A TIME FOR NEW BEGINNINGS | SJN

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 27th, 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. 27th 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, 27th January 1945 marked the moment when Hitler’s postulated ‘Thousand Year Reich’ began to crumble.

9th November 1938 and 27th 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 15th 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 27th January. So, as National Holocaust Memorial Day is commemorated, 27th 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 2nd through the 30th, 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 20th when the 46th 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.

Bo and a Theology of Intervention – Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah – LJ Thought for the Week

This year, January 27th will be a complex moment: both, International Holocaust Memorial Day and Tu Bishvat, the New Year for trees – so, a day for commemorating the horrors of the Sho’ah and a day for celebrating new life.

On the surface, the contradiction could not be greater. But when we turn to the Torah readings that precede January 27th, we find clues that bridge the chasm between death and life in the tale of the Exodus from Egypt.

More of this in a moment. Why was January 27th chosen as the date for the nations of the world to commemorate the Sho’ah? After all, Kristallnacht, the ‘night of the broken glass’, 9th-10th

November 1938, when the Nazi persecution of the Jews of Europe turned to violence in Germany and Austria, seems a more immediate choice? Alternatively, one might argue that once the Nazi top brass agreed on ‘the final solution’ at the Wannsee conference in January 1942[1], each and every day during the next four years until the Nazis were defeated in April 1945 was a day of unimaginable torment.

What made January 27, 1945 distinctive was that it was the day that the Red Army entered Auschwitz and liberated the camp. In other words, it was the day that marked the beginning of the end. So, perhaps, compared to all the other possible days of commemoration, from 9th November 1938 onwards, 27th January might be seen as the day when the flame of hope was rekindled. Just as – blossoming almond blossom trees in Israel apart – Tu Bishvat marks not the spring, but the hope that spring is on the way, January 27, 1945, might be understood as a sign that liberation was on the way.

If we turn to the Exodus narrative: Long before the plagues finally overwhelmed Egypt, reaching a crescendo of destruction in this week’s parashah, Bo (Exodus 10:1-13:16) which recounts the last three plagues – locusts, darkness, and the death of the first-born – the seeds of the challenge to the oppression of the Hebrews were sown in acts of human courage and defiance; the impulse to intervene and challenge injustice. Hence, the courage and defiance of the midwives, Shifrah and Pu’ah, who refused to obey Phaorah’s command to kill the new-born Hebrew baby boys (1:15-21); hence, the sense of outrage that propelled Moses to kill a taskmaster that was beating a slave (2:11-12).

Nevertheless, the focus of the Exodus narrative in the Torah, amplified later in the Haggadah, is on the role of God in liberating the slaves. When Moses encountered the Eternal One at the burning bush that was not consumed by the flames, the Eternal said to him: ‘I have surely seen the affliction of My people who are in Egypt and have heard their cry by reason of their taskmasters; for I know their pains; / and I shall come down to deliver them out of the hand of Egypt …’ (Sh’mot, Ex. 3:7-8a). At the beginning of the next parashah, the encounter continues with a declaration that includes four promises of redemption: ‘I am the Eternal and I will bring you out from under the burdens of Egypt, and I will deliver you from there bondage, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great judgements, and I will take you me as a people and I will be your God’ (Va-eira, Ex. 6:6-7a). And then, when the Israelites were unable to hear the promises of freedom that Moses brought to them because the ‘harsh bondage’ had caused kotzer ru’ach, a ‘shortness of spirit’ (6:9), the ten plagues that followed conveyed a more potent message. Finally, when the ex-slaves arrived at Mount Sinai at the beginning of the third month following their departure from Egypt, another dramatic declaration expresses the accomplishments of the all-powerful God in poetic language: ‘You have seen what I did to the Egyptians, and how I bore you on Eagle’s wings and brought you to Myself’ (Yitro, Ex. 19:4).

But what about the human actors in the story? God is not a ‘Superman’ with ‘a mighty hand and an outstretched arm’ – or an Eagle. God works through people: ‘But the midwives feared God and did not do as a king of Egypt had spoken’ (1:17) Another way of putting it is that being created b’tzelem Elohim, ‘in the image of God’ (B’reishit, Genesis 1:27), means that each human being is tasked to ensure that all human beings are treated as images of God. We are meant to intervene to challenge oppression and injustice, just as Shifrah and Pu’ah intervened, just as Moses intervened. While at the beginning of B’reishit, the Book of Genesis, we encounter a theology of Guardianship expressed in the responsibility of the first human to ‘tend’ and ‘keep’ the garden (Gen. 2:15), Sh’mot, the Book of Exodus confronts us with a theology of Intervention. When we look at the world today, there are so many sites of injustice and oppression. Thinking of the horrors of the Sho’ah, the plight of the Uighur Muslims, in particular, held as slaves in concentration camps, tortured and compelled to submit to re-education[2], demands our concern and our intervention. A cultural genocide – and a full-blown genocide in-the-making if the horrific treatment of the Uighurs is allowed to continue unchecked. Fortunately, campaigns have got off the ground, so we have an opportunity to participate and make a contribution[3]. As we read parashat Bo this Shabbat and mark Holocaust Memorial Day and Tu Bishvat on the 27th, let’s embrace a theology of intervention as Liberal Jews and make a commitment to act.

Word count: 942

  1. https://www.hmd.org.uk/resource/20-january-1942-wannsee-conference/ ↑

  2. https://www.independent.co.uk/voices/china-uighur-muslim-detention-camp-unhrc-xi-jinping-a8983971.html

    https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/sep/24/china-has-built-380-internment-camps-in-xinjiang-study-finds ↑

  3. https://campaignforuyghurs.org/ https://www.saveuighur.org/ https://jewishnews.timesofisrael.com/19-rabbis-among-uk-faith-leaders-calling-for-justice-for-uyghurs/ ↑

Shabbat Chanukkah Sermon | May the accumulating flames of Chanukkah ignite sparks of hope in all our hearts

Five years ago, exactly – to the day – on 12th December 2015, Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue marked one of the most momentous milestones since its foundation as a congregation 80 years earlier in 1935. And like today, it was also Shabbat Chanukkah.

