, ‘the season of our freedom’. Everything associated with the celebration of the festival is supposed to stimulate our identification with the experience of slavery and liberation, especially the symbols on the Seder plate we sample as we read the Haggadah: the green karpas, the bitter maror, the sweet charoset, the matzah which is both ‘the bread of affliction’ – ha lachma anya, as the Haggadah puts it in Aramaic – and the bread of freedom (Bo, Exodus 12:39).

We read in the parashat Va-eira, that when Moses returned to Egypt after his encounter with the elusive Eternal One at the burning bush in the wilderness, the slaves refused to listen to his message of impending liberation mi-kotzer ru’ach, literally, ‘from shortness of spirit’ (Exodus 6:9). Enslavement can deaden the spirit, especially if it goes on for generations. But eventually, the message of liberation got through to the slaves. The Exodus narrative suggests that this was because they were persuaded by the plagues visited on Egypt – especially, when after the third plague, they ceased to afflict Goshen, where the slaves lived and toiled (Va-eira, Exodus 8:18-19). But perhaps there was more to it. After all, when it came to the final plague, the death of the first-born, the slaves were not automatically protected. They had to actively demonstrate their desire to be free by daubing the door-posts and lintels of their dwellings with the blood of a lamb (Exodus 12: 7, 13). And so, it was only with the reviving of their spirits that the bread of affliction became the bread of freedom (12:39).

We cannot underestimate the role of the human spirit in enabling people to endure persecutory and oppressive circumstances and survive. Of course, the human spirit can be broken by degradation and trauma. And it can also be healed by hope. The Festival of Pesach, ‘the season of our freedom’, holds out a message of hope for all who are enslaved in the world today as it did for those Africans enslaved in the Americas. At the first night BHPS Seder, in addition to the traditional melodies, we will sing as we always do – albeit, with the congregation on ‘mute’ because the continuing coronavirus crisis means we will still be on Zoom – the words of what used to be called a ‘Negro Spiritual’; a song of the spirit that resonates with a defiant message to all Pharaohs in every time and in every place: “When Israel was in Egypt’s land – let My people go. / Oppressed so hard they could not stand – let my people go. / Go down Moses, way down in Egypt’s land, tell old Pharaoh, let My people go” (Haggadah B’Chol Dor Va-Dor, Liberal Judaism, 2010, p. 8b).

Chag Pesach Samei’ach!

First reported to the World Health Organisation in December 2019 following its detection in Wuhan province in China, it has been a year now since COVID-19 became a global pandemic.

And so, this year of the coronavirus has also spanned the cycle of the Jewish months from Nisan through Adar – as well as all the usual annual commemorative milestones, beginning with Pesach.

Last Purim, we gathered in our shuls for our festivities, but by Pesach this was no longer possible. At BHPS, having started to hold Shabbat services online on March 21^st, the communal Pesach Seder on the first night was a surreal Zoom affair, involving dozens of screens and a cacophony of voices recalling that ‘our ancestors were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt’. Since then, we have added ‘Zoom skills’ to our Jewish repertoire, and learnt that in order for the liturgy to be heard, everyone except the person speaking or singing needs to be on ‘mute’.

At the end of February, we will complete the cycle of the festivals with Purim. Now, that really will present us with a Zoom conundrum. In order to fulfil the obligation to drown out all mentions of the evil protagonist of the Book of Esther, we must all shout and boo and hiss. So, a special Zoom dispensation for Purim: make sure you ‘unmute’ for the M’gillah reading!

Apart from presenting a challenge to our newly-acquired Zoom conventions, the arrival of Purim will also serve as an important reminder. Of course, Purim is all about remembering – hence, Shabbat Zachor prior to Purim, when we read the passage at the end of parashat Ki Teitzei (Deuteronomy 25:17-19) about how Amalek, ancestor of Haman, attacked the weakest, the stragglers in the rear, as the slaves left Egypt. But celebrating Purim is not just about recalling our long experience of persecution. The very way in which we celebrate – the booing, the fancy-dress attire, the license to drink and gorge on hamantaschen – is a reminder of our capacity, not just to survive, but to thrive – and to drink a perpetual toast: L’Chayyim! To Life! Just imagine all those segregated, oppressed Jewish communities down the ages, getting into the spirit of Purim, despite the knowledge that Easter with its accompanying incitement to the local populous to attack the ‘Christ-killers’, was just around the corner.