I will never forget the look on people’s faces as they walked into the new building for the first time. The gasps and the smiles. The outside didn’t look very different – the same front wall, the same front door – except that in place of the planted area, an accessibility slope, and two parking places for accessibility scooters. But once inside it was a very different story. The bright foyer and the large wooden glass doors, a revelation. And then, through the double glass doors of the Sanctuary, the beautiful, huge rainbow Ark on the opposite wall, beckoning.

I’m not going to describe now all the features of the new shul that we occupied for the first time on that momentous Shabbat Chanukkah. If we were in normal times, I wouldn’t need to describe them, because we would be there, enjoying our fifth anniversary in our congregational home. But I will remind you of what we did that day.

As usual on Shabbat Chanukkah, we enjoyed a whole day of activities, beginning with the service, made more special because one of our members, Leslie Burns, was celebrating her Bat Torah by reading the Seifer Torah for the first time. The service was followed by a scrumptious kiddush and buffet lunch – with, of course, Sarah Winstone’s delicious latkes. And what a fantastic experience it was to discover as we swiftly transformed the Sanctuary into a restaurant, complete with tables and tablecloths, the flexibility of that wonderful space; one moment, oriented to sacred worship, and then in another, reinvented as a bustling party area. In the early afternoon, the Sanctuary was taken over with activities for the Shabbatots and the children, followed by Israeli dancing for all ages. Upstairs, I led a study session in the Social Area on ‘Tz’dakah and G’milut Chasadim’ – deeds of righteousness and lovingkindness – and there was an exhibition on the theme of our shul – past, present and future – in the Library and adjoining Foyer. Meanwhile, Education Room 2 was given over to a Chill Out Space for the teenagers. We then all got together for tea, doughnuts and refreshments at 3 pm, followed by saying goodbye to Shabbat with Havdalah and Chanukkah candle-lighting for the 7th candle accompanied by Chanukkah songs.

Chanukkah means ‘dedication’, so it was perfectly fitting that we should re-dedicate the new shul building on Shabbat Chanukkah, concluding our activities with a Chanukkat ha-bayit, a rededication of our new home, marked by the fixing of m’zuzot, one by one, starting with the front-door. It was very moving to go round the shul with lifelong member and Emeritus Vice President, Harry Atkins, his building maintenance hat on and hammer in hand; every m’zuzah fixed inaugurating each particular space: The Foyer, the Sanctuary, the Kitchen, and then upstairs to the Social Area, the two Education Rooms, the Pastoral Care Room, the Library, the Office. And what made that pilgrimage even more special, knowing that each room was the gift of a member or friend, each m’zuzah, a gift from those wishing to contribute to and share in the renewal of our congregational home. Traditionally, m’zuzot are not fixed to the doorposts of toilets, but as we went round the shul, two of the toilets, one upstairs and one downstairs, carried a sign just as significant, indicating that they were all-gender; a sign that shul Trustee, Karen Katz had hunted for all over Brighton and Hove to no avail, so arranged for two to be specially made. The shul building is very beautiful, but that’s not what makes it so special. More important than all its aesthetic qualities, is its complete accessibility, facilitated by those toilets, the lift and the absence of a bimah in front of the Ark; all in all, the perfect home for our inclusive community.

Being inclusive means, of course, that everyone can find a home amongst us – not just in theory, but also in practice. As it happens, the two standout memories for me of that special day demonstrate the practice of inclusion and revolve around the toilets. First, every time I was in the downstairs foyer, it was clear that the accessible all-gender toilet was getting frequent use. Then there was the young father who came up to me with his baby daughter in his arms, his face beaming, eager to tell me that for the first time since his baby was born, he had been able to change her nappy when they weren’t at home. For him, the best thing about the new shul was the baby-changer in the male toilets.

It may feel quite painful to recollect that extraordinary Shabbat Chanukkah five years ago, as we celebrate together today on screen rather than in the shul, unable to enjoy that wonderful, welcoming, multipurpose, accessible space. Of course, today isn’t just about going down memory lane. We may not be gathered in our beautiful shul, but we are together as we have been since our first online service on 21st March, sharing sacred time. And just as important, even in the absence of the shul and even when we’re not together online, just as it was during the fifty months it took to rebuild the shul, we are maintaining congregational life through all the moments of sharing and connection and multiple acts of g’milut chasadim, deeds of lovingkindness. Following on from the success of the Rosh Ha-Shanah packages, on Tuesday, Chanukkah packages prepared under Covid-19 guidelines were delivered by mask-wearing volunteers to those in our congregation who are shielding, or isolated. We may still not be able to gather in the shul, but as we celebrate Shabbat Chanukkah, we can re-dedicate ourselves individually and collectively to the sacred task of maintaining the life of the congregation.

Chanukkah calls us to do this. It is a minor festival. All the commemoratives dates that are not mentioned in the Torah and are rabbinic in origin are minor – principally, Chanukkah, Tu Bishvat, Purim and Tishah B’Av. Unlike the major festivals that are in the Torah, all of which are modelled on Shabbat – the pilgrimage festivals of Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot and the sacred days at the beginning of the 7th month that became known as Rosh Ha-Shanah and Yom Kippur [1]– the minor festivals are not rest days. And yet, of all the minor festivals, Chanukkah has a major feel about it. Partly, this may be because in the diaspora at least, it has become more significant in order to compete with Christmas. Mainly it is for two important integral reasons: because it is celebrated for eight days and because its commemoration focuses almost entirely on a ritual enacted at home rather than in the synagogue. And what a wonderful ritual it is; simple, and yet, so deeply meaningful: the lighting of flames, night after night, until the Chanukkiyyah, the nine-branched Chanukkah M’norah, is ablaze with light.