So, this year, as our lives continue to be circumscribed and threatened by the COVID-19 onslaught, let’s continue to party at Purim and continue to fulfil those other mitzvot connected with the festival – exchanging gifts and giving to those in need – albeit, while maintaining coronavirus precautions. After all, what we have learned most from our history as a people, and have been reminded about again and again during the pandemic, is that whatever the circumstances, our lives are enhanced when we give to others and reach out to those in need.

L’Chayyim! – and Purim Samei’ach!

January in the far reaches of the northern hemisphere tends to be a grim month. Darkness seems pervasive – and then, as the month wanes, National Holocaust Memorial Day on the 27^th, inaugurated in the UK in 2000.

As we contemplate the devastating horrors of the Sho’ah, we may feel overwhelmed. How can we fathom the scale and the depth of human depravity? Two months ago, the anniversary of Kristallnacht on 9th November, reminded us of the night that the persecution of the Jews of Germany and Austria turned violent. 27^th January signifies a very different moment; the day that the Red Army liberated Auschwitz in 1945; a day that signalled the beginning of the end. Of course, the death marches were still to come, as the Nazis evacuated speedily to flee the advance of the Allied forces. Nevertheless, 27^th January 1945 marked the moment when Hitler’s postulated ‘Thousand Year Reich’ began to crumble.

9^th November 1938 and 27^th January 1945, both turning points; the latter, like the invisible sap rising in the trees as we celebrate Tu Bishvat, the New Year for Trees on the 15^th day of the Hebrew month of Sh’vat, a sign in the midst of winter that spring is to come. This year, Erev Tu Bishvat falls on 27^th January. So, as National Holocaust Memorial Day is commemorated, 27^th January will also be a time to acknowledge new life however hidden it may seem.

Further, this year, the month of January as a whole, Shabbat by Shabbat, from the 2^nd through the 30^th, tracks the most formative and transformative experience in the life of the people Israel: The Exodus. So, first, the final portion of B’reishit, the Book of Genesis, relates how Jacob and the rest of the family went down to Egypt to join Joseph (Va-y’chi). Then the story continues with the descent into slavery and the encounter between the Eternal and Moses at the burning bush (Sh’mot). Next, the Torah turns to the plan to liberate the slaves and the beginning of the assault on Egypt with the first plagues (Va-eira). Events then reach a crescendo with the last plagues and the preparations for the departure of the slaves, including an account of the first Pesach (Bo). Finally, we read about the Exodus itself, culminating in the passage through the Sea of Reeds on dry land, and the first stages of the journey through the wilderness (B’shallach).

So, this year January will be a reminder that even when seemingly overtaken by death, Life is a dynamic, ever-emergent force that cannot be suppressed. Since March 2020, we have all felt overtaken by the Covid-19 pandemic that has led to so many deaths, both in Britain and around the world. It is hard not to feel despairing, and yet we must dare to hope: that vaccination will put an end to lockdown and that, over time, although bearing our scars and losses, we will return to the rhythm of our daily lives, and as the slogan puts it, ‘build back better’; not least, because of all that we have learned about caring and sharing during the coronavirus crisis. And if January still feels very bleak, let’s give our capacity to be hopeful a boost on the 20^th when the 46^th President of the United States is inaugurated. However difficult and challenging 2021 may turn out to be, even in the midst of January blues, life is beginning again.

Jews are a remembering people. Zachor! Remember! – one of our commanding imperatives. During July we recall a particular chapter in our history as a people. On the 17^th Tammuz 586 BCE, the Babylonians, who had laid siege to Jerusalem since 10^th Tevet in the winter, breached the city walls, finally destroying Jerusalem and King Solomon’s Temple on 9^th Av, Tishah B’Av. This year, 17^th Tammuz falls on the evening of 8^th July, and Tishah B’Av on the evening of 29^th July. It’s such a long time ago. Why do we remember this devastating moment? We remember because the account of what happened has been passed on to us. Indeed, the destruction is recorded in searing detail in Eichah, the Book of Lamentations, in the K’tuvim, the ‘Writings’ the third section of the TaNaKh, the Hebrew Bible, and on Tishah B’Av it is traditional to read m’gillat Eichah, the scroll of Lamentations. Further, when King Cyrus of Persia defeated the Babylonians in 539 BCE, he allowed the exiles to return and to rebuild the Temple. And so, a chain of memorial was established from 586 BCE onwards, with Tishah B’Av as the sacred marker of remembrance. By contrast, when the Assyrians conquered the northern kingdom of Israel in 722 BCE, the ten tribes that resided there were scattered, ensuring that their stories could not be told.

On Tishah B’Av we recall our people’s long experience of churban from 586 BCE onwards, which included, of course, the razing of Jerusalem and the last Temple by the Romans in 70 CE – on 10^th Av – following the four-year Jewish war against Rome. Significantly, destruction usually entailed dispersion. And so, we have been refugees time and time again, journeying everywhere, including, to these shores – and then away from these shores. 18^th July marks an important date for the Jews of England, who mostly arrived here from France at the time of William the Conqueror in 1066. It was on 18^th July 1290 that King Edward I, ‘the confessor’, signed the edict of expulsion which dictated that all Jews had to leave the country by 1^st November, the ‘Feast of All Souls’.

Of course, we know that our experience of being refugees did not end with the barbarities of the Middle Ages. Most Jews living here and now in 2020, have parents, grandparents, or great-grandparents, who were refugees. Many of us have been told stories of their experiences.

It is because remembrance of churban is not just an imaginative leap into the past, but tangible memory passed on from generation to generation, that the words we read in Torah, in particular, in Mishpatim, Exodus 23:9, should resonate deeply with us: ‘A stranger you shall not oppress,; for you know the nefesh – ‘being’ – of the stranger, since you were strangers in the land of Egypt.’ And so, it is vital that as we witness the global refugee crisis and its impact on millions, forced to flee war, persecution and destitution, we draw on the experience of our people and of our own families, express our solidarity, and do what we can to offer assistance and support.

One of the foremost Jewish champions of refugees in the last few years has been Lord Dubs. Born in Prague, Alfred Dubs was one of 669 Czech children, saved by English stockbroker Nicholas Winton on the kindertransport between March and September 1939 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alf_Dubs,_Baron_Dubs. When the European migrant crisis began to reach an unprecedented peak, revealing large numbers of refugee children so close to our own shores in Calais, Lord Dubs became determined to campaign for the admittance of 3000 child refugees. In 2016, he sponsored an amendment to the Immigration Act 2016 to offer unaccompanied refugee children safe passage to Britain. Finally, the amendment was accepted by the government following a second vote in favour by the House of Lords. However, the Home Office abandoned the scheme in February 2017 after accepting only 350 child refugees. Lord Dubs did not, of course, give up. The campaign goes on and you can support it through the charity, Safe Passage, which has helped over 1800 child refugees so far reach safety, and is currently concerned about the government’s planned Brexit agreement for child refugees, which would mean the end of family reunion from Europe. https://www.safepassage.org.uk/

This Tishah B’Av, when we remember our people’s history of destruction and displacement, let us resolve to make the plight of refugees today a Jewish priority.

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LOOKING FOR GOOD LEADERS – Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah – June SJN

June – the first of the summer months. As I write this a month earlier, I expect that the continuing coronavirus crisis will mean that June feels more cloudy than sunny this year, whatever the weather.