This year, because it is not possible for us to gather in the shul, each nightly lighting is being hosted by an individual family on Zoom, concluding with the 8th night, which I will be hosting. The original reason for Chanukkah lasting eight days is because it says in the Second Book of the Maccabees: ‘They celebrated for eight days with rejoicing in the manner of the feast of Sukkot, mindful of how but a little while before at the feast of Sukkot they had been wandering about like wild beasts in the mountains and caves’[2]. Relating how the Maccabees retook the Temple in 164 BCE in their struggle against the tyrannical regime of Seleucid King Antiochus, cleansed it and rededicated it, neither the Second nor the First Book of Maccabees mention anything about a miracle involving one day’s supply of Temple oil lasting for eight. That story is told in the Babylonian Talmud almost 650 years later[3]; a tale concocted by the rabbinic sages in order to downplay the role of the Maccabees, the Hasmonean priestly family that led the rebellion and later became corrupted by power when an independent Judaea was established in 140 BCE and they took over the reins of political leadership. It is for this reason that the rabbinic sages selected the Book of Zechariah chapter 4 for reading as the Haftarah, the concluding biblical reading on Shabbat Chanukkah. We read at verse 4: ‘Not by might, nor by power, but My spirit says the God of heaven’s hosts’[4].

So, we have inherited two competing narratives, and yet they are one: The Maccabees won a crucial battle in their struggle against a tyrannical colonial regime and that victory also represented a triumph of the spirit. Contrary to binary ways of making sense of the world and of human endeavour, Chanukkah conveys messages, both, about the imperative of taking action to challenge persecution and oppression and about the importance of cultivating a spirit of hope. Today on Shabbat Chanukkah we are reminded of this double-obligation; a double obligation underlined by the fact that today is also Human Rights Shabbat; so designated because it is the nearest Shabbat to the anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, promulgated by the United Nations on 10 December 1948. This evening, when Shabbat is over and we light the 3rd candle in our homes and commemorate the first Chanukkah long ago, each one of us has the opportunity to rededicate ourselves to the mitzvah, the obligation to repair the world we are inhabiting right now; a task that requires both practical and spiritual engagement. During the past months of the coronavirus pandemic, it has been hard to feel hopeful and in the darkest days of winter, it’s not easy to see signs of renewal. And so, our nightly Chanukkah candle-lighting is more important than ever. May the gathering flames ignite a spirit of hope within us and may we find ways of nurturing that spirit in the months that lie ahead.

And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue

12th December 2011/ 26th Kislev 5781

  1. See the Biblical calendar in Emor, Leviticus chapter 23. ↑

  2. II Maccabees, 10:6. ↑

  3. Shabbat 21b. ↑

  4. Zechariah 4:6. ↑

Chanukkah and Human Rights

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah – SJN December 2020

This year, Chanukkah begins on the evening of 10th December, corresponding to the 25th of Kislev. Commemorating the rededication in 164 BCE of the Temple in Jerusalem desecrated by the Assyrian Greeks, Chanukkah is a celebration of the triumph of hope. The Maccabean guerrilla campaign to re-establish an independent Jewish state continued for another 24 years, but this milestone represented a spiritual victory that marked a turning point in that struggle.

As it happens, 10th December is an important date in the secular calendar. The adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights by the United Nations on 10th December 1948 in response to the horrors of the Sho’ah may also be regarded as a spiritual victory in the struggle against tyranny and persecution; a beacon of hope as the nations of the world came together and committed themselves to the goal of establishing peace and justice throughout the Earth. Moreover, just as Chanukkah marked a moment and not the achievement of the final goal, so the adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights marked a moment in the efforts to rid the world of tyranny.

The work of establishing universal human rights continues. For decades now the Shabbat nearest to December 10th has been designated as Human Rights Shabbat. This year it coincides with Shabbat Chanukkah, giving us the opportunity to acknowledge the connections between Chanukkah and human rights: the struggle for freedom, justice and peace.

This year the theme of Human Rights Shabbat is ‘Genocide’ (https://www.renecassin.org/human-rights-shabbat-5781-2020/ ). Over two decades before the annihilation of one third of the Jews of Europe, genocide made an early appearance in the 20th century with the murder of 1.5 million Armenians by the Turkish authorities between 1915 and 1918. And then, despite the Universal Declaration, the 20th century continued to be marked by genocide. Two million Cambodians were massacred by the Khmer Rouge between 1975 and 1979. At least 50,000 Kurds were massacred in Iraq between 1987 and 1989. The term ‘ethnic cleansing’ entered the lectionary with the massacre of 80,000 Muslims in Bosnia-Herzegovina by Serbian forces between 1992 and 1995. Meanwhile, between 7th April and 15th July 1994, the Hutus of Rwanda massacred 800,000 Tutsis. And genocide has continued in the 21st century. In 2003, the genocide of the people of Darfur became a central feature of the conflict in western Sudan. By 2005, the death-toll had reached 200,000. In 2014, ISIS forces initiated a campaign of genocide and enslavement against the Yazidi people in Sinjar, Iraq. 2016 saw the onset of a genocidal policy against the Rohingya of Muslims of Myanmar. And right now, China is engaging in a cultural genocide of the Uyghur Muslims that looks like full blown genocide in the making.

The word ‘genocide’ is very specific. Article 6 of the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court defines the crime of genocide as any ‘acts that are committed with intent to destroy in whole or in part, a national, ethnical or religious group’. It includes ‘killing members of the group’ and ‘causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group’ (https://www.icc-cpi.int/nr/rdonlyres/ea9aeff7-5752-4f84-be94-0a655eb30e16/0/rome_statute_english.pdf).

This Chanukkah, let us stand in solidarity with all the victims of genocide in the 20th and 21st centuries and dedicate our nightly kindling of flames to remembrance of those groups targeted by genocidal policies and actions since the Universal Declaration of Human Rights on 10th December 1948:

1st night The Cambodians massacred by the Khmer Rouge between 1975 and 1979.

2nd night The Kurds massacred in Iraq between 1986 and 1989.