Interestingly, if we turn to the Torah, this year’s cycle sees three portions that include major wilderness rebellions featuring in June: B’ha’alot’cha, Sh’lach L’cha and Korach.

B’ha’alot’cha concludes with Miriam’s rebellion against Moses’ exclusive leadership (Numbers 12). Sh’lach L’cha opens with the leaders of the twelve tribes undertaking a reconnoitre of the land beyond the Jordan and the subsequent rebellion of ten of the tribal leaders, whose ‘evil report’ sparks major dissension in the camp (Numbers 13-15). From the very first words of the story, Korach focuses on the challenge of the first cousin of Moses and Aaron, and of Reubenites, Datan, Aviram and On, to the leadership of Moses and Aaron (Numbers 16-18).

All three narratives share a single theme: discontent with the established leadership on the part of those who were leaders or would-be leaders themselves.

In recent years, alongside the major themes of the news – the financial crisis, the global refugee crisis, ecological catastrophe and climate change, Brexit, and now the coronavirus pandemic – there has been a concern with leadership, and in particular, with leadership that is perceived to be poor and inadequate to meet these complex challenges.

The past year has seen leadership contests in both the Conservative and Labour parties. Meanwhile, in Israel, the continuing leadership crisis has been played out in a succession of inconclusive general elections, and in the United States, the struggle to find a Democratic presidential candidate to challenge President Trump in the presidential election due in November has led to a safe choice that might see Trump winning a second term.

What makes a good leader? It’s hard to answer this question when there are so few examples of good leadership. Surveying the world scene, one figure stands out: The Prime Minister of a tiny nation on the edge of the world: Jacinda Ardern in New Zealand. The leadership she gave when two mosques in Christchurch were attacked by a far-right extremist on 15 March 2019, revealed outstanding leadership qualities: the ability to meet challenges head-on, to communicate clearly, to connect with people, to be compassionate and caring, as well as determined and decisive. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacinda_Ardern Jacinda Ardern has displayed similar qualities in the way that she has dealt with the coronavirus pandemic, ensuring that, as of 1 May, according to the New Zealand Ministry of Health, of a total of 1,479 cases (1,132 confirmed cases and 347 probable), only 208 were active and only 19 people in all had died. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2020_coronavirus_pandemic_in_New_Zealand

For me, Jacinda Ardern, who, incidentally, is the 40^th Prime Minister of New Zealand and turns 40 next month (26.07), is a modern-day Miriam: with the ability to do exactly what is needed and above all, to lead with confidence and authority.

So, what about the leadership of Moses? The narratives in the Torah reveal that he was a reluctant leader, ever-ready to call on the Eternal One for assistance in a crisis, with a quick explosive temper. And if the absence of Miriam in the Torah narratives is anything to go by, there can be little doubt that Moses failed to draw on his elder sister’s leadership qualities to help him deal with the unruly people he was leading. And yet, Moses had an essential leadership quality that most leaders lack: modesty. He didn’t think he had all the answers. He was not puffed up with his own power and status. On the contrary, Moses understood that his role, above all, was to shepherd his people through the uncharted wilderness. As we continue to deal with the coronavirus pandemic, we could certainly do with more leaders like Jacinda Ardern – and wouldn’t it be marvellous if a leader emerged who had the modesty and devotion of Moses.

Rituals and symbols play a very important part in Jewish life. Pesach is a wonderful case in point. All those symbols on the Seder plate: karpas (green vegetable), maror (bitter herb), charoset (chopped nuts, apple and kiddush wine), beitzah (roasted egg), z’ro’a (roasted lamb-shank bone).

The most powerful symbol of all is the item that’s not on the Seder plate, and has its own unique role in the Seder – and in the festival as a whole: matzah.