3rd night The Muslims in Bosnia-Herzegovina massacred by Serbian forces between 1992 and 1995.

4th night The Tutsis of Rwanda massacred by the Hutus between 7th April and 15 July 1994.

5th night The Darfuris massacred in the conflict in western Sudan between 2003 and 2015.

6th night The Yazidis enslaved and massacred by ISIS forces in Iraq in 2014.

7th night The Rohingya Muslims of Myanmar, massacred and forced to flee in 2016.

8th night The Uyghur Muslims of China, whose persecution continues.

As we remember these horrors, may the gathering flames rekindle within us the spirit of hope and inspire us to recommit ourselves to the sacred task of tikkun olam, repair of the world.

Shabbat morning sermon: WHAT MAKES A GOOD LEADER?

Exactly ten days ago, on November 4th, it was the 25th anniversary of the assassination of Israeli prime minister Yitzhak Rabin by an Israeli right-wing extremist.[1] Last Shabbat, on the day of the announcement that Joe Biden had become President Elect of the United States, Lord Sacks, Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, former Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations, died of cancer at the age of 72.[2] As we think of these two very different Jewish leaders, we say, Zichronam livrachah – May their memory be for blessing. Meanwhile, today is the 72nd birthday of HRH Prince Charles, the heir to the British throne; a ceremonial role that yet allows for moral leadership.

So, Yitzhak Rabin and Rabbi Sacks – Joe Biden and Prince Charles. And lurking in the darkness this past week, another leader; the leader of the Third Reich in Germany, whose war against the Jews of Europe that had begun with a developing programme of social, economic and political exclusion in 1933, turned violent on the night of 9th November 1938.[3] Meanwhile, another anniversary of the past week, also has leadership at its core; the Armistice at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month 1918 that brought an end to the Great War that had begun in August 1914.

What makes a good leader? I’ve asked this question before. The events and anniversaries of the past ten days have led me to ask the question again.

In this week’s parashah, Chayyei Sarah, we read about the deaths of our first ancestors, Sarah and Abraham. The progenitors of the Jewish people were not leaders. Three generations of one family, B’reishit, the Book of Genesis, relates their journeys from Charan in Mesopotamia to Canaan, and then back to Charan, and then back to Canaan, and finally, to Egypt, where their stories end.

Leadership of the Jewish people began not in Canaan, but rather in Egypt, with the three siblings, Miriam, Aaron and Moses, who between them were responsible for bringing the descendants of the ancestors out of slavery and then leading them on their journey through the wilderness. My summary makes it sound straightforward. Of course, it wasn’t. That journey became a time of wandering that lasted forty years, only ending when a new leader emerged, Joshua, and the descendants of the slaves were ready to enter the land beyond the Jordan. Meanwhile, the three sibling leaders had different styles of leadership, to say the least. Moses, the mediator between the people and the Eternal One, hesitant, prone to outbursts of frustration, and yet a faithful shepherd of his unruly flock. Aaron, the artful fixer, who became a priest, and showed the people the way from a molten calf that he fashioned from their offerings of gold to the service of the Eternal. And what of Miriam? The little written about her in the Torah conveys her courage and chutzpah as she ensured that her baby brother’s mother went into Pharaoh’s palace as his wet-nurse.[4] Years later, two verses speak of her singing and dancing through the divided Sea of Reeds.[5] The last story about Miriam reveals her resentment of her baby brother’s pre-eminence.[6]

Miriam, Aaron and Moses exhibited their leadership very differently. Were they good leaders? To return to my original question: What makes a good leader? It might be easier to reflect on what makes a bad leader. I think that most of us would agree that Donald Trump, President of the United States for the past four years, is a very bad leader. So, perhaps I should begin with a negative approach. What makes a bad leader? Someone who is narcissistic and self-referential; who is utterly convinced of their own rightness, while dealing in lies; who exerts their dominance and asserts non-negotiable absolutes; who is a populist, most at home when they are stirring up the crowd. And yet, there can be no doubt that despite his appalling personal qualities, 48% of the US electorate believe Trump to be a good leader; arguably, the best leader the United States has ever had. They love his drive, his self-belief, his absoluteness, and his wilfulness – and above all, his trumpeting of an America made in their image.

So, I can avoid the question no longer: What makes a good leader? Vision and the determination to translate vision into action. Values and the conviction to practice what they preach. The ability to be decisive and to make difficult decisions. The ability, simply, to lead and bring people with them. Some people would say that this quality requires charisma. The Oxford Dictionary defines charisma as ‘compelling attractiveness or charm that can inspire devotion in others.’[7] The Cambridge Dictionary explains that charisma is ‘a special power that some people have naturally that makes them able to influence other people and attract their attention and admiration.’[8] We can all think of a lot of very bad leaders of the past hundred years who had charisma: Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, Idi Amin, to name just four of the most notorious megalomaniacs. The trouble with the qualities that I have identified as indicators of good leadership is that they can also be displayed by bad leaders, autocrats and tyrants. And surely, relying for one’s leadership on having a charismatic personality should always be suspect. For all his flaws, what made Moses a good leader was his humility.

Over the past ten days, I’ve been thinking about Yitzhak Rabin. I remember the moment I learnt that he had been murdered. Director of Programmes for the Reform movement at the time, I was co-leading a Spirituality retreat with Rabbis Lionel Blue and Howard Cooper. It was Saturday night, and the session I was facilitating involved people sharing personal items and explaining what they meant to them. Rabbi Blue left the circle to take a phone call. When he returned, he stood in the doorway, and said simply, ‘Rabin has been shot.’ There was a TV monitor in the room, so I ran to put it on. Immediately, there was the face of Yitzhak Rabin, and the years of his birth and death – 1922-1995 – confirming that he had been killed. We sat in silence in a state of shock.

So, was Yitzhak Rabin a good leader? A former soldier, as Minister of Defence during the first intifada, the Palestinian uprising that began in 1987, he had instructed Israeli soldiers to break the bones of stone-throwing Palestinian children.[9] But then Rabin became Prime Minister, and recognising the necessity of the hour, became a peacemaker. Another unforgettable moment. I remember sitting in the front room of my sister’s home on 13 September 1993. Heavily pregnant with her second child who was born two weeks later, a toddler crawling around, we watched the TV and witnessed President Bill Clinton facilitating a momentous handshake between Yitzhak Rabin and PLO leader, Yasser Arafat on the White House lawn.[10] Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated at a peace rally in Tel Aviv’s central square, just as he and those assembled had finished singing a song of peace. A good leader is one who is responsive; who can change their mind when the need arises; who is concerned, first and foremost, to act on behalf of the people they serve. Rabin did not have a charismatic personality. He wasn’t much of an orator and could be taciturn. What makes Rabin memorable is the fact that after decades of conflict, he was willing to overcome his personal reluctance and suspicion and make the effort to reach out his hand to his previously sworn enemy.

A good leader is probably a combination of different qualities that balance one another: confidence and humility, conviction and reflection, determination and caution, decisiveness and hesitation. But it’s not possible to define a good leader simply in terms of their personal qualities. By definition, being a leader implies the presence of a group, a community, a society. Leaders can always be flawed; after all, they are human beings. In my view, in order to exercise good leadership, leaders need to facilitate, enable and empower others. And more than this, they need to be in contexts of active, informed citizenship that is rooted in shared humane values supported by social, economic and political structures that promote equality and equal opportunity and are regulated by just laws. The picture I’m painting of an ideal societal environment makes it look impossible to establish good leadership. We only have to think of President-Elect Joe Biden and the challenge he faces of trying to unite ‘the divided states of America’. He can’t do it. Given that the nation is divided, he doesn’t have the mandate he needs to bring people together. But perhaps, with his goodwill and empathy for the suffering of others born of his own personal tragedies, Joe Biden will be able to manage a successful holding operation – at least, for the four years of his term, by which time, hopefully, a leader capable of enabling the nation to move in a progressive direction will emerge. Perhaps, that person will be Vice President-Elect, Kamala Harris, the first woman to hold that office, and with her black and Asian heritage, the first woman of colour – who, incidentally, is married to a Jew.[11]

Which brings me to another pertinent issue about leadership. In the long history of Patriarchy, the rule of the ‘fathers’, female leaders have been rare exceptions. I mentioned Miriam. The Torah marginalises her contribution to the leadership of the people. Acknowledging this, the rabbinic sages, promoted the legend of Miriam’s Well that accompanied the people on their journeys through the wilderness until her death.[12] They also selected the story of the Judge and leader Deborah, as the haftarah, the concluding reading from the Prophets on the Shabbat when the Torah portion, B’shallach, relates the Exodus from Egypt. In our own day, women leaders have been few and far between. Some of them, like Margaret Thatcher[13] and Indira Gandhi[14], have been autocratic. And then an exceptional woman comes along, like 1991 Nobel Peace Laureate, Ang San Suu Kyi, the leader of the Burmese National League for Democracy who became the first state counsellor of Myanmar, and she ends up betraying her progressive principles.[15] Jacinda Adhern, the Prime Minister of New Zealand, appears to be a true exception, not only as a woman leader, but as a leader altogether. Decisive in her approach to the Covid-19 pandemic, Jacinda Adhern has also demonstrated her commitment to enabling the development of an integrated society, in which all communities, including indigenous Maoris on the one hand and recent immigrants on the other, can participate on equal terms.[16]

In my opening remarks, I mentioned the death last Shabbat of Rabbi Jonathan Sacks. I met Rabbi Sacks at the induction of Rabbi Rader at the Brighton and Hove Hebrew Congregation. I spoke with him briefly at the reception afterwards. I recall that he asked me if my congregation was doing well. I was pleased to tell him that it was. I have asked the question what makes a good leader? Clearly, good leadership depends on the active participation and engagement of the people – whether the setting is a nation, or a city, or a community. Ultimately, good leadership enables communities to lead. As I approach my retirement after twenty years as your rabbi, it is a great source of satisfaction to me that this congregation is vibrant and thriving. Encompassing a rich diversity of individuals, couples and families committed to connecting our Jewish inheritance to our lives today and making a progressive contribution to the wider society, it is abundantly clear that Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue is leading the way for Jewish life in the 21st-century.

And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue

14th November 2020 – 27th Cheshvan 5781

  1. http://news.bbc.co.uk/onthisday/hi/dates/stories/november/4/newsid_2514000/2514437.stm ↑

  2. https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/jonathan-sacks-death-chief-rabbi-lord-b1680501.html ↑

  3. One of the best accounts of the Nazi period and its impact on the Jews of Europe is found in The War Against the Jews, 1933-1945 by Lucy Dawidowicz (Penguin Books, 1975). ↑

  4. Exodus 2:1-10. ↑

  5. Ex. 15:20-21. ↑

  6. Numbers 12:1-16. Miriam’s death related at Num. 20:1. The remaining references to Miriam in the Torah are at Num. 26:58-59 and Deuteronomy 24:8-9. ↑

  7. https://www.lexico.com/definition/charisma ↑

  8. https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/charisma ↑

  9. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yitzhak_Rabin#Opposition_Knesset_member_and_Minister_of_Defense ↑

  10. http://news.bbc.co.uk/onthisday/hi/dates/stories/september/13/newsid_3053000/3053733.stm ↑

  11. https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/election-us-2020-53728050 ↑

  12. In the Talmud, tractate, Ta’anit, which deals with ‘fasts’, which were frequently related to drought, we read: ‘Israel had a well in the desert in Miriam’s merit’. ↑

  13. Prime Minister of the UK, 1979-1990. ↑

  14. Prime Minister of India from January 1966 to March 1977, and again from January 1980 until her assassination in October 1984. ↑

  15. https://www.theguardian.com/world/aung-san-suu-kyi ↑

  16. https://www.theguardian.com/world/jacinda-ardern ↑

Our Foremothers: A Commentary of parashat Chayyei Sarah

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah – LJ E-Bulletin, November 2020 /Cheshvan 5781

25 years ago, the publication of Siddur Lev Chadash was a huge milestone. After two decades of Jewish feminism, the new prayer book of Liberal Judaism put gender equality at the top of the agenda. The main difference in this respect between the new siddur and Service of the Heart published in 1967 was the use of an inclusive translation of the Hebrew throughout. When it came to the language of God, for example, gone were the words ‘Lord’, ‘King’ and ‘Father’; replaced by ‘Eternal One’, ‘Sovereign’ and ‘Parent’.