In an important sense, matzah is the defining symbol of Pesach. We read in parashat Emor (Leviticus 23 :6) that matzah actually gives its name to the festival: Chag Ha-Matzot, ‘The Festival of Unleavened Bread’. Strictly speaking, the word Pesach, evoking the final and tenth plague against Egypt, when the Eternal One ‘passed over’ – pasach – the houses of the Israelites (Bo, Exodus 12:27), is the name given to twilight on the evening before (Lev. 23:5); recalling the sacrificing of lambs by each household. It was only because the slaves marked their doorposts and lintels with blood, that the final plague passed over them (Ex. 12:3-13).

Thus, the Israelites participated in their own liberation. They also showed their readiness for freedom, when they fled Egypt so quickly their dough had no time to rise (Ex. 12:39) – hence the significance of matzah as the bread of freedom to be eaten throughout the festival (Ex. 13:6). Only by removing leaven and eating matzah can the descendants of the liberated slaves indicate our identification with the Exodus.

But then, in the Haggadah, the rabbis’ re-telling of the Exodus story, matzah is referred to as lachma anya, which both means, both, ‘the bread of affliction’ and ‘the poor bread’. There’s a very dramatic moment in the Seder, when the leader uncovers the plate on which there are three matzot, breaks the middle matzah (and then hides the larger part of it as the afikomen – the Greek word for ‘dessert’ – to be found by the children after the meal). Holding up the plate, the leader declares in Aramaic – the vernacular of the time: ‘Ha lachma anya … This is the bread of affliction that our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt.’

So, how can matzah, simultaneously, be the bread of freedom and the bread of affliction? Because those who are oppressed are challenged to struggle for their own liberation. Of course, that is a tall order. We only have to think of those enslaved in the world today. How do the enslaved break their chains? Struggling for liberation involves garnering the courage and determination to gather the broken pieces of our battered selves together – hence that broken matzah ‘between’. It also demands the active assistance of others. In the Haggadah, the Eternal One is the lone hero. In the Torah we find the midwives, Shifrah and Pu’ah, who saved the baby boys from Pharaoh’s genocidal decree (Sh’mot, Ex. 1:15-22), and the sibling-leaders, Miriam, Moses and Aaron. May the Exodus story and the humble matzah that we will eat throughout the festival, inspire us to challenge slavery and persecution in every place. Chag Pesach Samei’ach!

Fifty years ago, on 21^st July 1969 at 02:56:15 UTC (Coordinated Universal Time), American astronaut, Commander Neil Armstrong stepped out of the Apollo 11 Lunar Module Eagle and walked on the moon. 19 minutes later, he was joined by Lunar Module pilot, Buzz Aldrin. Meanwhile, Command Module pilot, Michael Collins flew the Command Module Columbia alone in lunar orbit. Armstrong and Aldrin collected 47.5 pounds of lunar material to bring back to earth. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apollo_11)

Aged 14, I remember sitting with my family watching the TV pictures TV on a clear night in London. As I marvelled at the flickering images, I kept glancing at the slender crescent of the new moon with a sense of wonder. Suddenly, the moon had become another world and I never looked at it in the same way again.

So, an unforgettable moment and a date to remember. I doubt few people remember the Hebrew date. Interestingly, lift-off from the Kennedy Space Centre took place on the new moon, Rosh Chodesh Av 5729 – corresponding to 16^th July 1969 – which explains why six days later when that iconic space-walk took place, the moon appeared as a crescent in the night sky.

It was only when I embarked on rabbinic training at the Leo Baeck College in the autumn of 1984, that I became conscious of the waxing and waning moon cycle as I followed the Hebrew months that follow the moon. Most of us are not aware of the Hebrew date each day, but the arrival of a special day in the calendar prompts remembrance. Rosh Ha-Shanah, falling as it does on the 1^st day of the 7^th month of Tishri, dawns so to speak in darkness. Appropriately, Chanukkah falls in the dark final days of Kislev and first dark days of Tevet. Meanwhile, four festivals commence at the full moon: Pesach on 15^th Nisan, Sukkot on 15^th Tishri, Tu Bishvat – the New Year for Trees – on 15^th Sh’vat and Purim on 14^th Adar. By contrast, Shavuot falls on 6^th Sivan, when the moon appears as a crescent, and at Yom Kippur on 10^th Tishri and Tishah B’Av on the 9^th Av, the moon is becoming a two-thirds disc in the sky.

Of course, the moon has a tremendous impact on planet Earth, causing a huge gravitational pull that makes the oceans rise and fall – what we call the tides. The earth lives, quite literally, by the moon as well as by the sun. So, maybe we should pay it more attention. As it happens, awareness of the moon is incorporated into Jewish practice. Each new moon is announced on the Shabbat beforehand and Rosh Chodesh (1^st of the month) is celebrated with the insertion of the Ya’aleh v’yavo prayer into the first of the three concluding blessings of the Amidah, the recital of half-Hallel – half the celebratory psalms recited on the pilgrim festivals – and a special Torah reading. During the past forty years, Rosh Chodesh has also been reclaimed as a women’s festival by Jewish women meeting in Rosh Chodesh groups at the start of each month to celebrate and study together. Perhaps, as we mark the 50^th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing, clear skies permitting, we might consider following the changing moon from day-to-day.

Happy moon-watching!

This year, Shavuot begins on Saturday evening, 8th June. After the Temple was destroyed by the Romans in 70 CE and the festival ceased to be Yom Ha-Bikkurim, ‘The Day of First-Fruits’ when our ancestors went on pilgrimage with their offerings to Jerusalem, the Rabbinic Sages reconstructed the ‘Feast of Weeks’ into Z’man Matan Torateinu, ‘the Season of the Giving of our Torah’.

Traditionally, Divine Revelation is regarded as a one-off event. And so, the Eternal spoke at Mount Sinai not only through the Torah, but through the ‘oral law’, the subsequent rabbinic codes: the Mishnah, edited c. 200 CE, and the two versions of the Talmud: the Palestinian, c. 400 CE, and the much more expansive, Babylonian, a century later.

From a Progressive perspective by contrast, Revelation is understood to be continuous: The Eternal spoke to the generation in the wilderness and to the prophets, and to the rabbis. Indeed, the Eternal continues to speak throughout the generations, if only we would listen…

For two weeks in April, the streets of cities all over Britain were taken over by crowds of peaceful protesters galvanised by the most urgent issue of our age today: Climate Change. This ‘Extinction Rebellion’ which had been launched a few weeks earlier with school children abandoning their classrooms for the streets, found its most striking articulation in a young prophet from Sweden, called Greta Thunberg; a 16-year-old school student determined to confront the world with the bold facts of impending environmental disaster if the governments of the world fail to take action.

Just before Pesach, a young Jewish contingent emerged: ‘Extinction Rebellion Jews’ – @XRJews – urging us to take inspiration from the Exodus story: “At your Seder place a red chilli pepper on the plate to remind us of the burning earth. As we tell the Pesach story and consider our current liberation struggles, let us open ourselves to the signs of the climate catastrophe, and find inspiration to take action.”

Pesach is a time to be inspired to take action – and so, too, Shavuot. At BHPS, we shall be holding a Tikkun Leil Shavuot, an all-night study marathon on the theme of Climate Change and committing ourselves to transforming the shul into an ‘Eco-Synagogue’ – https://ecosynagogue.org/

All are Welcome.

Chag Samei’ach!

One of the saddest duties of a Rabbi is to conduct a funeral. Of course, it is a mitzvah to accompany the dead – and the living; to walk alongside those who walk through the valley of the shadow of death. But it is also very sad and sobering. Since I became Rabbi of BHPS in December 2000, I have conducted the funerals of around 220 members. A Rabbi has a particular and ongoing familiarity with the finite nature of life.

Life is complex and in Hebrew, ‘life’, chayyim, is a plural word that expresses that complexity. On 9^th May it will be Yom Ha-Atzma’ut, Israel’s Independence Day and the 71^st anniversary of the establishment of the state. Since 1951, the preceding day, designated as Yom Ha-Zikaron, ‘The Day of Memorial’, has been set aside for commemoration of the soldiers and civilians killed during the decades of conflict between Israel and its Arab neighbours, and between Israel and the Palestinians.