The changes in the Hebrew were minimal by contrast, but one change was extremely significant. In the Avot, ‘Fathers’, the first paragraph of the T’fillah, the Central Prayer, in came the ‘Immahot’, the ‘Mothers’. So, after the traditional recitation of Elohei Avraham, elohei Yitzchak veilohei Ya’akov, ‘God of Abraham, God of Isaac and God of Jacob’: Elohei Sarah, elohei Rivkah, elohei Racheil veilohei Leah, ‘God of Sarah, God of Rebekah, God of Rachel and God of Leah’ (Siddur Lev Chadash, LJ, 1995, p.97).

We should note the decision to add the Foremothers after the Forefathers, rather than list them by generation. The translation in the American Reconstructionist prayerbook published in 1994 also puts the Patriarchs first, but the Foremothers appear alongside the Forefathers, and with the omission of the word ‘and’, they stand in their own right (Kol Haneshamah. The Reconstructionist Press, 1994, pp. 90-91):

God of Abraham God of Sarah

God of Isaac         God of Rebekah

God of Jacob         God of Rachel

God of Leah

Significantly, in both versions Leah is mentioned after Rachel, although she was the elder sister and the first to bear a child (Va-yeitzei, Gen. 29:31-32).

Gender equality is a contemporary value. The Genesis narratives of our ancestors reflect a patriarchal culture, in which males and females were not treated equally, and married women’s lives were limited to their roles as wives and mothers. When Sarah couldn’t conceive, her maidservant, Hagar became her surrogate (Lech L’cha, Gen. 16:1-4). Similarly, when Jacob’s favourite wife Rachel was unable to conceive, her maidservant, Bilhah became her surrogate. Two of Jacob’s sons, Dan and Naphtali were the sons of Bilhah (Va-yeitzei, Gen. 30:1-8). Rachel’s older sister Leah, on the other hand, was fertile. However, when she stopped conceiving temporarily after bearing Reuben, Simeon, Levi and Judah, Leah made a similar arrangement with her maidservant, Zilpah, who mothered Jacob’s sons, Gad and Asher (30:9-13).

Since Bilhah and Zilpah mothered between them four of Jacob’s twelve sons, perhaps, we should also include them in the blessing of the Avot v’Immahot? The argument against would be that the blessing refers in each generation to the ‘God of … ‘ and there is no evidence that Bilhah and Zilpah had a relationship with God. But then, there is no evidence that Sarah, Rachel or Leah had a relationship with God, either. Indeed, we learn that Rachel hid her father Laban’s idols when Jacob’s household was leaving to go back home after his twenty-year exile (Gen. 31:19 and 30-35). Rebekah was the exception. We read that when she was pregnant and felt a struggle within her womb, ‘she went to enquire of the Eternal One – Va-teilech lidrosh Adonai – and the Eternal One responded explaining that ‘Two nations are in your womb … and the elder shall serve the younger’ (Tol’dot, Gen. 25:22-23). Armed with this knowledge, Rebekah took action to ensure that second-born twin, Jacob, would be heir to the blessing due to the firstborn son (Gen. 27:1ff.)

So, what about our first Matriarch, Sarah? This week’s parashah, Chayyei Sarah opens with her death (Gen. 23:1). Of course, Sarah’s role in ensuring the succession from Abraham to Isaac was crucial. Once she became pregnant and gave birth to Isaac, she persuaded Abraham against his wishes to expel Hagar and Ishmael, the son Hagar had borne with Abraham (Va-yeira, Gen. 21:9-11). But reading of Sarah’s death, we are reminded that her life was focused around the imperative to bear a male heir. In everything else, she either followed Avram’s lead as her husband, or disappeared from the narrative altogether. And so, when Avram responded to God’s call and decided to leave his home, the text says simply, ‘Then Avram took Sarai his wife’ (Lech L’cha, Gen. 12:5). When their journey brought them into Egypt and Avram sensed danger, he told Sarai to pretend to be his sister (12:13). Even when the mysterious messengers came to the door of the tent and announced that Sarah would bear a son, it was Abraham who organised the hospitality, while Sarah listened in the background and laughed to herself at the prospect of becoming a mother at her great age (Va-yeira, Gen. 18:10-15).

Chayyei Sarah opens with the words ‘The life of Sarah was 127 years… And Sarah died in Kiryat Arba, that is Hebron’ (Gen. 24:1-2). Towards the end of the parashah, having secured a wife for Isaac and after marrying again, we read of Abraham’s death at the age of 175 (25:7-8). There is nothing remarkable about the passing of our first Matriarch and Patriarch – except for two things; one implicit and one explicit. Sarah’s death is recorded immediately after the binding of Isaac (Va-yeira, Gen. 22). This juxtaposition should make us wonder about the connection between the two events. Was Sarah consulted, when Abraham went off to sacrifice Isaac? And then, when Abraham died, we read that ‘Isaac and Ishmael his sons buried him in the cave of Machpelah’ (25:9). Sarah’s sole act of volition was to force the two brothers apart, but nevertheless, they remained brothers and shared the sacred duty of burying their father.

So, should the first blessing of the T’fillah reflect more closely what the Torah narratives tell us about our Foremothers and Forefathers? No. While our liturgy connects us to our inheritance, it is also an expression of our values as Liberal Jews today of all genders, committed to equality and inclusion.

Words: 990

Simchat Torah

Simchat Torah
The joy of Torah
joyous respite for eyes and minds endlessly

diving into words and deciphering their meanings.
The annual dance of Torah
stirring the heart and the feet to rapture.
Eitz chayyim hi
la-machazikim bah
(‘She is a tree of life
to those who hold fast to Her’).
Clasped in loving embrace
the sacred letters dancing

from devotion to ecstasy
whirling into new life with every step.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

PRAYER FOR PEACE BETWEEN ISRAELIS AND PALESTINIANS AT SUKKOT

At this festival of Sukkot, when we remember how our ancestors wandered in the wilderness for forty years before they were ready to create a new society, we are painfully aware that after decades of wandering in a wilderness of war, enmity and conflict, Israelis and Palestinians are still not yet ready to enter a new relationship with one another and create a just and lasting peace.

And yet we cannot give up on hope. Eternal One who has taught Your people through all our journeys across millennia to be ‘captives of hope’, asirei ha-tikvah ((Zechariah 9:12), as a New Year begins, despite the continuing impasse, we dare to hope that in the coming months there will be signs of change. If not now, when? And so, we pray that a spirit of hope will begin to enter the hearts of Israelis and Palestinians so that both peoples begin to take steps towards one another. Hope engenders hope. May hope and optimism eventually triumph over cynicism and despair, so that before many more years have passed, we may yet see two sovereign democratic states, flourishing side-by-side, guided by laws of justice, connected together by mutual ties of co-operation, and living in peace.

Bimheirah b’yameiniu – Speedily in our own day.

And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue

SUKKOT: TAKING REFUGE IN ETERNITY

We have arrived at the festival that the early rabbis called ‘the season of our rejoicing’ – z’man simchateinu. After laying bare our souls and immersing ourselves in the depths of Yom Kippur, the new year begins in earnest with a celebration of the bounty of life. On the surface the contrast between Yoma, ‘the day’[1] devoted to confessing our misdeeds and seeking atonement, and Sukkot, the festival of the late harvest could not be greater.

After all, the Torah makes it clear that Sukkot is an agricultural festival, the last of the shalosh r’galim, the three pilgrim festivals mentioned in the Torah, when our ancestors would bring the fruits of their harvests to the Temple in Jerusalem. We read in Mishpatim, the first code of law in the Torah, at Exodus chapter 23:[2]

Three times in the year shall you keep a festival to Me. / The festival of unleavened bread you shall keep; seven days shall you eat unleavened bread, as I command you, at the time appointed in the month of Aviv, for in it you came out of Egypt; and none shall appear before Me empty; / and the festival of harvest, the first fruits of your labours, which you sow in the field; and the festival of ingathering, at the end of the year, when you gather in your produce from the fields. / Three times in the years your males shall appear before the Eternal God.

So, Sukkot is Chag Ha-Asif, the ‘Festival of Ingathering’, celebrating the last harvest of the year. On the other hand, the seven-day festival of Sukkot and Sh’mini Atzeret, the ‘eighth day of closure’ that follows immediately after it, conclude the sacred days of the seventh month of the Jewish year, that begin on the first of that month. Sukkot intersects two cycles of three: Pesach, Shavuot, Sukkot; Rosh Ha-Shanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot; which makes Sukkot the sacred destination for both cycles.

The relationship between Pesach, Shavuot and Sukkot is obvious, since each coincides with a crucial stage in the agricultural year: Spring, when the Earth puts out its new green shoots, early summer, when the first fruits are harvested, autumn, when the last harvest is gathered in and stored in readiness for the winter.  In ancient times, when our ancestors were an agricultural people, Sh’mini Atzeret, the ‘eighth day of closure’ following Sukkot was indeed a closure, representing an end to communal pilgrimage until Pesach in the spring.

So, what about the other cycle of three that occupies the first sixteen days of the seventh month? The relationship between the first and tenth days is obvious and came to be expressed by two designations: yamim nora’im, literally, ‘awed days’, more commonly referred to as ‘days of awe’ and aseret y’mei t’shuvah, ‘ten days of return’ to ourselves and others, inaugurated with the blasts of the shofar. But where does Sukkot fit in? At first glance, there are no clues in the Torah to the relationship of Sukkot to the ten days at the beginning of the seventh month. Indeed, the details provided in the festival calendar in the parashah, Emor at Leviticus 23 seem to reinforce the agricultural character of the festival. We read:[3]

Mark, on the fifteenth day of the seventh month, when you have gathered in the yield of your land, you shall observe the festival of the Eternal seven days, a complete rest on the first day, and a complete rest on the eighth day. / On the first day you shall take the product of hadar citrus-trees, branches of palm trees, boughs of leafy trees, and willows of the brook[4], and you shall rejoice before the Eternal your God seven days.

But then the passage concludes:[5]

You shall dwell in sukkot seven days; every citizen in Israel shall dwell in sukkot, / in order that future generations may know that I made the Israelites dwell in sukkot, when I brought them out of the land of Egypt, I the Eternal, your God.

In the wilderness, our ancestors dwelt in tents – ohalim – not sukkot. Sukkot were the booths our ancestors set up in the fields for the ingathering of the last harvest. So, what does it mean to say that in the wilderness the Eternal One made the Israelites dwell in sukkot?

At the festival of Sukkot, we remember the time when our ancestors wandering in the barren wilderness were completely dependent for their survival on the sheltering presence of the Eternal One. This sheltering presence is evoked at the end of the Book of Exodus as a cloud that rested over the oheil mo’eid, ‘tent of meeting’ – a cloud that only moved forward when the people moved on.[6] This notion of the sheltering presence of the Eternal was later expressed in the liturgy as a sukkah. In the prayer recited in the evening at the end of the section known as the Sh’ma and its blessings, as we prepare to lie down for the night, we address God as the One ‘who spreads a sukkah of peace over us’ – ha-poreis sukkat shalom aleinu.[7]

The onset of the night is a time when our anxieties and fears come to the fore. When I was a child, sharing a bedroom with my younger sister, we insisted that our bedroom door was kept open with a light left burning on the landing. And not only this, after saying our prayers with our Mother – the Sh’ma and a prayer asking God to bless our family – we insisted that as she left our room each night, she stopped at the doorway and said: ‘Goodnight, God bless you, see you in the morning – and I hope I do!’ Those last five words were particularly important to us; Mum had to say them for us to feel secure about closing our eyes and going to sleep.

Sukkot is not simply a time for celebrating abundance, it is also a time for acknowledging our vulnerability and our longing for a sheltering presence over us as we face in the darkness the eternal mysteries of existence.

This awareness is reflected in the rituals associated with Sukkot. And so, the instructions for building a sukkah outlined in rabbinic literature[8] make it clear that the covering of greenery that forms the roof must have spaces, so that we can look up and see the sky above us – and at night, the stars. The word sukkah is based on the Hebrew letters Sameich Kaf Kaf meaning to weave together, and the covering of greenery we lay over the sukkah is known as s’chach – from the same root. The s’chach must not be complete. Ultimately, there is nothing that we build in this world that can protect us from the vicissitudes of life …

As we can see, Sukkot is complex, embracing contradictions. In this way, Sukkot also provides a fitting conclusion to the Days of Awe. As the trees shed their withering leaves, everything is laid bare and we, too, are called to shed our old ways. We cannot begin again until we have stripped everything back.

Sukkot is ‘the season of our rejoicing’; it is about abundance and plenty. And it is also about fragility and vulnerability as we endure the elements, the wind and the lashing rain and face the winter ahead. And so, the sukkah is a shelter, but it is open to the sky. And Sukkot, has still another dimension: the festival confronts us with eternity. Being open to the sky above is not only about exposure to the weather; it is also a reminder of eternity beyond the material elements of life. It is for this reason that when we wave the lulav and etrog, we wave them in all the directions of the compass, east, south, west and north, acknowledging the world around us – and also, upwards towards the sky and downwards towards the earth. Sukkot beckons us to inhabit eternity as we dwell in the sukkah. And so, the different dimensions of Sukkot become one: We can only really appreciate the blessings of material abundance if we acknowledge that our lives are finite and that, ultimately, we will have to let go of our lives and the gifts life brings us. And so, the early rabbis selected the biblical book of wisdom, Kohelet, Ecclesiastes, for reading at Sukkot[9]; a book containing wisdom so profound, one passage has become very well-known. We read:[10] ‘For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted.’ Staying with this thought, I would like to conclude by sharing with you a Sukkot poem I wrote a few years ago:

The season turns

Shedding

Summer’s seemingly seamless mask

Leaf by leaf

Laying bare

The bark of Life

Branch-braiding-branch

Stark and raddled

Textured with

Complexities

Uncertainties

Certainties

We camouflage but cannot escape

So, we celebrate our blessings

While they last

Build fragile temporary shelters

Of light and shadows

And take refuge in

Eternity.

And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue

15th Tishri 5781 – 3rd October 2020

  1. The rabbinic sages referred to Yom Kippur using the Aramaic word, Yoma, meaning ‘The Day.’ Yoma is also the name given to the new tractate dealing with the laws for Yom Kippur in the Mishnah, the first rabbinic code of law edited c. 200 CE, and in the Babylonian Talmud, edited around the year 500. ↑

  2. Mishpatim, Exodus 23:14-1. See also: R’eih, Deuteronomy 16:13-17. ↑

  3. Emor, Leviticus 23:39. ↑

  4. In the Halachah, Jewish law, the instruction was interpreted as referring to an etrog (a citrus fruit), accompanied by a lulav (date-palm branch), three branches of hadass (myrtle) and two of aravah (willow). ↑

  5. Lev. 23:42-43. ↑

  6. See P’kudei, Exodus 40:34-38 – where the oheil mo’eid, ‘tent of meeting’ is also described as a mishkan, ‘dwelling place’ or ‘tabernacle’. ↑

  7. From the concluding words of the blessing that begins Hashkiveinu Adonai Eloheinu l’shalom, ‘Cause us to lie down in peace Eternal One our God.’ ↑

  8. These rules are found in the Shulchan Aruch, the code of Joseph Caro, who was born in Toledo in 1488 and died in Safed in 1575, in the section Orach Chayyim. Moses ben Isserles, who was born and lived in Krakow, Poland (1520-72), the leader of Ashkenazi Jewry, provided the glosses to the Shulchan Aruch, making it acceptable to the Ashkenazi Jewish world. His glosses are known as the mappah, meaning, ‘table cloth’. ↑

  9. Kohelet is the fourth of five books known as Chameish M’gillot, ‘Five Scrolls’, because they are produced as individual scrolls, each one wound around a single wooden roller, for reading at five sacred moments in the year, beginning in the springtime: Shir Ha-Shirim (the Soul of Songs) at Pesach, Rut (Ruth) at Shavuot, Eichah (Lamentations) at Tishah B’Av, Kohelet (Ecclesiastes) at Sukkot, and Esteir (Esther), at Purim ↑

  10. Kohelet, Ecclesiastes 3:1-8. ↑

SUKKOT PRAYER FOR THE SUFFERING PEOPLES OF THE WORLD

During this festival of Sukkot, may the fragile sukkah that recalls our ancestors’ forty-year sojourn in the barren wilderness, remind us of our obligation to assist the poor and the homeless, those in flight from persecution, war and destitution, and all those across the globe experiencing oppression, anguish, grief, loss, hardship and humiliation at this time.

Let us pause in the midst of our sacred celebrations to reflect on all those who are suffering at this time.

PAUSE FOR REFLECTION

Just as we wave the lulav in all the directions and so acknowledge the earth around us and Eternity beyond us, may we also reach out to other peoples in distress wherever they live, contribute to the alleviation of their suffering, and commit ourselves to the sacred task of tikkun olam, repair of the world.

And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue

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