Political attempts to resolve the ongoing conflict between the Israelis and the Palestinians have failed so far. Out of this impasse, in 1995 a joint Israeli-Palestinian organisation, the Parents Circle Families Forum was set up to bring together those who have been bereaved on both sides – that is those with a tragic common bond who ‘instead of choosing revenge … have chosen a path of reconciliation’ (see: https://www.facebook.com/pg/FriendsBereavedFamiliesForum/about/).

With the help of Israeli and Palestinian psychologists, the PCFF facilitates meetings between Israelis and Palestinians who have been lost loved ones in the conflict, so that they can talk about and share their experiences. If you watched the TV programme, ‘We Are British Jews’, broadcast on BBC2 in September 2018, you will have seen in the second episode, the participants, who were drawn from right across the Jewish spectrum in Britain, travel to Israel where among other things they met two parents, one Israeli and one Palestinian, who are part of the PCFF

Since 2006, the PCFF has participated in an alternative memorial gathering on Yom Ha-Zikaron, dedicated to remembrance of both Israelis and Palestinians who have died in the conflict. This year’s commemoration has the theme, ‘Sharing Sorrow, Bringing Hope’ (see: http://theparentscircle.org/en/pcff-activities_eng/memorial-ceremony_eng/). While the political status quo remains largely unchanged, a growing number of those whose lives have been particularly devastated by the eruptions of violence over the past seven decades are listening to one another, acknowledging each other’s pain and forging relationships. As we commemorate Yom Ha-Zikaron this year, let us commit ourselves to listening to all their voices.

This year, Pesach begins on the evening of 19th April with the Seder. The centrepiece of the Seder is the telling of the tale of the Exodus related in the Haggadah that features several ‘fours’: four questions asked by the youngest child, four types of children, and of course, four cups of wine.

Traditionally, the four cups are related to the four promises of redemption set out majestically near the beginning of parashat Va-eira in the context of the concluding part of Moses’ encounter with the Eternal at the burning bush. We read (Exodus 6:6-7a): ‘Say to the Israelites: I am the Eternal, and I will bring you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians (first promise), and I will deliver you from their bondage (second), and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm, and with great judgements (third), and I will take you to be my people and I will be your God’ (fourth).

The Eternal is the hero of the Haggadah, where we find no mention of the three sibling human leaders of the Exodus: Miriam, Aaron and Moses. But the Torah makes it clear that the liberation of the slaves involved a crucial human component.

First, at the beginning of the Exodus story, the midwives, Shifrah and Pu’ah, defied Pharaoh’s genocidal decree against the new-born baby boys of the Hebrews, and saved their lives (Sh’mot, Ex. 1:15-21).

Next, a mother and sister – unnamed in the story – saved the life of one particular baby by making a water-proof basket and placing it in the reeds of the river. More than this, when Pharaoh’s daughter found the basket and the baby, the baby’s sister arranged with her that the baby’s mother would be his wet-nurse. The baby was adopted by the Princess, who named him Moses (Ex. 2:1-10). The sister, of course, was Miriam.

The succession of Divine plagues did their work, but significantly, the Israelites learnt that to avoid the final plague, the death of the firstborn, they had to daub the door-posts and lintel of their houses with the blood of a lamb, so that the Eternal would ‘pass over’ them (Bo, Ex. 1-13). Hence the festival is called Pesach, ‘Passover’.

By daubing the blood, the slaves demonstrated their readiness for liberation. Finally, they made a dash for liberation so swift there was no time for their dough to rise (Ex. 12:37-39) – which is the story behind the defining ritual of the festival: the eating of matzah, unleavened bread.

So: Four human acts of redemption. This year, as we raise our glasses to drink the four cups, let us dedicate each one in turn to remembrance of the human courage that contributed to our ancestors’ deliverance.

Chag Samei’ach! Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah