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Facebook BHPSBare winter trees
branches etched
into the sky
frost crunching
underfoot
then deluges
of wind-driven rain
drenching every step.
And yet
signs
of rebirth
snowdrops
poking through
the weathered detritus
of long-gone autumn
and at the full moon
Tu Bishvat
the 15th day of Sh’vat
Rosh Ha-Shanah La-Ilanot
New Year for The Trees
reminding me – us
that in every buried root
the sap is rising
new life is stirring
in a few short weeks
Winter
will give way
to Spring.
Elli Tikvah Sarah
CHANUKKAH CANDLE-LIGHTING DEDICATIONS 2023 – 5784
- We dedicate the 1st flame to the people of Tibet, a proud nation that was annexed by China in 1951, and remains subject to Chinese authority.
- We dedicate the 2nd flame to the Muslim Uyghurs, and the other ethnic and religious minorities in the Xinjiang province of China, who are being subjected to ethnocide – cultural genocide – involving arbitrary detention, political indoctrination, suppression of religious practices, forced labour, forced sterilisation, contraception, and abortion.
- We dedicate the 3rd flame to the 25,000 Muslim Rohingya people murdered by the military forces of Myanmar in 2016-17, in addition to the 36,000 who were thrown into fires, the 116,000 beaten, the 18,000 women and girls subjected to sexual violence, and the more than 1 million forced to flee, mostly to Bangladesh.
- We dedicate the 4th flame to the 580,000 people, including 306,000 non-combatants, killed in the Syrian Civil War that has involved the destruction of the ancient cities of Aleppo and Homs, the forcible displacement of 14 million Syrians, and caused 7 million to flee as refugees.
- We dedicate the 5th flame to the over 150,000 people killed in the Yemeni Civil War, and more than 227,000 people who have died of ongoing famine and lack of healthcare facilities as a consequence of the war.
- We dedicate the 6th flame to the 10,000 people killed and up to 12,000 injured in the war between rival factions of the military government of Sudan, the 4.8 million who have been internally displaced, and more than 1.3 million who have fled the country as refugees.
- We dedicate the 7th flame to the people of Ukraine following the Russian invasion of 24 February 2022 that has resulted in tens of thousands of Ukrainian civilian casualties, hundreds of thousands of military casualties, 8 million Ukrainians being internally displaced, and more than 8.2 million fleeing the country, creating the largest refugee crisis in Europe since World War II.
- We dedicate the 8th flame to the people of Israel and Palestine, caught up in a cycle of violence following the establishment of the State of Israel on 14 May 1948, which has included wars of annihilation launched against Israel by its Arab neighbours, and since 1967, the Israeli occupation of the West Bank and Gaza, the expansion of illegal settlements, the active dispossession and oppression of the Palestinians, and campaigns of terror on the part of extremist Palestinian groups in response. In particular, we dedicate the 8th flame to the memory of the 1400 people massacred by Hamas terrorists on 7 October 2023, the 240 adults and children taken hostage, and the thousands of Gazans killed and hundreds of thousands displaced as a consequence of Israel’s retaliatory war against Hamas.
Elul
*Elul
Elul
the moon
between
seasons
North
and South
between
the fierce intensities
of Summer and Winter
between
the winds of change
that stir Autumn and Spring
the moon
between
nature’s rhythms
that shines
as it waxes and wanes
a solitary beacon
in the night
searching us out
insinuating pale light
into our minds’
tight crevices
revealing us
to ourselves
in the space
between
the old year
and the new
reminding us
to turn
inward
to listen
to our hearts’ broken beat
of hurts and regrets
to turn
outward
to those around us
to all that lives and breathes
and prepare
for the work of renewal
the repair of our relationships
our communities
our world.
Elli Tikvah Sarah
*Elul: The sixth month of the Jewish year, which precedes the ‘High Holy Days’ of the seventh month, Tishri.
WHAT (RATHER THAN ‘WHO’) IS A JEW?
Wandering
Jew
‘Rootless
Cosmopolitan’[1]
Descendent of ha-Ivrim
‘the Hebrews’
those eternal ‘border-crossers’
forever moving
from place to place
for whom
place
is ever-mobile.
The tent-tabernacle
pitched and dismantled
at every staging post
in the stony wilderness
where place
shifted with the winds.
And then
after the sojourn
in the land
after the place of the Eternal
fixed in stone
was destroyed
sacred place
mikdash
reconfigured as
a cornucopia of
words
mikdashyah[2]
sacred scripture
accompanying
the people
on all our journeys
ever since
the ever-renewed
ever-renewing
place of nourishment
and meaning.
Displaced
Jew
in a world of
the post-industrial
post-colonial
post-Sho’ah
post-Modern
misplaced
I find my place
in ancient tales
in words
crafted
and re-crafted
translated
into deeds
that beat out the rhythms of
the days and weeks
the months and years
that celebrate the blessings
of every day
that make of each moment
a place
a call to
‘Choose Life’
‘Pursue Justice’
‘Seek Peace’
‘Loosen the fetters of evil
undo the bands of the yoke
liberate the oppressed
tear apart every chain
feed the hungry
provide refuge for the homeless
clothe the naked
satisfy the afflicted.’[3]
today
every day
without delay.
Elli Tikvah Sarah
-
See: https://www.rbth.com/history/327399-stalin-versus-soviet-jews Also: Gelbin, Cathy S and Gilman, Sander L., ‘Rootless Cosmopolitans: German Jewish Writers and the Stalinist Purges’ in Cosmopolitanisms and the Jews. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2017. ↑
-
Mikdashyah: The name given to certain mediaeval Spanish Hebrew Bible Codices. ↑
-
Deuteronomy 30.19; Deut. 16.20; Psalm 34.14; Isaiah 58.6-7; 10. ↑
A RESPONSE TO THE MASS PROTESTS IN ISRAEL
Tishah B’Av 5783
People gathered
in defiance
from winter to summer
Democracy’s
sentries of
Hope
with flags held high
on the streets
of Tel Aviv
and Jerusalem
flags
and fires now
aflame
in the summer heat.
Burning beacons
of Ha-Tikvah
‘The Hope’[1]
‘to be a free people
in our land
the land of Zion and Jerusalem’[2]?
Or the last embers of
The Hope
burning?
The Hope soon to be extinguished?
turned to ashes
like the Temples of old?
After all
Democracy
died
in the heady haze of
the ‘Six-Day’ triumph[3]
Israel
saved
from its enemies
long-lost
in the hard facts
of domination
on the ground.
The ‘Green Line’ crossed
the West Bank occupied[4]
by pioneer settlers
turned armed guards
of their fortress settlements
but still stalking
on the wild side
the descendants of survivors of
pogroms
visiting fire
on another displaced people
who also long
to be a free people
in their land.
Where will it end?
When will it end?
Kinah[5]
let us lament
let us tear our clothes
let us sit on the ground
and scoop ashes
on our heads
let us mourn
the loss of innocence.
And then
seizing Hope
once more
take to the streets
with a call for
Democracy-free-of-occupation
Equality
Justice
Peace
Security
for both peoples
and also
for the land
beloved
of both peoples
‘a land of wheat and barley
and vines and fig trees
and pomegranates
a land of olive oil and honey’
‘Then each person
(each Israeli each Palestinian)
shall sit under their vine
and under their fig tree
and none shall terrorise them’.[6]
Elli Tikvah Sarah
-
Ha-Tikvah is the title of Israel’s National Anthem. ↑
-
The last phrases of Ha-Tikvah. ↑
-
5-10 June 1967. The ‘Six-Day War’ between Israel and the coalition forces of Egypt, Syria, and Jordan. ↑
-
1949 ceasefire line that assigned the ‘West Bank’ of the River Jordan to the Kingdom of Jordan. ↑
-
Kinah is the Hebrew word for ‘lamentation’. Kinot, ‘lamentations,’ are recited on Tishah B’Av. ↑
-
Quotations from: Deuteronomy 8:8; Micah 4:4. ↑
THE BIRTHDAY OF THE WORLD
THE BIRTHDAY OF THE WORLD
Rosh Ha-Shanah; the Jewish New Year. But there’s nothing very new about it. The COVID-19 pandemic continues. The world will not be free of it until all the world’s peoples are vaccinated. When will that be? Meanwhile, devastating floods and raging fires. Climate catastrophe is not a future threat it is a present danger.
As Jews across the world mark the second New Year during the pandemic, the 20th anniversary of the 9/11 terror attacks in the United States looms just days away. The word ‘anniversary’ suggests the simple marking of an event in the past, but as we all know, that day of destruction inaugurated the so-called ‘war against terror’, which has been continuous ever since.
Somehow, over 70 years after the establishment of the United Nations in the aftermath of World War II and the Sho’ah, the Nazi Holocaust,[1] the nations of the world have still not found ways of dealing with conflict that don’t incite more conflict, and generate more death and devastation.
And yet, in recent decades, we have been exposed through the media to a new discourse that speaks of everything in global terms. And there is no doubt that Brexit and the persistence of nationalism apart, we are increasingly global citizens, beset by global economic crises and threatened by global climate catastrophe and ecological disaster – and more recently, the global coronavirus pandemic. And then, as the sites of oppression and conflict proliferate, there is the global refugee crisis. Wave after wave of refugees; some finding themselves caged in camps, others risking their lives in flimsy boats to get to safety. And now, Afghans desperate to flee following the withdrawal of American and British forces and the resurgence of the Taliban and ISIS.
Bombarded by incessant images of chaos and destruction from across the globe, has this new ‘global’ consciousness impacted on our understanding of the world and our place within it; our sense of responsibility for the Earth and towards one another?
I mentioned the Jewish New Year. Rosh Ha-Shanah, literally, the ‘head of the year’, has several names. One of these tells us that it is ‘the birthday of the world’ – harat olam. Significantly, the Jewish calendar does not begin with Abraham and Sarah, the first ancestors of the Jewish people, but rather with the creation of the world. On Rosh Ha-Shanah, when a new year begins, its date reflects the chronologies listed in the Torah, going right back to B’reishit, Genesis. Of course, this doesn’t mean that the world is, literally, 5782 years old as of this New Year. But the ‘birthday of the world’ reminds us to consider our lives and the present realities of life today in the context of the very beginnings of Life itself.
Importantly, the Hebrew word for ‘world’, olam, does not simply designate a particular globe in the firmament. It can also be translated as ‘universe’. The very first verse of the Torah states: B’reishit bara Elohim eit ha-shamayim v’eit ha-aretz – ‘In beginning God created the heavens and the Earth’ (Genesis 1:1). Note: not ‘In the beginning’, which would be ba-reishit in Hebrew; the creative force is an ongoing process. The six-word blessing formula also reflects the understanding that the Creator is the ‘Sovereign of the universe’ –Melech ha-olam: ‘Blessed are you, Eternal One, Sovereign of the universe’. And olam does not just denote the vastness of space. In another liturgical formulation, olam expresses the corresponding concept of ‘eternity’, as in the phrase, l’olam va-ed, ‘forever and ever’[2].
Rosh Ha-shanah is the ‘birthday of the world’; a commemoration of the birth of the universe; a portal to eternity.
We are not simply situated on a globe, a planet, the Earth. At night we can gaze at the sky and know that the lights twinkling in the blackness are stars and galaxies billions of light-years away.
At the Jewish New Year, we acknowledge the beginning of space/time and are challenged to acknowledge our responsibility as guardians of this small spinning planet in the vast universe – our only home.
Yes, our only home. Space exploration in the past 50+ years has revealed astonishing information about the solar system in which the Earth is located. In his wonderful TV series, ‘The Planets’, Professor Brian Cox combined intelligibility with eloquence as he spoke about the findings of the space missions that have extended to the furthest reaches of the solar system[3].
The images beamed back to Earth of these distant worlds are incredible: the red rock vistas of Mars; the magnificent rings surrounding Saturn. Yes, there are signs of water on Neptune and Uranus. And the research of University of Cambridge astronomers has suggested recently that “ocean-covered” ’Mini Neptunes’ detected beyond the solar system “with hydrogen-rich atmospheres” “may soon yield signs of life”[4]. So, perhaps, it may be possible one day for human beings to walk on Mars, and even live there in special constructions sealed from the hostile atmosphere. Perhaps it may even be possible to travel beyond the solar system. But life as we know it, life in the open air, breathable life beyond the Earth, in the company of other living creatures, oxygenated by trees and vegetation, is not possible. And if there is intelligent life elsewhere in the universe, scientists have not yet detected a single minute murmur[5].
The Earth is our only home. We must begin to address the consequences of our misuse and abuse of it before it’s too late and learn to share it. As a new year begins, may we all resolve to work together to share and repair the world.
Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah
September 2021 / Tishri 5782
-
The United Nations was officially established by 51 countries on 24 October 1945. http://www.un.org ↑
-
As in the second verse of the Sh’ma: Baruch sheim k’vod malchuto l’olam va-ed, ‘Blessed be [the] Name whose glorious majesty is for ever and ever’; a liturgical response inserted after the first verse of the biblical text (Deuteronomy 6:4-9). ↑
-
https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episodes/p07922lr/the-planets ↑
-
https://www.theguardian.com/science/2021/aug/26/mini-neptune-beyond-solar-system-may-soon-yield-sign-life-hycean-exoplanet-cambridge-astronomer ↑
-
‘Search for Extra Terrestrial Intelligence’: https://www.seti.org/ ↑
Sermon conversation with Rabbi Dr Andrew Goldstein, President of Liberal Judaism
Elli to Andrew:
Andrew: It is an honour for me to share this dialogue sermon with you. The theme of this year’s conference is ‘Breaking Down Walls’, as Liberal Judaism continues to explore ways of making our movement as inclusive as possible. After a lifetime of service to Liberal Judaism, you are President of the movement, and having been a complete outsider as a lesbian and a feminist when I was ordained 32 years ago, I have just retired after serving Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue for 20 years. So, we are an interesting pairing for a sermon conversation!
I think it would be good to confound any binary assumptions about us, so I would like to begin by asking you to share the ways in which you feel you have been an innovator as well as a guardian of the tradition in Liberal Judaism.
Andrew:
Thanks Elli; in some ways we are so different, but we both have a deep passion for Liberal Judaism and I hope that Liberal Judaism will always be a tolerant home, as I think it has been, for Jews holding different views on many positions. I suppose I am now seen as an insider but originally, I felt an outsider coming from Birmingham and, I’ll be honest, never feeling completely accepted by the then London hierarchy. But I supposed I toned down my Brummie accent and got involved. The rabbi of my childhood and youth was Bernard Hooker and Birmingham Liberal Synagogue of those days was classic Liberal…85% English services, no head coverings or tallus’s, and deepdown I’m still an old-style Liberal Jew.
What does that mean? As a guardian I think it means not adopting customs just because “they are traditional”, for there are also Liberal Jewish traditions to respect. For instance, I think it makes much sense to honour the key statement of our religion, the Shema, by standing for it. I’m not happy when the full Amidah is said silently, forgetting that “traditionally” it is then repeated out loud. I would never omit the Kaddish or not read the Torah scroll, because there was only 8 people present. I could never understand why it was treife to sing a Psalm in English when one has just read one in the vernacular. And as well as guarding the values of Liberal Judaism in the UK & Ireland, I have been privileged to work over the past 40 years in helping Progressive Judaism to thrive on the European continent, especially the Former Soviet Union. And here I have tried to insist that patrilineal or equilinial descent is the only ethical definition of Jewish status.
But that does not mean that Liberal Judaism should not be innovative and reconsider its attitude to traditions earlier Liberal Jews abandoned. The late great Rabbi John Rayner rediscovered Tikkun Leyl Shavuot and Selichot services and I reckon his rediscovering led to Orthodox communities reintroducing them. And though, as a child we said, Happy New Year I am more comfortable saying Shanah Tovah or Gut Yontif. Times change and Liberal Jews who never want to change are not Progressive.
The aspect of my rabbinate that gives me most satisfaction was Kadimah Summer School Sharon & I founded – 50 years ago. And it was there that we introduced Birkat Hamazon after each meal (I’ll be honest and say except breakfast …still asleep!). Nowdays there would be a riot if it was missed out. We introduced Havdalah that for many is the most moving moment of a Conference and I note that during the pandemic many congregations have an online Havdalah when they never had one before. Strange really that such a touchy feely ritual works on line…for this we must thank the Debbie Friedman lai lais.
I could talk about liturgy, a real test of the changing nature of Liberal Judaism, again aiming to be inclusive and up to date. I was honoured to be part of two generations of changes : removing thee’s and thou’s and then the Lord and gendered English, and now learning to say Berucha At Shechina and Mecheletet Chaim. But let me wrap up with the thought that our founder Lily Montagu is associated with the phrase Prophetic Judaism……if I have any influence left, I think it vital we stress both words…prophetic, yes, fighting for social justice, inclusion, equality. But we must also stress the need for Judaism, for ritual, prayer, Shabbat observance, study and peoplehood.
Andrew to Elli:
I’m not sure I have answered your question, but maybe you can give me your answer: how do you feel? You’ve certainly been an innovator and broken down many walls and given the lead on so many contemporary issues as well as making us think about our relationship with God with your Compelling Commitments and so a guardian too?
Elli:
I think that for me the powerful need for inclusion that brought me into the rabbinate has always involved a combination of being a guardian and an innovator. I felt compelled to actively engage in my Jewish life and in the life of the Jewish community, both, because as the child of a Viennese refugee, I took to heart Emil Fackenheim’s additional commandment, not to give Hitler a posthumous victory[1], and because rather than continuing to live on the margins, I wanted to find a way of including myself, and others, who felt and were excluded – lesbians, gay men, bisexual and transgender people (we didn’t use the acronym LGBT back then) – in the life of the Jewish community. I remember my final interview at Leo Baeck College and the chair of the Committee, Rabbi Sydney Brichto, sounding perplexed and rather irritated, asking me how it was that as a lesbian and a radical feminist, I was so traditional?
Hitler didn’t just destroy 6 million individual Jewish lives, Nazism destroyed tens of thousands of Jewish communities. After the Sho’ah we have a responsibility to revive Jewish communal life; but not by going backwards or mimicking Orthodox Judaism. We are not Orthodox; we are Liberal, and so committed to responding to the needs of the age, as Lily Montagu put it[2], and to the needs of people. The only way we can genuinely ensure a vibrant Jewish life and a vibrant, living Liberal Judaism is, in the spirit of the parashah, T’rumah, at Exodus chapter 25[3], by inviting individuals on their journeys to bring their precious gifts together, their unique qualities and skills, for the development of the community, so that Jewish communal life encompasses all our lives and all of who we are in all our glorious diversity.
And of course, the content and the tone and colour of that communal life needs to be Jewish. What do I mean by Jewish content? That we draw on the Torah and rabbinic literature as we create new interpretations that inform our practice as Liberal Jews. And Jewish tone and colour? That we incorporate traditional as well as contemporary liturgical melodies and rituals as we interweave the heritage we have received, with the materials of our lives today.
During the 32 years that I have worked as a rabbi, I have met with scores of individuals, who, approaching the synagogue because of their longing to belong and feel included, wanted to engage in Jewish learning and live Jewishly. More than anything else, it has been listening to the stories of individuals and their desire to participate as themselves in the life of the congregation that has propelled much of the innovation that I have introduced: my weekly Access to Hebrew and Exploring Judaism programmes, the diversification of Shabbat services, including a monthly Beit Midrash Shabbat morning service focussed on the parashah, the empowerment of lay readers to lead services in their own way, the invitation to the congregation to sit or to stand as they choose and as they are able. And so, for example, when we rebuilt the synagogue, as an eco-friendly, inclusive space, we decided not to have a bimah to ensure maximum accessibility, both, physical and psychological. For me, inclusion has always involved enabling all those who wish to be included to live as Jews, as Liberal Jews, committed to equality and justice for all, who are nourished and sustained by Jewish teaching and practice.
Elli to Andrew:
So, Andrew, what lessons do you think can be drawn from our practice as a rabbinic guardians and innovators for enabling Liberal Judaism to be a truly inclusive movement?
Andrew to Elli:
Listen to all of our members, both the radicals and the dinosaurs like me.
But let’s end with the path that we both encourage… our Jewish tradition… the Sedra… the Festival code in this week’s parashah, Emor… a reminder that in our Judaism practice: we celebrate with the community but also as individuals within it.
Elli:
Yes, Andrew, we return, as Jews always do to the weekly Torah portion that structures Jewish liturgical life and reconnects us week after week, year after year, in an eternal cycle, to the source of Jewish teaching and practice: the Torah.
How fitting, as you say, that this week’s parashah is Emor, where we find in Leviticus chapter 23, the festival cycle as observed in Temple times, and are reminded that Shabbat is the first festival, the model for all the others: mikra kodesh, a ‘sacred convocation’; literally, a sacred ‘calling’ of the community together, which is what all the festivals are about: the community gathering, as we are doing today.
Of course, a calling of the community together assumes that we gather in one place. Nevertheless, the calendar of sacred days is fundamentally, just that: it’s a cycle of time. Today, on Shabbat, and throughout the conference, the community, the family of Liberal Judaism, is and will be sharing sacred moments in time. And yet, as we do so online, we are in different places, and that is important because it reminds us of our diversity; it reminds us that we are called to acknowledge and honour the different spaces that we occupy in our lives; our different backgrounds and circumstances, our different experiences and ways of being in the world. And so, we are called, not so much to break down walls as to open doors; the doors of the chambers of our hearts; the doors of our synagogues – and to set up a metaphorical tent, a mishkan, that extends across space and encompasses us all.
Shared ‘sermon’: Rabbi Dr Andrew Goldstein and Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah
Liberal Judaism Biennial, Shabbat Morning Service
1st May 2021 – 19th Iyyar 5781
THE PRACTICE OF INCLUSION
Introduction: Why a radical feminist Jewish lesbian decided to train for the Rabbinate
Good evening everyone. Thank you, Nigel for inviting me to speak to you all this evening. I’m going to begin with a sobering backdrop to our lives and take you back briefly to that devastating time over 75 years ago.
One third of the world Jewish population was murdered and tens of thousands of Jewish communities across Europe were destroyed in the Sho’ah, meaning ‘devastation’, ‘ruin’ or catastrophe’, which is the preferred Jewish designation of the Holocaust[1]. The Nazis also persecuted and murdered the Roma people, disabled people, gay men, lesbians and nonconforming women, as well as communists and socialists. The child of a mother, whose parents fled pogroms in the Russian Pale in 1905, and a father whose own father was incarcerated in Dachau concentration camp after Kristallnacht in November 1938, after I came out in 1978 and became active in the Women’s Liberation Movement and Lesbian Feminism, as a Jew living in the shadow of the Sho’ah, I began to realise that a vibrant Jewish lesbian life couldn’t be forged out of those horrors…
And then, it became obvious to me that I needed positive reasons for being Jewish when, in the aftermath of Israel’s first Lebanon war in 1982, the media reacted with anti-Semitic tropes that included depicting Prime Minister begin as Hitler. Disappointingly, the feminist media, represented by the WLM weekly newsletter, the monthly magazine, Spare Rib and Outwrite, the black feminist newsletter jumped onto the bandwagon. Fortunately, Jewish feminists had already began to connect and I was part of a Jewish Lesbian group, which meant that I was not dealing with this hostile atmosphere on my own. And so, in the company of other Jewish lesbians, rather than be defined by anti-Semitism, I started to explore what it meant for me to be a Jew.
My Jewish education having stopped, aged 8 ½, when my brother became bar mitzvah, I decided to go to Liberal Judaism’s Montagu Centre in central London and learn to read Hebrew. That was the beginning of my rabbinic journey. Very quickly, I went from novice Hebrew reader to applicant for the Leo Baeck College rabbinic programme, starting in autumn 1984.
It was just as well that I became absolutely determined to do what I could to contribute to making Jewish life more egalitarian and inclusive because the next five years were almost impossibly challenging. But I wasn’t alone. Another lesbian, Sheila Shulman, who sadly, died in 2014, not long after we celebrated the 25th anniversary of our ordinations, also decided to embark on the rabbinate at that time. We both belonged to the same Jewish Lesbian group, but hadn’t said a word to one another about it. Clearly, it was meant to be. Except that the Jewish world, even the progressive Jewish world, wasn’t quite ready for two ‘out’ lesbians. We were both put on probation for the full five years of the programme – the usual probation period is one year – and were told that we could be asked to leave at any time if the two progressive movements that sponsored the college, Liberal Judaism Reform Judaism, felt that their constituent congregations were not prepared to accommodate us. Fortunately, the first gay rabbi in Britain, Lionel Blue, became my tutor, and he and other key teachers offered both Sheila and I enormous support. I was very honoured to be ordained by Lionel on 9 July 1989.
Working as a lesbian rabbi in the mainstream Jewish community
When I first began working as a rabbi, I experienced a lot of challenges in my efforts to ensure equality and inclusion for LGBT+ people, particularly, around the issue of trying to secure same-sex marriage.
Back in 1989, Lionel, Sheila and I were the only LGBT rabbis in Britain. Following ordination, Sheila co-founded with a group of other lesbians, Beit Klal Yisrael, a synagogue which has been a beacon of inclusivity in the Jewish community ever since. Meanwhile, I became rabbi of the mainstream Reform synagogue that I had served as a rabbinic student in my fifth year.
I’m not going to recite the litany of homophobia and persecution I have experienced in the early years of my rabbinate – which included a small group lobbying to oust me from that first post. The good news is that since I became part of Liberal Judaism in 1998, beginning with a two-year stint at Leicester Progressive Jewish Congregation and then going on to the just over 20 that I have been rabbi of Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue, the involvement of LGBT+ rabbis – now 20% of the progressive rabbinate – has generated a major transformation in Jewish life. In 2000 Liberal Judaism established a rabbinic working party on same-sex relationships, including two LGBT+ rabbis: Rabbi Mark Solomon, who grew up in Sydney and left the orthodox rabbinate for Liberal Judaism in the early 1990s – and me. Liberal Judaism has been championing the rights of LGBT+ people ever since. In December 2005, LJ published the first fruits of the working party, a booklet of commitment ceremonies to coincide with the Civil Partnership Act coming into force.[2]
LJ then went on to support the campaign for equal marriage. In the past few years, LJ has also provided a home for a series of LGBT+ projects: ‘Rainbow Jews’, exploring the heritage of LGBT+ Jews; ‘Rituals Reconstructed’, creating opportunities for LGBT+ Jews to develop our own rituals; ‘Twilight People’, a multifaith transgender initiative; and ‘Rainbow Pilgrims’, which focuses on the lives of LGBT+ migrants and asylum seekers who come to the UK.[3]
A lesbian rabbi at Brighton Hove Progressive Synagogue
So: a very positive story of LGBT+ inclusion within Liberal Judaism over the past 20 years. But this evening, I’ve been asked to focus on my experience of working to make Brighton and Hove Progressive synagogue a place of welcome inclusion for LGBT+ people.
When I left the Reform Synagogues of Great Britain over the issue of same-sex marriage in July 1997, there was as a vacancy at BHPS, so, thinking that It would be nice to live in the LGBT-friendly atmosphere of Brighton and Hove, I applied. But at that time the Union of Liberal and Progressive Synagogues that came to be called Liberal Judaism, wasn’t any more hospitable, and I wasn’t invited for an interview.
Thankfully, the following summer the congregation I had served as a rabbinic student in my fourth year, Leicester Progressive, offered me a weekend-a-month position, which felt very supportive. I then left London to live in Brighton in March 2000, and when the post at BHPS became vacant again in July 2000, I put in another application. Fortunately, with the help of the Executive Director of Liberal Judaism at the time, Rabbi Dr Charles Middleburgh, who had persuaded the synagogue leadership to speak to me, after an initial conversation, I was interviewed – by the entire council, the governing body of the synagogue, as it happened. The notion of appointing a lesbian feminist as Rabbi seen as potentially extremely controversial, the council decided to make the decision themselves, rather than take the proposal to a general meeting of the members of the congregation, so I got the job.
2000-2001
In my first year as Rabbi of BHPS, half a dozen members chose to resign their membership rather than have a lesbian as a rabbi. Fortunately, I also received much support from the Council and its officers. After each resignation, the then president of the congregation would call me up and reassure me that I had the support of the Council and that I shouldn’t take it personally, Bear in mind, that each resignation meant a membership subscription fee lost.
So, that first year was challenging. Thankfully, I enjoyed the support of the majority of the congregation, so, I found my feet. I also found that the congregation was willing for us to take a journey together.
2001-2004
Because of my experience as a lesbian on the margins of the Jewish community, the principal priority of my rabbinate has always been the inclusion of people on the margins: in particular, LGBTQI+ people, but also patrilineal Jews, Jews in mixed relationships, women, who had not received a Jewish education as children; people who for one reason or another were unaffiliated or had disaffiliated
And so, as soon as I began at BHPS, I established weekly Access to Hebrew and Exploring Judaism programmes. At the AGM in 2001, the decision was taken to diversify Sabbath services to make them more appealing to a wider range of people. In September 2002, we held our first outreach event on a Sunday morning, headlined as: ‘Are you Jewish or Jew-ish?’ Advertising in the local press and on BBC Radio Sussex, we had no idea how many people would cross the threshold. 70 people – Jewish, Jew-ish and non-Jewish – showed up! Another important change was the council’s decision to adopt a Hebrew name: Adat Shalom v’Rei’ut, ‘Congregation of Peace and Friendship’ – a name that reflected the welcoming, nurturing ethos of the synagogue – and also to give the monthly newsletter a name that reflected this ethos: Open Door.
2005-2011
With inclusion firmly on the agenda, in 2005, after participating in two Sunday mornings of homophobia training, conducted by my partner – now my spouse – Jess Wood, in her capacity as Director of Allsorts Youth Project. the council adopted Liberal Judaism’s policy on the inclusion of LGBT+ individuals and couples and took the decision to allow same-sex ceremonies to be held in the synagogue. Indeed, in March 2006, Jess and I had the joy of celebrating our wedding with the synagogue packed to the rafters. In due course, the council also followed Liberal Judaism’s lead in supporting and endorsing Equal Marriage.
In addition to these changes, I asked the council to look at its publicity materials, and suggested changes that would state that the congregation welcomes people on the margins, including LGBT+ people, people in mixed relationships, patrilineal as well as matrilineal Jews, and so on. And so, in addition to revamping the synagogue web-site, a new attractive synagogue leaflet was created – at a time when paper communications were still important.
Needless to say, before too long more people, who had hitherto lived on the margins, including LGBT+ people, started attending services and study sessions and other events.
2011-2021: The last ten years
And then, with growing awareness of the marginalisation of trans people, the council’s plans in 2011 to rebuild the synagogue as a totally accessible space encompassed installing an all-gender accessible toilet downstairs and an all-gender toilet upstairs – with requisite signage – proclaiming loud and clear that when we say ‘all are welcome’, we really mean it.
The rebuilt synagogue was inaugurated on Sabbath of the festival of Chanukkah, on 12 December 2015. In 2017, one of our members, who had become bar mitzvah with me at the synagogue celebrated her transition as a Trans woman, with a special ceremony during a Shabbat morning service. Then in 2018, very significantly, the council unanimously endorsed the Education committee’s proposal to offer each 12-year-old the option of preparing to become bar, bat, or non-binary gender b’ mitzvah, rather than continue to assume their gender identity.
Meanwhile, the synagogue began to connect with the LGBT+ calendar of the city. I had already participated over the years in LGBT+ History Month, and other LGBT+ community events, by giving talks and sharing panels, and had also participated in Trans Pride. So, the decision was taken to host a Sabbath evening meal with blessings, songs and reflections on the eve of Brighton Pride 2016. Open to our own congregants, it was also open to anyone who wished to attend. The event was so successful that until the pandemic struck, eve of Sabbath shared meals have been held on the eve of Pride each year through 2019. At one of these, cis ally, Rabbi Janet Darley, came to speak to us and showed a film of the special LGBT+ Seder meal held each year at her congregation, South London Liberal Synagogue.
In addition to the annual eve of Pride event, the new building has hosted exhibitions created by the various Liberal Judaism LGBT+ projects I mentioned earlier, including, Rainbow Jews, Rainbow Pilgrims, and Rituals Reconstructed.
Creating an inclusive congregation
I have focused on the journey to inclusion of one synagogue. What does it take to make a synagogue – or a church, or a mosque, or a temple – a place of welcome and inclusion?
My 20-year experience with BHPS suggests a number of key factors:
- That the larger movement to which the particular congregation belongs makes inclusion and equality a priority, and takes action to demonstrate that commitment.
- That the spiritual leader of the congregation is fully committed to making inclusion and equality a priority.
- That the lay leadership of the congregation is prepared to work with their spiritual leader to make inclusion a reality.
- That congregants themselves are prepared to open their hearts to welcome others into their midst.
With all these elements in place, it is possible to transform the culture of a congregation. And let’s remember, that when we are talking about creating a culture of welcoming and inclusion, people don’t approach our congregations as categories, they are individuals, with their own lives and stories and journeys. Being welcoming and inclusive, comes down to how we treat each and every individual who comes knocking at the door, or who sends a message to the website or an email to the office.
I would like to close by sharing with you one of my favourite passages from the Torah – which is at the beginning of the Book of Exodus chapter 25, and introduces a theme that takes up most of the rest of the book; the building of the mishkan, the tabernacle in the wilderness (Exodus 25:1-8):
The Eternal One spoke to Moses, saying: /Speak to the Israelites, that they take for Me an offering; from everyone whose heart makes them willing you shall take my offering. / And this is the offering that you shall take from that which is theirs: gold, and silver and brass; / and blue, and purple, and scarlet, and fine linen, and goats’ hair, / and rams’ skins dyed red, and sealskins and acacia-wood; / oil for the light, spices for the anointing oil, and for the sweet incense; / onyx stones, and stones to be set, for the cape and for the breastplate. / Then let them make Me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them.
The Jewish people has not had a physical sacred place, a mishkan, a tabernacle, a Temple, for almost 2000 years since the Romans destroyed the last Temple in 70 CE, but, nevertheless, there are very important messages in these verses for our lives today. That individuals contribute voluntarily. That each person brings their own special gifts for the creation of community. That participation involves enhancing the community with our personal contributions. That the Eternal One dwells amongst the people when every individual offering is included. I’ve been fortunate to spend the last 20 years of my rabbinate at Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue. In the past two decades the congregation has gone on a journey to becoming an inclusive congregation. As I prepare to retire in a few days’ time, just prior to my 66th birthday on Monday, my hope is that before too long all congregations of every faith and culture will find ways of accepting and embracing the gifts of LGBTQI+ people and all those who seek to contribute to communal life.
Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah
Brighton and Hove Sexuality, Gender and Faith Group
Zoom meeting, Tuesday, 27 April 2021 at 7.30 pm
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Holocaust means ‘burnt offering’, suggesting that the murder of the Jewish people had a sacred quality to it. Alternatively, Sho’ah, found in the Hebrew Bible, e.g. in Isaiah chapter 10, verse 3, more directly suggests the impact: ruin, desolation. ↑
-
Covenant of Love. Service of Commitment for Same-Sex Couples. Liberal Judaism, London, 2005. ↑
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See: https://www.liberaljudaism.org/what-we-do/lgbtqi-projects/ ↑
B’reishit: Becoming an Earthling and Embracing Coexistence
There are two creation narratives in Genesis, B’reishit. Genesis 1 presents a hierarchical account with humanity as the apex of creation empowered to dominate and subdue the other living creatures (Gen.1.28). Genesis 2 gives a more holistic account in which the human formed from the dust of the ground, has the more modest role of Gardener and Guardian (Gen.2.15).
Apart from the fact that humanity is created last, the apex of life, Creation in Genesis 1 is conjured up by words and the Creator creates by declamation: ‘And God said, “let there be light”. And there was light (Gen.1.3). In Genesis 2, on the other hand, Creation is so tangible, it is, quite literally, earthy. Rather than employing the abstract verb to ‘create’, bara (root: Beit Reish Aleph), here, like a potter, YHWH God ‘forms’ [va-yitzar] (root: Yud Tzadi Reish) the human out of the dust of the ground. Moreover, the human [ha-adam] is directly identified with the ground [ha-adamah].
An earthling, formed from the dust of the ground, the human also partakes of the Divine. In Genesis 1, the connection with the Divine is abstract: the human is created in the image of God (who has no image). In Genesis 2, the connection is visceral: ‘YHWH God … breathed into hir nostrils [b’apav] the breath of life [nishmat chayyim]’ (Gen.2.7). The human is infused with the Divine.
Although the first and second narratives concerning the creation of humanity are distinguished by the emphasis on human domination in the first and guardianship in the second, both present unequal relationships: the unequal relationship between the human and the rest of Creation in Genesis 1, and the unequal relationship in Genesis 2 between the human and the animals whom the human names (2.19-20), and between the man and the woman (2.23).
Nevertheless, there are also hints in both accounts of coexistence with the Earth and its creatures. Significantly, in Genesis 1, a feature shared in common by both, humans and animals, is that they are vegetarian. As we read (Gen.1.30):
And to every land animal, and every bird of the sky, and all that creeps on the Earth which is a living being [nefesh chayyah], [I give] all green vegetation for food.
Later, after the flood which has destroyed all the vegetation, that shared bond between all living creatures is broken when humans are permitted to eat meat, albeit, not the blood, which is identified as the nefesh, the ‘being’ of the animal (Gen.9.3-4).
With the identification of an animal’s blood as their nefesh, ‘being’, we have another significant connection between humanity and the animals. Although the second Creation narrative singles out the human for nishmat chayyim, the ‘breath of life’, each creature, according to the first account, is a living being, nefesh chayyah. I have translated the word nefesh as ‘being’. The more familiar and usual translation is ‘soul’. But the concept of soul – a consequence of the binary division between body and spirit – is not found in the Hebrew Bible. Nefesh has a much more material resonance in the biblical landscape, hence, the identification of the ‘blood’ of an animal as its nefesh. Significantly, all the words that have been spiritualised in post-biblical discourse – ru’ach, n’shamah and nefesh – have a materiality about them: ru’ach, ‘spirit’, that which moves unseen, is ‘wind’; n’shamah is ‘breath’, which by definition is a physical dynamic property, albeit invisible; nefesh; the inner ‘being’ is identified with blood, because that is the substance that flows around inside the body, not least, activating our beating hearts. Ru’ach, n’shamah and nefesh are all invisible, but they are all, nevertheless, tangible, physical forces.
The Creation narratives in B’reishit may be read as mythological stories about how things began, and also as cautionary tales about human arrogance. They may be read for their teachings concerning the need for human beings to exercise responsibility in relation to the Earth and its myriad forms of life, and for their suggestions concerning the essential affinity between the human and the Earth – adam-adamah – and between the human and the other creatures that are also designated as nefesh chayyah, living beings. As earthlings, human beings are not just burdened with the role of being guardians, we are blessed with the same gift of existence as all the other forms of life. This blessing, experienced with every precious breath we take, is an invitation to coexistence.
This blessing also has practical implications for the treatment of other creatures, and for the harnessing of the green life of the planet to human needs. For example, from a Jewish perspective, the dietary laws which are rooted in binary teaching concerning what may or may not be eaten, initially set out in the Book of Leviticus chapter 11, have been reframed in some circles to reflect ecological considerations. Kashrut, a noun based on the Hebrew root Kaf Shin Reish, means that which is ‘fit’. In recent years Jewish definitions of food fitness have expanded to include our responsibility for animal welfare and the environment, with organic, local, and free-range food production, and the need to protect species diversity, becoming major priorities.[1]
The observance of Shabbat provides another opportunity for practising coexistence. Caught up in the 24/7 culture of contemporary life, it is hard to set aside a day of complete cessation. But perhaps, as we face ecological devastation and climate catastrophe, as we count the cost of near-global industrialisation and reckless consumerism, as we begin to acknowledge our domination of all other life forms on the planet, as we run out of breath, we may begin to see in Shabbat an invitation to take a breath and rediscover ourselves as earthlings, and equally important, to give the Earth a rest, too. 1000 words
See: The LJ leaflet Ethical Eating by Rabbi Janet Burden https://www.liberaljudaism.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/Ethical-Eating-MAR-2020.pdf See also: https://evolve.reconstructingjudaism.org/eco-kashrut-a-kashrut-for-our-times/
https://ecojudaism.org.uk/ The Eco Synagogue initiative Focuses on the practical application of ecological considerations to congregational life, including, synagogue food policies https://www.jvs.org.uk/2018/03/12/ecosynagogue-launches-london/ For an individual example of eco-agriculture in action in Britain: https://sadehfarm.co.uk/savesadeh ↑
Simchat Torah 5785
‘We will dance again’
Defiance
From the pit of
Loss
Grief
Mourning
The night of
Dancing
Eclipsed
By a dawn of
Blood.
And now
The cycle has
Turned
One year on
Are we ready
To dance
Again?
The joy of Life
Does not yet
Lift our feet
Too much life
Lost
The impulse for Joy
Stolen
With the captives
Then
like them
Abandoned
In the long ache of
Waiting
Waiting.
But perhaps
Recalling our ancestors’
Long treks through
Every wilderness
We can
Rejoice
In the Torah
Rooted
Resilient
Through every raging
Uprooting storm
Grasp
Our ‘Tree of Life’
In our arms
And let our broken hearts
Beat out a dance?
Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah
Yom Kippur 5785
Yom Kippur 5785
Yoma
‘The Day’
Out of the
Daylight of
Every day
A cave of a day
Glowing
In the white-blank
Glare
Of Eternity
Drawing us in
To its mysteries
Searching
Us out in its
Fierce gaze
A spotlight
Into our souls.
And yet
Even in the harsh
Light of scrutiny
Yoma
The Day
Shadowed
By the freight of
The past
The Day
Out of time
Burdened
By times
Furrowed in fear
And trembling
Trapped
In an attic
In a cellar
In a ghetto
Crammed with deportees
In a camp
Cloaked
With the soot
And stench
Of smoking chimneys
In bomb-shelters
When sirens roared
Enemy attack
In the midst of
The sacred rites.
And now
This past year
That began
In depravity
Massacre
Violation
On October 7
The call to
‘Choose Life!’
Hollowed out
By the
Howl of
Death
Destruction.
And
In the rock of The Day
That has survived
With all its burdens
Preserved by our
Fidelity
To its hallowed
Purpose
Cracks
Fissures
That can only
Be sealed
By our commitment
To choose
Life
Once again.
Sukkot 5785
Festival of ‘Tabernacles’
And ‘Ingathering’
Season of
Temporary
Shelters
Set up in fields
At harvest time
This year
Reaping
The harvest of
Twelve months of
Destruction.
Burnt-out
Homes in
Shattered
Kibbutzim
Village-islands of
Collective
Life
Labour
Democracy
Their
Surviving
Battered
Inhabitants
Scattered
To live
Temporarily
Elsewhere.
And
In another
Elsewhere
Flimsy tents
Temporary
Shelters
In the rubble
Ruined
Homes
Schools
Hospitals
Open to the elements
Their battered inhabitants
Wanderers
In the wilderness of
Concrete and dust
Carrying their lives
On their backs
As they bear the pain of
Endless
Displacement.
And all this
Devastation
Defying
The ever-present
Gaze of
The Eternal
Summoned
By our hands
Grasping
Palm-branch
Willow
Myrtle
Fragrant etrog
And waving
Nature’s bounty
In all directions
East
South
West
North
Heavenwards
And towards the
Gasping
Blasted
Earth.
THE CALL OF T’SHUVAH, T’FILLAH, AND TZ’DAKAH by Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah, Yom Kippur Shacharit 5785, 12.10.24
Since I retired at the end of April 2021, I’ve written a book with the title, Judaism Beyond Binaries. I began my exploration by identifying ‘threes’ in the Torah and Jewish teaching generally, in an effort to confront binary thinking and practice. In my Kol Nidrei sermon, I explored a refrain of threes that expresses the purpose of Yom Kippur in the form of a plea: ‘forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement’ – s’lach lanu, m’chal lanu, kappeir lanu. This morning, I want to talk about another powerful refrain of threes that frames the entire journey of the yamim nora’im, these ‘awed days’ that began on Rosh Ha-Shanah and conclude today on Yom Kippur: T’shuvah, ‘Return’, T’fillah, ‘Prayer’, and Tz’dakah. ‘Deeds of Justice’.
The call to T’shuvah, T’fillah, and Tz’dakah is a feature of a mediaeval piyyut, ‘poem’, known by its first two words, U’n’tanneh Tokef. We will recite this poem at the beginning of the Musaf, the ‘additional’ service. Emphasising the supremacy of God as Judge, Arbiter, Expert and Witness,[1] and the fragility of mortal humanity, the language of U’n’tanneh Tokef is poignant. It is also intimidating, reminding us that the Judge before whom each one of us stands, ‘writes and seals, records and recounts the deeds of every human being’ and decrees a judgement. Nevertheless, there is a message of hope, the hope that we will act to mend our ways, expressed with this simple statement: U’t’shuvah, u’t’fillah, u’tz’dakah ma’avirin et-ro’a ha-g’zeira, ‘But return, prayer and just deeds annul the evil decree’. T’shuvah, t’fillah and tz’dakah: this is the threefold challenge set before us.
We start with T’shuvah. There is sense of urgency. We will not automatically be absolved at the end of Yom Kippur. On the contrary, as we read in the Mishnah, tractate Yoma (8.9):
One who says: I shall sin and repent [v’ashuv], sin and repent, they do not afford that person the opportunity to repent [t’shuvah]. [If one says]: I shall sin and Yom Ha-Kippurim[2] will atone for me, Yom Ha-Kippurim, does not effect atonement. For transgressions between a person and God Yom Ha-Kippurim effects atonement, but for transgressions between one person and another, Yom Ha-Kippurim does not effect atonement, until they have appeased their friend.
The import of this teaching from the Mishnah is that t’shuvah is a task that requires effort. T’shuvah is usually translated as ‘repentance’, but the root Shin Vav Beit means to ‘turn’, or ‘return’. The word ‘journey’ has been overused in recent years, but the process of acknowledging our misdeeds and taking steps to make amends involves a journey.
T’shuvah involves recognising that we have strayed off the path of our lives, or taken a route that has led to a cul-de-sac, and that we need to turn around and return to our path. Turning around does not mean going back: we cannot go back; the past cannot be undone. We can only move forwards. When we turn and move towards the path and then find it again, we discover that we are further along. We have learnt from our experiences. In making the effort to turn and return we have become more self-aware, admitted our errors and mistakes, and acknowledged how and why we came to lose our way.
Returning to the path of our lives is only a beginning. As the passage in the Mishnah quoted above makes clear, t’shuvah entails putting things right in relation to those whom we have harmed or wronged, and rebuilding our relationships. But t’shuvah is elusive. Those who approach it in a mechanical fashion, ticking off items on the list, will not experience the sense of renewal it offers. T’shuvah requires commitment not drive. It is not possible for us to speed our way back to the path of our lives, or find easy fixes to rebuilding trust with those whom we have hurt. In the awareness of personal frailties, all we can do is put one foot in front of another, tentatively, and feel our way along, and approach others with contrition and humility.
T’shuvah, ‘Return’ – and T’fillah, ‘Prayer’. What is prayer from a Jewish perspective? The root of t’fillah, Pei Lamed Lamed means to intervene, interpose, arbitrate, judge, intercede. Jewish prayer takes the form of liturgy, set prayers, mostly written hundreds of years ago.[3] The majority of these prayers are not actual prayers in the commonly accepted understanding of the word. Most are peons of praise to God in the form of blessing. There are blessings connected with thanksgiving, and acknowledgement of God for the gifts we enjoy that nourish us and enrich our lives, and blessings concerning actions that we are commanded to perform, like lighting candles.[4]
Petitionary prayer is largely confined to thirteen blessings recited on weekdays in the middle of the Amidah, the central ‘standing’ prayer, which consists of nineteen blessings all together.[5] Apart from the option of adding a personal prayer to the blessing for healing, the themes of the petitionary blessings are fixed, and include requests for understanding, repentance, forgiveness, justice. On Rosh Ha-Shanah and Yom Kippur, the liturgy is even more extensive and includes special prayers, like Avinu Malkeinu, which addresses God as ’our Parent and ‘our Sovereign’. The tone of these prayers is utterly supplicatory. For example, the concluding verse of Avinu Malkeinu, which we find so moving when we sing it:[6]
Our Parent, our Sovereign, be gracious to us and answer us, for there is little goodness in us; treat us with justice [tz’dakah] and lovingkindness [chesed], and save us.
Interestingly, ‘to pray’, l’hitpalleil, is a reflexive form. Reflective forms express an action in relation to ourselves. In the context of praying, this is very significant. We assume that to pray is to address God, but l’hitpalleil suggests that when we pray, we also address ourselves. Of course, some people never pray. Some only pray in desperate situations, their prayer a plea for help: Please God, please help me! Others, only pray during the ‘awed days’ when prayer becomes a lifeline, a means of personal repair. Whatever the reason any one of us may find to pray, and whether or not prayer is familiar, alien, or irrelevant at other times of the year, what we are doing when we pray during these ‘awed days’ is, essentially, interrogating ourselves. To pray, l’hitpalleil, is to open our hearts and to acknowledge our frailties, and needs for love, compassion, support, affirmation, forgiveness. To pray is to give thanks for the gift of life, and all the ways in which our needs are met. To pray is to acknowledge that each of us has the potential to shape and transform our lives. To pray is to recognise that in order to transform our lives, we must also be prepared to let go and move on, and trust that we can renew ourselves and our relationships.
T’shuvah, ‘Return’, and T’fillah, ‘Prayer’ – and Tz’dakah, ‘Deeds of Justice’. The focus of the ten-day t’shuvah journey is for us to make amends for our misdeeds, and so receive at the end of this sacred day of Yom Kippur, forgiveness and atonement. But that goal is only a beginning. Jewish teaching is concerned with the work of renewal and repair for the sake of the future. The journey of t’shuvah reaches beyond the gift of forgiveness and atonement to tz’dakah, to the task of practising righteousness and justice after the yamim nora’im, the ‘awed days’, are over.
Tz’dakah is usually translated as ‘charity’, but the root of the word charity is the Latin caritas, which conveys a different meaning from the root of tz’dakah, Tzadi Dalet Kuf, to be ‘just’. Caritas centres on the feelings of love that move us to feel compassion for others and to take action to support them, both materially and emotionally. Related to the word tzedek, ‘justice’, Tz’dakah focuses on the imperative of just action.[7] Emotions cannot be compelled, so righteous acts that are dependent on our feelings are useless. We may feel moved to help others, but we may not. Tz’dakah, by contrast, is a commandment. It is our obligation to put right what is wrong in relation to the poor, including the homeless, those who are oppressed and persecuted, and the most vulnerable groups in society, identified in the Torah, specifically, as the sojourner, the orphan and the widow.[8]
In Isaiah chapter 58, the Yom Kippur morning haftarah, the ‘concluding’ reading from scripture, which we will read shortly, the unknown prophet of the later chapters of the Book of Isaiah who addressed the exiles in Babylon in the 6th century BCE,[9] decries observance of the rituals of Yom Kippur that are not accompanied by acts of righteousness. We read (58.5-7):
Is this the fast I look for? A day of self-affliction? Bowing your head like a reed, and covering yourself with sackcloth and ashes? Is this what you call a fast, a day acceptable to the Eternal One? / Is not this the fast I choose: to release the shackles of wickedness and untie the fetters of bondage, to let the oppressed go free and to break off every yoke? / Is it not to share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to clothe them, and never to hide yourself from your own kin?
The prophet’s words recited on Yom Kippur morning are just as relevant to contemporary society as they were 2500 years ago. But they do not simply address the community as a whole. It is the individual who fasts, afflicts themselves, and engages in the rites of Yom Kippur. The call of Isaiah 58 is to the people Israel, and also to the individual, to each one of us, to act against oppression and destitution. So, each one of us is challenged to ask ourselves: how will I respond? I know that I live in a world in which injustice is rife. What will I do about it? The ten-day t’shuvah journey will conclude in a few hours’ time, and then it is every individual’s task to harvest the fruits of our repentance with acts of tz’dakah.
U’t’shuvah, u’T’fillah, u’tz’dakah has been the framing refrain of aseret y’mei t’shuvah, the ‘ten days of return’, for hundreds of years.[10] We recite these words, as we recite all the words of the yamim nora’im liturgy, year after year. And yet, each year we find ourselves in a different place. This past year we have been living in the shadow of October 7, 2023 and its aftermath. What do these words mean to us this year? How do the obligations they encapsulate resonate with us today on Yom Kippur, less than a week after the October 7 anniversary? We have felt so overwhelmed by despair and hopelessness these past twelve months. The call of tz’dakah, in particular, reminds us that feeling devoid of Hope, we must, nevertheless, act. Indeed, those Israelis and Palestinians who continue to work together to create a better future are crying out for Jews in the diaspora to support their efforts.
To give you just one example. On September 1, I attended a zoom gathering organised by the British Friends of Rabbis for Human Rights, an organisation that encompasses rabbis across the religious spectrum, who put their commitment to human rights into practice, in Israel and in the West Bank and Gaza.[11] There were three speakers, orthodox Rabbanit Leah Shakdiel, conservative Rabbi Amirit Rosen, and Rabbi Michael Marmur of the Israel Movement for Progressive Judaism. All three spoke powerfully, but I was particularly taken by Rabbanit Leah Shakdiel, whose voice was truly prophetic. Ordained in 2019 and the first woman to be elected to an orthodox religious Council, in addition to being involved in Rabbis for Human Rights, Rabbanit Leah Shakdiel is also a member of Machshom Watch,[12] the group of women who go to checkpoints – machshom means ‘checkpoint’ – and monitor what goes on there. She is committed to speaking out because, as she put it, ‘orthodox voices seem to be backing the war.’ She called what they are doing, chillul Ha-Sheim, a ‘desecration of the Divine Name’, ‘because’, as she put it, ‘the Torah is being used to sanctify war.’ Here are some extracts from Rabbanit Leah Shakdiel’s powerful address at that zoom meeting:
Vengeance goes nowhere. We are supposed to value life above all, to value peace above all… We are systematically destroying a people, their livelihoods, their future… It’s totally forbidden to engage in this kind of warfare, as if we were in the times of Joshua… The only kind of Jewish state we can have must be aligned to democracy, equal rights for all… Since 1967, Religious Zionism has changed into religious messianism, the notion that the land is sacred, and that every inch must belong to the Jews. Messianism is a turning away from Zionism. This is fundamentalism. You cannot read the Bible literally. You must read it in the context of the needs of the present and the future. Does this fundamentalism support life or drag us into death? The role of religious leaders in general is promote the values of freedom and justice. We have to scream from the rooftops… We must speak Truth to Power.
The courage of Rabbanit Leah Shakdiel, Rabbi Amirit Rosen, and Rabbi Michael Marmur, and all the rabbis involved in Rabbis for Human Rights, who stand in front of bulldozers to prevent the demolition of Palestinian homes by the IDF, who accompany Palestinians in their olive groves to prevent settlers uprooting their trees, who advocate for Palestinians in the courts, is tz’dakah in action. Of course, we are not there on the ground. But we can support their work, and the work of the many organisations that are determined to continue the struggle for Justice and Peace. Coexistence organisations like Standing Together,[13] Women Wage Peace,[14] the Parents’ Circle Bereaved Families Forum,[15] and Combatants for Peace[16] – not forgetting the wonderful village in no man’s land of Jews Christians and Muslims, which inspired the Hebrew name of this congregation: Neve Shalom, Wahat al-Salaam, ‘Oasis of Peace’.[17] May the call of t’shuvah, t’fillah and tz’dakah, revive our spirits, and be a source of inspiration when the sun sets on this unique day, and we step out into the challenges of the new year that lies ahead. And let us say: Amen.
Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah
Leicester Progressive Jewish Congregation
Yom Kippur Shacharit 5785
12th October 2024 / 10th Tishri 5785
This is the translation of the Hebrew text in Machzor Ruach Chadashah, 2003, p.141. ↑
Yom Ha-Kippurim is the name for Yom Kippur in the Torah. See: Leviticus 23.27. ↑
The rabbinic sages devised the first post-biblical prayers, but it was not until the 9th century that the first complete prayer book was written: Seider Rav Amram, the work of the head of the Babylonian Talmudic Academy of Sura at that time, Amram bar Sheshna. For an in-depth exposition of the development of Jewish okayprayer, see: Elbogen, Ismar, Jewish Liturgy. A Comprehensive History, Philadelphia and Jerusalem: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1993 (first published in German in 1913. See note: 14). See also: Hoffman, Lawrence A., The Canonization of the Synagogue Service, Notre Dame and London: University of Notre Dame Press, 1979. ↑
For an accessible guide to Jewish prayer, including the types of blessings, see: Hoffman, Lawrence A., The Way Into Jewish Prayer, Woodstock, Vermont: Jewish Lights Publishing, 2000. ↑
The Amidah (meaning, ‘standing’) is the central prayer of Jewish worship, traditionally recited while standing. The thirteen petitionary blessings are not recited on Shabbat because it would be inappropriate to petition God while enjoying God’s gift of rest. In place of the thirteen petitions, a blessing for Shabbat is recited. The thirteen petitions consist of six that are personal, six that are communal, and a final one, asking God to listen to our prayers. ↑
See: Machzor Ru’ach Chadashah, 2003, p.74, for a slightly different translation. ↑
One of the most important pronouncements about justice in the Torah is in Deuteronomy 16.20: Tzedek, tzedek, tirdof, ‘Justice, justice, shall you pursue’. ↑
Significantly, the word tz’dakah is used in relation to restoring the garment of a poor person given in pledge (Deuteronomy 24.10-13). The code in Deuteronomy 24 also mentions all three of these categories of vulnerable people (Deut. 24.17 to 22). See also: Leviticus 19.9-10 and 19.33–34. ↑
Isaiah 1.1 speaks of ‘Isaiah, son of Amoz, who prophesied concerning Judah and Jerusalem in the reigns of Uzziah, Jotham, Ahaz and Hezikiah, kings of Judah’. Isaiah 6.1 mentions Isaiah’s call to prophecy in the year that King Uzziah died (742 BCE). While chapters 1-39 belong to the period when Isaiah prophesied. Chapters 40 to 66 are later in origin, the work of a Second (Deutero) Isaiah. Sometimes chapters 55-66 are seen as the work of a Third (Trito) Isaiah. ↑
The first prayer book to include prayers for the festivals is Machzor Vitry composed by French scholar, Simchah of Vitry, c. 1055 – c. 1105 https://www.sefaria.org/Machzor_Vitry?tab=contents ↑
THE OBLIGATION TO CHOOSE LIFE AND ACT by Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah, Erev Yom Kippur, 5785, 11th October 2024
We have arrived at Yom Kippur, a day in sacred time, set apart from all the other days of the year. We have gathered together in a place, which for twenty-five hours is set apart from all the other places we inhabit in our daily lives: our homes, workplaces, schools, universities, shops, streets and parks. Of course, for most of us here, it is a familiar place, the congregation’s home. But today, even this familiar place in which the community gathers each Shabbat, becomes another place, etched in Eternity. The Talmudic tractate dedicated to Yom Kippur is called Yoma, the Aramaic word for ‘the day’. Yoma: the singular day out of time and space.
We have gathered here, not simply to be here, but to do something; to complete the journey we began on Rosh Ha-Shanah, the journey of t’shuvah, of ‘return’; to ourselves, to others, to the ultimate ‘other’, the Eternal One. Yom Kippur is the final destination of our journey, marked by five staging posts in the form of five services: Erev, ‘evening’, known by the first words of the passage that marks the service out: Kol Nidrei; Shacharit, ‘morning’; Musaf, ‘additional’; Minchah, afternoon; and N’ilah, ‘closing’. As we move from stage to stage, we also pause to remember those who are no longer with us. In progressive congregations, Yizkor, the memorial service is held just prior to N’ilah. In orthodox congregation, Yizkor is observed at the end of the morning.
These staging posts help us to navigate through the day as we engage in the task of Yoma, the task of making confession for our wrongs and misdeeds, and seeking forgiveness.
‘Forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement’, s’lach lanu, m’chal lanu, kappeir lanu. The words of this liturgical refrain punctuate the day. A refrain that takes the form of a plea. Significantly, although the focus is on the individual, the plea is couched in the first-person plural. This is also the case in all the passages of confession we will repeat today. The catalogue of sins arranged alphabetically and known by its first word, Ashamnu, begins: Ashamnu, bagadnu, gazalnu, ‘We have offended, we have dealt treacherously, we have robbed’.[1] We will be studying this alphabetical text during the break between the additional and afternoon services. Similarly, the refrain that precedes each confession in another liturgical arrangement is also in the first-person plural. It begins: Al cheit shechatanu l’fanekha, ‘For the sin we have committed before You.’[2] Actually, the word ‘sin’ does not really capture the Hebrew. Strictly speaking, cheit, the word that gets translated as ‘sin’ expresses the kind of error we commit when we miss our way.[3] But that doesn’t mean that the errors we commit are not grievous. The text of the Al Cheit makes it clear that, even the ordinary errors we make that we may feel inclined to excuse in ourselves, are serious and require our repentance.
Today we stand together and make confession together, even though the responsibility to go on this journey devolves on each one of us. So, why do we make our confession in the first-person plural? Why this communal act of solidarity, which in practice involves individuals confessing to misdeeds that we may not have personally committed? There are at least three reasons for confessing our sins in the first-person plural. First, amongst the congregation, there may be individuals who have committed those misdeeds. Second, confessing to wrongs we haven’t committed as individuals is an acknowledgement that we could have committed them. Third, as each one of us makes our confession, we do so, not simply because we are Jews and that’s what Jews do on Yom Kippur. The ‘we’ on this sacred day out of time and space embraces humanity, and so we confess to misdeeds that encompass the wrongs that humans are capable of committing. Although each one of us is on our own personal journey, confession in the first-person plural expresses our shared predicament as frail human beings who go astray.
S’lach lanu, m’chal lanu, kappeir lanu. ‘Forgive us, pardon us, and grant us atonement’. There are several poignant melodies for this phrase that is traditionally inserted between each three-line verse of the Al Cheit. Each melody is designed to move us and open up our hearts. But what does the threefold refrain imply? Human beings need forgiveness. Each one of us needs to feel forgiven so that we can let go of the past and move on. But Jewish teaching makes it clear that the we can only be forgiven if we repent, and do what we can to make amends. We are also challenged to forgive others. In fact, if we fail to forgive someone who has sought our forgiveness three times, we are the ones in the wrong (Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot T’shuvah, 2.9).
But forgiveness on Yom Kippur takes on a deeper resonance. Having engaged in the process of t’shuvah, and having done what we can to repent and seek forgiveness from those we have harmed, each one of us is seeking forgiveness from the Eternal One. More than forgiveness, we are seeking pardon. The Hebrew, m’chal lanu, ‘pardon us’, expresses a blotting out or wiping out; an annulment.[4] But how can we be seeking an annulment, in other words, a cancellation of our misconduct? Because, ultimately, Yom Kippur represents the drawing of a line under all that has gone before, so that each one of us can start the New Year afresh. The Hebrew, kappeir lanu, ‘grant us atonement’, literally, means ‘cover us’. We read in the Torah that the Ark was covered with a kapporet, a ‘covering’ of gold.[5] The goal of Yom Kippur is a covering over of our misdeeds of the past year. They do not disappear, or evaporate, they are not conjured away by the rituals of Yom Kippur; they are covered over.
But what does this mean in practice? As we go on our journeys today and engage in our personal search for forgiveness, pardon and atonement, this unique day carries the hope of a new beginning. But this hope begs many questions: How do I make a new beginning? What should I do with the covered-over wrongs committed during the past year? Store them away? Bury them? How do I go about accepting that they are covered over, and move on? The clue to working out answers to these questions lies not only in the root meaning of kippur, as ‘covering’, but also in the process of the yamim nora’im, ‘awed days’. The covering over of the deeds of the past year depends on what what we do before the gates close[6] on Yom Kippur; on our heartfelt desire for pardon and forgiveness. This in turn, involves fidelity to the demands of t’shuvah, return. The ten days of reflection which began on Rosh Ha-Shanah will have done their work if at the end of Yom Kippur we can say: I will find a way of moving forward because I have addressed my mistakes and misdeeds of the year that has passed.
Decoding the language and purpose of the yamim nora’im, literally the ‘awed days’, is not the same thing as really taking to heart what it means to take responsibility for our misdeeds – and also, more generally, for what we do, and what we fail to do. Saying ‘we’, and really meaning ‘we’, means, for example, that in the face of the violence and persecution we witness every day on our TV screens and devices, we cannot distance ourselves from the perpetrators by demonising them and regarding them as inherently evil and entirely different from us. On the contrary, we are challenged to acknowledge that even those who commit the most heinous atrocities are human beings, like us. The Torah portion we will read tomorrow morning from Deuteronomy chapter 30, includes a powerful challenge that reminds us that each one of us has the potential to act for evil or for good. We read (30:15;19):
See! I have set before you today, life and good, and death and evil … I call Heaven and Earth to witness against you this day, that I have set before you, life and death, the blessing and the curse, therefore, you shall choose life – u’vacharta ba-chayyim – so that you may live, you and your descendants.
Today. Every day – and in particular, this particular today, when we have the time and the space to reflect on our lives, and make a conscious choice to choose life and good, rather than death and evil. This also involves choosing compassion and justice, rather than hatred and persecution, the ways of peace, rather than violence and destruction.
And our responsibility doesn’t end there. Immediately before the verses I have quoted from the portion that we will read in the morning, we are presented with another challenge (30:11-14):
For this commandment, which I command you today is not too complex for you, nor too remote. / It is not in heaven that you need to say: ‘Who will go up to heaven for us, and fetch it for us, that we may hear it and do it?’ / Neither is it across the sea that you need to say: ‘Who will cross the sea for us and fetch it for us, that we may hear it and do it?’ For the matter is very near you, in your mouth and in your heart to do it – ki karov eilecha ha-davart m’od; b’ficha u’vilvav’cha la’asoto.
‘For the matter is very near you, in your mouth and in your heart to do it’. You can’t get much nearer than ‘in your mouth and in your heart’. But being in our mouths and in our hearts is not the end of ‘the matter’. The point is to act. In August, we witnessed people in towns and cities across the UK, including here in Leicester,[7] taking out their frustration about economic hardship and the housing crisis on migrants and refugees and their Muslim neighbours. In some instances, angry mobs attacked mosques and hotels housing migrants and refugees. In response, ordinary people came together to protect those under attack. For example, ‘Together’, an interfaith coalition supported by Hope Not Hate, organised a solidarity event outside Southport Mosque. Rabbi Robyn Ashworth-Steen represented Progressive Judaism at the gathering, standing alongside more than a dozen Imams, and also spoke to a BBC reporter about the imperative of spreading ‘a message of love and connection’ in the face of hatred and division.[8] Rabbi Robyn, together with Rabbi Warren Elf, also took part in a solidarity visit to the Khizra Mosque in Manchester.[9]
If we don’t act, we risk standing by while those who choose hatred, visit their bigotry on some of the most vulnerable in our midst. Of course, acting carries its risks, too. But what is the alternative? Stasis? The choice remains before us. Let us find our courage in the much-quoted wisdom of Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav: Kol ha-olam, kullo, gesher tzar m’od, v’ha-ikar lo l’phacheid k’llal – ‘All the world, all of it, is a very narrow bridge, but the essential thing is never to be afraid’.[10] On this sacred day, set apart from all other days of the Jewish year, we are challenged to take steps into the unknown future. May we support one another as we begin our journey.
And let us say: Amen.
Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah
Leicester Progressive Jewish Congregation
Erev Yom Kippur 5785
11th October 2024 / 10th Tishri 5785
See: Machzor Ruach Chadashah, p. 197. ↑
See: Machzor Ruach Chadashah, pp. 198-200. ↑
There are many words for ‘sin’ in the vocabulary of Yom Kippur. See: Machzor Ruach Chadashah, p. 164, for ‘A Vocabulary of Sin’ based on A Guide to Yom Kippur by Rabbi Dr Louis Jacobs, London: Jewish Chronicle Publications, 1957, pp.75ff. ↑
The Biblical Hebrew root is Mem Chet Hei. In Rabbinic Hebrew: Mem Chet Lamed. ↑
The kapporet that covered the Ark was a slab of gold, 2.5 cubits by 1.5 cubits. See: Exodus 25.17-22 ↑
The liturgy for Yom Kippur is arranged into five services, plus Yizkor, a Memorial Service: Evening [Erev], known by its opening passage, Kol Nidrei; Morning [Shacharit]; Additional [Musaf]; Afternoon [Minchah]; and Closing [N’ilah]. Of these services, only N’ilah is exclusive to Yom Kippur. The central imagery of the ‘Closing’ service is of gates closing, conveying a sense of urgency that the congregation’s pleas for forgiveness and pardon will be accepted. This is expressed liturgically – and here is the literal translation: ‘Open for us a gate, at the time of the closing of the gate, for day has turned [ki phanah yom], the day is turning [ha-yom yiphneh], the sun is setting, let us enter Your gates’. The root for ‘turn’ in this passage is Pei Nun Hei. See Machzor Ru’ach Chadashah, p. 424, for a more poetic rendering of the Hebrew. ↑
https://www.liberaljudaism.org/2024/08/faith-leaders-stand-together-against-extremism/ ↑
https://www.jewishnews.co.uk/jewish-communities-offer-solidarity-to-muslim-counterparts/ ↑
PRO-ISRAEL AND PRO-PALESTINE by Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah, Rosh Ha-Shanah Shacharit 5785, 3rd October 2024
Edinburgh Liberal Jewish Congregation
We have gathered here this Rosh Ha-Shanah morning to mark the New Year for years. What will the New Year bring? We are concerned about the future for so many reasons – not least, because of the ongoing catastrophe of October 7 and its aftermath. But before we can look forward, we must look back, reflect on the past year, and consider the legacy of past years. Engaging in this process also includes interrogating the most precious and sacred legacy bequeathed to us, the Torah. I will turn to our Rosh Ha-Shanah portion in a moment. But first, let me begin with an experience I had ten years ago now.
In 2014, after a SodaStream Store opened in Brighton – SodaStream being an Israeli eco-company with its factory in the West Bank – the local branch of the Palestine Solidarity Campaign staged a picket.[1] Inevitably, a section of the local Jewish community decided to undertake a counter-protest. One Shabbat afternoon, after finishing my teaching, I went into the store to find out how the staff were dealing with the protesters. Doing so, involved walking through the two camps; the one waving Palestinian flags, the other waving Israeli flags. After I left, I decided on a strategy: to step between the binary. And so, I ordered both flags. I also created a placard for wearing front and back, with the words Anti-Israel, Anti-Palestine, crossed out in favour of Pro-Israel, Pro-Palestine. The following Shabbat, I returned to the EcoStream store, where I attempted to speak to both sets of protesters. I’m sure you can guess the reaction of both sides. Those bearing Israeli flags, could only see that I was holding a Palestinian flag. Those holding Palestinian flags, could only see that I was holding an Israeli flag.
I love Israel, which I first visited as a 23-year-old in 1978, and I’m also deeply committed to the Jewish values of justice and peace. So, for me, there is no contradiction between being pro-Israel and pro-Palestine. On the contrary. From my perspective as a Jew who has dedicated their life to the Jewish people, taken Jewish ethical teachings to heart, and does what I can to practice what I preach, being pro-Israel involves being pro-Palestine. We read in the book of Deuteronomy: Tzedek, Tzedek tirdof, ‘Justice, Justice you shall pursue’ (16:20). Justice for Israel and Justice for Palestine. Pursuing Justice, demands acknowledging the right of both sibling peoples to be treated justly.
Sibling peoples. The tragic irony of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is that there are so many similarities in the historical experiences of the Jewish and Palestinian peoples; both marginalised and persecuted, both exiled and dispersed. Of course, the establishment of the modern State of Israel empowered the Jewish people, while the Palestinians’ longing for self-determination continues to be thwarted by an Israeli government that is determined to crush their aspirations. The as yet unresolved conflict between sibling peoples goes back to Abraham. In the Torah portion we read this morning from Genesis 21, the two sons of Abraham, Ishmael and Isaac are separated from one another because Abraham’s wife, Sarah, is determined that Ishmael, the product of the union of Abraham with her Egyptian servant, Hagar, ‘shall not inherit with my son, with Isaac’ (21:10b). Abraham’s sons divided because inheritance cannot be shared.
But this is not the whole story. When God told Abraham, to listen to Sarah’s voice, ‘because in Isaac seed shall be called to you’ (21:12b), God added: ‘and also the son of the slave woman I will place as a nation because he is your seed’ (21:13). Two sons of Abraham. Two inheritances. And Ishmael’s mother, Hagar also received this Divine message. We first meet Hagar in Genesis 16, when unable to bear children, Sarah – at that time called Sarai – implored Abraham – at that time called Abram – ‘go, I pray you, to my servant; it may be that I am builded up through her’ (16:2b). The first recorded surrogacy arrangement went disastrously wrong. Once Hagar was pregnant, Sarai was jealous of her and treated her harshly. Hagar’s response was to flee to the wilderness. There a messenger of God found her by a fountain of water, and spoke with her. Enquiring why she was there, Hagar told the Divine messenger that she was in flight from her mistress. The Divine messenger then urged her to return, telling her that her seed would be greatly multiplied, and that she would bear a son and call him Ishmael, ‘because the Eternal has heard your affliction’ (16:11). Ishmael in Hebrew, Yishma-Eil, means ‘God shall hear’. These promises are repeated in an abbreviated form in our Rosh Ha-Shanah Torah portion Genesis 21, where we read that when banished with her son to the wilderness, a Divine Messenger called to Hagar from heaven, and told her that God ‘has heard the voice of the lad where he is’ (21:17b), and ‘will make him a great nation’ (21:18b).
So, two brothers divided in order to ensure that the inheritance due to Isaac as the son of Abraham and Sarah was not shared. But Ishmael was also due an inheritance. Given that the Torah relates the account of our beginnings as a people, it is remarkable that Hagar is given a voice, and that the text makes it clear that, as Abraham’s son, Ishmael was also the heir of a Divine inheritance. But this is indeed what the text says. And it’s not only a story in the Torah that is read as part of the annual Torah-reading cycle. Genesis 21 is the traditional portion for the first day of Rosh Ha-Shanah. Liberal Jews only mark one day, so Genesis 22, traditionally the portion for the second day, is often the Liberal portion of choice, although nowadays, many congregations read the two chapters in alternate years. Liberal practice apart, Genesis 21 is read today in orthodox congregations the world over, including by fundamentalist Jewish settlers on the West Bank. Determined to keep what they understand to be ‘Biblical’ Israel for themselves, and seeing themselves as ‘Torah-true Jews’, fundamentalist settlers ignore not only the ethical teachings of the Torah, they also ignore those parts of the story of our ancestors that don’t reinforce their supremacist narrative. Of course, this has been the situation since Israel’s victory in the 1967 ‘Six Day War’, and the occupation of East Jerusalem and the West Bank of the Jordan fifty-seven years ago. But now we are in the midst of the crisis precipitated by the Hamas massacres in southern Israel on October 7. That horrifying assault which included the murder of 1200 people and 250 more being taken into captivity into Gaza, has left Israelis deeply traumatised, and the retaliatory war that followed, continues to have devastating consequences for the people of Gaza. And not only for Palestinians in Gaza. The tightening of the IDF grip in the West Bank combined with an escalation in settler violence has made the lives of all Palestinians unbearable.
We all know this, of course. But where will it lead? Separated as children, the Torah relates that Isaac and Ishmael did meet again. We read in Genesis 25 (8-10):
Abraham expired, and died in a good old age, full of years; and was gathered to his people / Isaac and Ishmael his sons buried him in the cave of a Machpelah, in the field of Ephron, the son of Zohar the Hittite, which is before Mamre. / The field which Abraham purchased from the children of Heit; there was Abraham buried, and Sarah his wife.[2]
Sarah died first, then Abraham. Do we have to wait for the passing of another generation before steps are taken back from the brink and towards a just and peaceful resolution? How many more people have to die?
One of the ways I try to remain positive in the face of the ongoing catastrophe is by looking beyond the abyss of the present to a possible future in which a confederation of states, Israel, Palestine and Jordan, work together for their mutual benefit. A few years ago, I attended a New Israel Fund breakfast meeting with representatives from Friends of the Earth Middle East, an organisation that encompasses Israel, Palestine and Jordan, and is based in Tel Aviv, Bethlehem, and Amman, respectively.[3] One of the major initiatives of Friends of the Earth Middle East is around water, and indeed, the organisation regards climate change with its attendant water shortages as a major contributor to regional insecurity.[4] Water knows no national boundaries. With the river Jordan reduced to a trickle, all three nations face the threat of drought with apocalyptic consequences, if they don’t cooperate together to conserve and share water.
The philosopher Martin Buber, best known for his book, I and Thou,[5] was passionately committed to a version of Zionism in which both peoples thrived on the land.[6] Buber articulated the essential equality between the Israeli and Palestinian claims to the land in an open letter that he wrote to Mahatma Gandhi in 1939 before the outbreak of the Second World War. Buber wrote to Gandhi in response to Gandhi’s position that ‘Palestine belongs to the Arabs.’ Let me quote from Buber’s letter:[7]
I belong to a group of people who from the time Britain conquered Palestine have not ceased to strive for the concluding of a genuine peace between Jew and Arab.
By a genuine peace we inferred and still infer that both peoples together should develop the land without the one imposing its will on the other…. We considered it a fundamental point that in this case two vital claims are opposed to each other, two claims of a different nature and a different origin which cannot objectively be pitted against one another and between which no objective decision can be made as to which is just, which unjust…
… We considered and still consider it our duty to understand and to honor the claim which is opposed to ours and to endeavor to reconcile both claims.
Eighty-five years have passed since Buber wrote that letter. Despair, generated by the horrors of October 7, and the devastation wrought on Gaza and its people by Israel’s ongoing war against Hamas, may make us feel that it could take another eighty-five years, at least, for the Israeli and Palestinian peoples to commit to a plan that is capable of reconciling their mutual claims to the land ‘between the river and the sea’. But today is Rosh Ha-Shanah. A new year has begun, and we are challenged to revive the spirit of Hope within us. The early rabbis regarded Rosh Ha-shanah as harat olam, the ‘birthday of the world’.[8] Indeed, the new year date, 5785, takes us back to the birth of the world on the basis of the chronologies in the Book of Genesis. Of course, the world did not come into being 5785 years ago, but the fact that we begin our calendar, not with our first ancestors, Abraham and Sarah, but rather with Creation, reminds us that our God is, as the traditional blessing formula puts it, Melech ha-olam, ‘Sovereign of the universe’; the One God of all peoples. May the universalist message of Rosh Ha-Shanah inspire us with a vision of a future of justice and peace, so that we may continue the work of tikkun olam, repair of the world, in the year that lies ahead. And let us say: Amen.
Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah
https://palestinecampaign.org/case-sodastream/
https://brightonpsc.org/campaigns-2/brighton-says-no-to-israeli-settlement-business-in-our-town-the-ecostream-campaign/ ↑
See Genesis 23: 1-20 for Sarah’s death and Abraham’s purchase of the cave. ↑
https://www.ecohubmap.com/company/NGO/friends-of-the-earth-middle-east/ktvmz1co ↑
https://www.globalnature.org/bausteine.net/f/6036/crossingthejordan.pdf?fd=2
https://ecopeaceme.org/wp-content/uploads/2022/03/climate-change-a-new-threat-to-middle-east-security-same-title-as-above-but-above-is-just-a-word-document-this-one-is-a-publication.pdf ↑
Buber, Martin, I and Thou. First published in 1923. First translated from German into English in 1937. A centennial edition, with a translation by Ronald Gregor Smith, was published in 2023 by Simon and Schuster. https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/I-and-Thou/Martin-Buber/9780743201339 ↑
Together with Judah Magnes, the Chancellor of the Hebrew University and others, in 1921 Martin Buber founded an organisation called B’rit Shalom, which argued for a bi-national homeland See: A Land of Two Peoples, Martin Buber on Jews and Arabs, ed., Paul R. Mendes-Flohr (New York: Oxford University Press, 1983). ↑
From: Martin Buber’s ‘Open Letter’ to Gandhi Regarding Palestine (February 24, 1939) in Arthur Hertzberg, Ed., The Zionist Idea. (Philadelphia: Jewish Publications Society, 1997, pp. 463-464).
‘This day is the birthday of the world’, ha-yom harat olam, is the first phrase of a passage recited during the blowing of the shofar (‘ram’s horn’) in the Musaf ‘additional’ service on Rosh Ha-Shanah. The passage first appears in Seder Rav Amram (II, 114), the first prayer book, which was published in the 9th century. The Babylonian Talmud, tractate Rosh Ha-Shanah 10b-11a, includes a discussion of the New Year as the anniversary of Creation.
THE CHALLENGE TO CHANGE by Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah, Erev Rosh Ha-Shanah 5785, 2nd October 2024
Edinburgh Liberal Jewish Congregation
The sun has set on the old year. Do we feel that a New Year has begun? Almost twelve months have passed since October 7. That devastating year continues for another few days. And what of October 8? We are longing for the horror of war to end, but we know that even the advent of a ceasefire, even the return of the remaining hostages, will not mean an end to the pain and suffering, grief and loss. The twelve hundred massacred on October 7. The 250 hostages torn away. The captives violated. The survivors bearing their losses, unable to return to homes ravaged by fire. The families of the hostages waiting month after month for the return of their loved ones. The tens of thousands killed and severely injured in Gaza during Israel’s retaliatory war against Hamas, their bodies, minds and spirits broken. The bereaved, whose homes lie in ruins. An entire people living in daily terror, for almost 365 days now, subject to displacement again and again, with no hope of safe refuge. And then, there is the conflict across the northern border between Israel and Hezbollah. More than sixty thousand Israelis have been displaced from their homes for almost a year, and over a million Lebanese citizens have now taken flight, with at least one thousand killed and injured so far in the bombardments. And now, just yesterday, a terrifying escalation, with a large-scale ballistic missile attack launched by Iran against Israel.
Those who have lived through the torment of the past twelve months will continue to live in torment whatever happens in the coming weeks and months. And what of us? Although we are thousands of miles away, the continuous news coverage means that we have been and continue to be witnesses. And of course, as Jews, we are more than witnesses. Some of us have family and friends in Israel. And even without that kind of tangible connection, we our part of the people Israel, which includes the Jewish citizens of the State of Israel. We are also Progressive Jews, committed to the values of justice and peace. Our hearts break for both Israelis and Palestinians. And so, we, too, feel the torment, as we continue to struggle with feelings of helplessness, and ask ourselves: What can we do?
The question itself is tormenting. The sky is dark. The New Year has barely begun. Before we consider setting ourselves the task of doing anything, we have to address ourselves; we have to examine our lives over the past year. As we struggle with our feelings of helplessness alongside our desperate need to discern the possibilities for renewal in the New Year, we have to ask ourselves more immediate questions: Are we, ourselves, prepared and ready to change? Do we feel able, as individuals, to change? Hebrew is a very concise language. Unlike English, which proliferates words that basically share the same meanings, Hebrew proliferates meanings out of single words. And so, it is with the word ‘change’ in Hebrew. Rosh Ha-Shanah, means, literally, ‘head of the year’, and many of us will utter the greeting, shanah tovah, and wish one another a ‘good year’. Interestingly, the root meaning of shanah, ‘year’ – means ‘change’, and also, paradoxically, ‘repeat’. When we consider what is entailed in a year, the paradox makes sense. A New Year signals change, and also continuity: every year we repeat the cycle of the sacred days; and as a new cycle begins, we also face the as yet unknown future that lies ahead, and the challenge to change.
Repetition and change. As we look back on the past year, do we long for change? Or do we long for certainty and stability? As I ask myself these questions, the words of Black American lesbian singer-songwriter, Tracy Chapman, come to mind. In her song, ‘Change’, which is the first item on her 2005 album, Where You Live, Tracy Chapman interrogates the listener in an effort to explore the circumstances that make us change. She does this by challenging us with a series of questions around one repeated question: ‘Would you change?’ It’s a wonderful song, and if you don’t know it, you can find it online. It’s also very insistent. Tracy Chapman throws out challenge after challenge. The penultimate challenge hits hard:
If everything you think you know
Makes your life unbearable
Would you change?
Would you change?
This challenge gets to me because it seems that the response is obvious. If everything that I think I know makes my life unbearable, then, of course, I would change. But would I? Do we change when our lives become unbearable? Or do we feel that bearing the unbearable is more bearable than finding the courage we need to change? Which begs the question: Why is the prospect of changing ourselves so unbearable? Is it that, having tried to change on many previous occasions – not least at the New Year – and failed, we feel that we are incapable of changing? But if we do feel that we are basically incapable of change, how can we expect anything to change in the world around us? I’m sure many of us are familiar with the stock-phrase, ‘Be the change that you want to see’, which has become part of the self-help tool-kit in recent years. Like many of the other soundbite products of the market that has developed in response to our urge for instant self-improvement solutions, the call to ‘be the change you want to see’, does not address the difficulties many of us may feel in effecting change in ourselves and in our lives. One of the problems with it is that it doesn’t address a major obstacle to personal change: fear. How can I be the change I want to see if I’m afraid of what might happen if I change? Will I be able to hold myself together? Will I be able to keep my family together? Will I be able to maintain my friendships and my relationships with colleagues at work? If I change, will they whole edifice of my life crumble around me? Fear, can be overwhelming. It can certainly hold us back from stepping out along new pathways. But let us not forget: Fear is not a pathological feeling. Feeling fear is essential to our survival. Without fear of real danger holding us back, we might run headlong into it: fall off the edge of a cliff, be hit by a speeding car. Fear helps us to navigate as we go about our lives. On the other hand, those who become overcome with fear as a habitual response, may end up not leaving their homes. The last song on Tracy Chapman’s Where You Live album speaks to this dilemma: ‘Be and be not afraid’. We have to be appropriately fearful, and also find ways of containing our fear, so that we are not immobilised by it. Our capacity to change hinges on this balancing act.
We find a lesson about what it means to be and not be afraid in the portion from the Torah that we will read tomorrow morning from Genesis 21 (:1-21). The portion tells the story of what happened when Ishmael, Abraham’s first-born son, and his mother Hagar were banished from the household because Sarah wanted to ensure, as she put it, that ‘the son of this slave-woman shall not be heir with my son, with Isaac’ (21:10b). The narrative relates that Abraham gave Hagar bread and a skin of water, but as she wandered in the wilderness of B’eir Sheva, the water soon ran out. In desperation, Hagar cast her son under one of the shrubs, and went and sat down some distance away, saying to herself, ‘let me not look upon the death of the child’. Feeling completely desolate in such a desolate place, Hagar then ‘lifted up her voice and wept’ (21:15-16).
Hagar was alone with her child in the wilderness, fearing the worst. But the worst did not happen. The story continues with the intervention of a messenger of God, who ‘called to her from heaven and said to her: “What is with you Hagar; do not be afraid, for God has heard the voice of the lad where he is. Get up, lift the lad and grasp your hand in his, I will place him as a great nation”’ (21:18). We read further that ‘God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water; and she went, and she filled the skin with water, and she made the lad drink’ (21:19). God came to Hagar’s aid – and what is more, the story concludes by saying that ‘God was with the lad, and he grew’ (21:20a).
As we reread this poignant story, we are reminded that God of our people is the God of all peoples. The God of Abraham, Sarah and Isaac, is also the God of Hagar and Ishmael. The message about humanity is equally clear. When we reread the tale of the expulsion of an Egyptian slave-woman and her son, it is easy for us to identify Hagar and Ishmael in one-dimensional terms as victims of persecution. But the narrative teaches us not to be so simplistic. Finding herself in victimising and desperate circumstances that left her feeling completely defeated and helpless, Hagar nevertheless summoned up the courage to look around her, see the well that in her despair she had not noticed before, pick herself up, draw water and save the life of her son. Reclaiming her volition, Hagar not only drew water from the well, she drew on her personal resources, and found the will to survive within herself. Abandoned to the desert, ultimately, Hagar did not abandon herself, or the son she had left under a bush because she couldn’t bear to witness his death.
In the past twelve months, the screens of our TVs and devices have been filled with images of desperate people, the innocent victims of Israel’s war against Hamas in Gaza. The story of Hagar reminds us not to reduce the victims of war and persecution to victimhood. Despite their anguish and suffering, and the depth of their unbearable losses, the people of Gaza remain determined to rebuild their lives, just as Israelis traumatised by the depraved acts of terror of October 7, are determined to rebuild their lives. At our Pesach family seder this year, I invited everyone to bring pieces of writing to share. My niece, Judith, my late brother’s middle daughter, brought a poem by Dr Refaat Alareer, a Palestinian writer, poet, translator and university professor from Gaza, who was killed in an Israeli air strike along with his brother, sister and their children on December 6. Aware that it was highly probable that he would die, Refaat Alareer delivered a call to others to live and to hold on to Hope. The poem has the title, ‘If I must die’:[1]
If I must die
you must live
to tell my story
to sell my things
to buy a piece of cloth
and some strings,
(make it white with a long tail)
so that a child, somewhere in Gaza
while looking heaven in the eye
awaiting his dad who left in a blaze –
and bid no one farewell
not even to his flesh
not even to himself –
sees the kite, my kite you made, flying up above
and thinks for a moment an angel is there
bringing back love
If I must die
let it bring hope
Hope. We are obligated to hope. Despite our sufferings as a people over millennia, we have always been, in the words of the prophet Zechariah, ‘captives of hope’ – asirey ha-tikvah.[2] A few minutes ago, I articulated a question that so many of us have been carrying in our hearts as we witness the ongoing catastrophe in Gaza: What can I do? So, what can we do? As it happens, there is a lot we can do. We can support those Israelis and Palestinians who are continuing to work together in more than thirty different organisations, driven by the vision of a different future in which both peoples live side-by-side in peace and mutual respect.[3] Feeling hopeless, we can find reasons to hope again in their example of courage and determination. We can do this. We must do this. As Jews in the diaspora, in particular, as Progressive Jews in the diaspora, we are obligated to stand up for Jewish values, and to support the efforts of those Israelis, both Jewish and Palestinian, who refuse to give in to nihilism and despair. As we enter a New Year, with the old year still holding us in its deadly thrall, let us resolve to grasp Hope for our own sakes, for the sake of our people, for the sake of both Israelis and Palestinians, and for the sake of the world.
May this be our will. And let us say: Amen.
Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah
-
Zechariah 9:12. ↑
-
These organisations include: Standing Together/Omdim Beyachad https://www.standing-together.org/en Women Wage Peace https://www.womenwagepeace.org.il/en/about/ Combatants for Peace https://cfpeace.org/about-en/ Parents Circle Bereaved Families Forum https://www.theparentscircle.org/en/about_eng-2/ Roots/Shorashim/Jadur https://b8ofhope.org/roots/
Wahat al-Salam – Neve Shalom, ‘Oasis of Peace’ (Jewish-Christian-Muslim village)HelloHelloHello https://wasns.org/ Zazim – Community Action https://www.zazim.org.il/en/about ↑
Rosh Ha-Shanah 5785
Rosh Ha-Shanah 5785
The calendar
Proclaims
‘_Rosh Ha-Shanah_’
But how can that be?
The old year
Has not ended
Hijacked by
Horror
The new year
Suspended
On the far side of
The abyss.
Wordless
My mind
Searches for
Sounds
The voices of
The _shofar_
The sharp blast of
_T’ki’ah_
The bellowing
Boom-boom-boom of
_Sh’varim_
The rapid-nine-fire of
_T’ru’ah._
But
As my heartbeat quickens
And I try to
Listen to each
Particular inflection
All I can
Hear is a
Deafening
Tumult
The thunderous
Clamour of
War.
When will it cease?
The relentless
Tormenting
Question
We all share.
Hope
Almost abandoned
Let us take
Refuge in
The relentless
Turn of the year
With its
Promise of
Renewal.
Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah
Waiting for Ethical and Effective Leadership
On June 9, I attended on Zoom a webinar organised by Rabbis for Human Rights. Founded in Israel in 1988, and comprising Israeli rabbis from across the denominational spectrum, Rabbis for Human Rights ‘is dedicated to promoting and protecting human rights in Israel and the Palestinian Territories.[1] Its activities include: providing a ‘protective presence’ during the olive season by ‘accompanying Palestinian farmers’ in order to ‘help to prevent violence and harassment, ensuring they can safely access and work their lands’; and ‘distributing food and other essential supplies to those affected by settler violence and living under occupation.’ Rabbis for Human Rights also engages in social justice work in general, including advocating for asylum seekers, creating educational programmes that teach human rights through a Jewish lens, and promoting dialogue and corporation among different religious and ethnic groups.
The theme of the webinar was the recent ‘Interfaith March for Human Rights and Peace’, held in Jerusalem that included Jews, Christians, and Muslims, and had been organised under the auspices of thirty organisations, including Rabbis for Human Rights. One of the webinar speakers, who had also spoken at the March, was Ghadir Hani, a Muslim woman, born and raised in the dual Jewish-Arab city of Akko, who is a Palestinian citizen of Israel and is active in a range of peace and coexistence organisations, including, ‘Women Wage Peace’.
On screen at the webinar, Ghadir Hani was standing in front of a photograph of the 74-year-old Jewish Israeli peace activist, Vivian Silver, who was murdered by Hamas in her home on Kibbutz Be’eri in southern Israel near the border with Gaza on October 7 (2023). Zichronah livrachah – may her memory be for blessing. Vivian Silver had been a member of Women Wage Peace since it was founded in the aftermath of ‘Operation Protective Edge’, Israel’s war against Hamas that began on July 8, 2014 in response to rocket attacks from Gaza.[2] Indeed, she was among those who greeted hundreds of women from all over the country when they travelled to Sderot, the town nearest to Gaza most frequently subjected to rocket attacks, to launch Women Wage Peace.[3] Meanwhile, Ghadir Hani joined Women Wage Peace, when she came to the ‘Fasting Tent’ outside the home of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, which had been set up by members of the movement, and continued for fifty-two days to symbolise the number of days of ‘Operation Protective Edge’.[4]
Muslim Ghadir Hani and Jewish Vivian Silver: two women peace ‘comrades’ in each other’s ‘arms’ – as opposed to ‘comrades in arms.’ One, thankfully, still very much alive and active, the other a victim of the depraved violence perpetrated by Hamas on October 7 that generated a devastating war in Gaza that continues to this day: 260 days so far. Women continue to wage peace but their brave work is largely overshadowed by the men who continue to wage war. As has been overwhelmingly apparent over the past eight months, guns, rockets and bombs with their destructive force speak louder than words and acts of peace.
There was another woman speaker at the webinar, Rabbi Leah Shakdiel, a dedicated peace activist and scholar, who is both orthodox and a feminist and known for her contributions to interfaith and social justice work. Listening to her and to Ghadi Hani, made me reflect on the marginalisation of women’s leadership, particularly, in conflict zones, where it is needed most.
In this weeks’ parashah, B’ha’alot’cha Numbers chapter 12, we find a story that is all about the marginalisation of women’s leadership, specifically, the leadership of one woman: Miriam, the elder sister of Aaron and Moses.
There are just thirty-one verses in all about Miriam in the whole of the Torah[5] – and sixteen of them are in Numbers chapter 12.
Most of us are probably familiar with the story related in Exodus chapter 2, about how the unnamed mother and sister of the baby, who came to be called Moses, saved him from Pharaoh’s genocidal decree against new-born Israelite baby boys.
Miriam is not mentioned again until Exodus chapter 15, when having taken flight from Egypt, the Israelites crossed the divided Sea of Reeds on dry land. Just two verses are devoted to Miriam, but they are very telling (15:20-21). In addition to being named ‘Miriam’, she is designated as ‘ha-n’vi’ah, achot Aharon, ‘the prophet, the sister of Aaron.’ Miriam is also described as a leader in motion: ‘[she] took a timbrel in her hand; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances.’ Further, Miriam called on all the people to ‘sing to the Eternal’.[6]
That is the Torah’s last word about Miriam until Numbers chapter 12. The chapter which closes this week’s parashah, B’ha’a lot’cha, opens with Miriam speaking against Moses. We read (12:1):
Va-t’dabbeir Miryam – ‘Miriam spoke’ – V’Aharon – ‘and Aaron’ – b’Moshe – ‘against Moses.’
Crucially, the verb is in the feminine singular: Va-t’dabbeir, ‘She spoke’. Most translations do not reflect this. We read in the Plaut Chumash, for example: ‘Miriam and Aaron spoke against Moses’.[7] But if the writer of the story had intended to say this, the verb would be in the masculine plural: Va-yom’ru Miryam v’Aharon b’Moshe. As it is, the Hebrew is clear: Even if Aaron went along with his elder sister’s challenge to their younger brother, Miriam was the chief instigator. She had good reason. After all, unlike Aaron, who was destined to be the High Priest, like the prophet Moses, she was also designated as a prophet.
The way the story proceeds supports the plain meaning of Va-t’dabbeir, ‘She spoke’: Miriam alone is punished by God with the plague of leprosy for her impudence in objecting to Moses’ unique relationship with God. Dismayed by Miriam’s punishment, Aaron acknowledges that he shares responsibility for the challenge against Moses (12:11-12), and Moses in his turn, as the singular interlocuter with the Eternal, prays to God for his sister’s healing (12:13). Nevertheless, Miriam’s punishment, which includes being excluded from the camp for seven days, stands.
It is a shocking story. Aaron is not on par with Moses, but as High Priest he later assumes an important leadership role. Miriam’s punishment reflects her marginality in the Torah and exclusion from the two-man leadership team. And yet, despite this, an important detail towards the end of the narrative suggests that although Miriam did not hold a specific leadership position, the people regarded her as a leader. We read (12:15-16):
Miriam was shut up outside the camp seven days; and the people did not journey on until Miriam was brought in again. / Then afterwards, the people journeyed from Chazeirot, and pitched in the wilderness of Paran.
‘The people did not journey on until Miriam was brought in again’. The people waited for Miriam.
They waited for her to lead them forward, as she had led the women with song and timbrels through the Sea of Reeds.
We are also waiting. We are waiting, as people everywhere are waiting during this global year of elections, for leadership that is ethical and effective. We are waiting: for the violence in Gaza to cease; for the hostages to return; for the people of Gaza to be free of the tyranny of Hamas and the siege imposed by Israel; for the occupation to end and for a new government in Israel and in the Palestinian territories that is committed to peace, security, justice and freedom for both Israelis and Palestinians.
We are also waiting, here in Britain, for polling day on July 4. We are waiting for the opportunity to elect a new government that will put country before party, the needs of the poor before the greed of the rich, that will repair our broken NHS and properly fund social care, that will untangle public transport chaos, and, rather than continue to pander to the economic interests of the fossil fuel industry, prioritise tackling the threat of climate catastrophe through investment in home insulation and green energy.
I mentioned earlier that Ghadir Hani is active in a range of peace and coexistence organisations. These include, omdim beyachad, ‘Standing Together’, ‘a progressive grassroots movement’, established, like Women Wage Peace, after the last Gaza war of 2014. Standing Together ‘mobilises Jewish and Palestinian citizens of Israel against the occupation and for peace, equality, and social justice.’[8] To achieve ‘a future of peace and independence for Israelis and Palestinians’, Standing Together operates on the basis that ‘we must stand together as a united front: Jewish and Palestinian, secular and religious, Mizrahi and Ashkenazi, rural and urban, and people of all genders and sexual orientations.’ Standing Together has tripled in size since October 7, and now encompasses twelve local chapters and eleven student chapters. In addition to daily demonstrations, since the beginning of March, Standing Together has been organising a ‘Humanitarian Guard’ to ensure that aid trucks get into Gaza in the face of settler violence.[9]
Standing Together is looking for ‘friends’ across the world, and the UK Friends of Standing Together has been set up to galvanise support here in Britain.[10] As we wait and wait, we can also act. We can raise our voices. We can offer moral and financial assistance. We can also join Progressive Jews for Justice in Israel/Palestine, a network initiated by Liberal Jews, that now includes members of both Liberal and Reform congregations.[11] As we continue to feel traumatised and horrified by October 7 and its aftermath, may each one of us find strength and hope in the efforts being taken by Rabbis for Human Rights, Women Wage Peace, Standing Together, and others, to create ‘an alternative to our existing reality’, and build a future of peace, equality, and justice for all.[12] And let us say: Amen.
Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah
Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue
22nd June 2024 – 16th Sivan 5784
https://www.womenwagepeace.org.il/en/ghadir-hani-woman-waging-peace/ ↑
The narrative verses in the Torah that mention Miriam: Exodus 2:1-10 (not by name); Ex. 15:20-21; Numbers 12:1-16; Num. 20:1 (Miriam’s death). The non-narrative verses: Deuteronomy 24:9 (concerning the plague of leprosy); Numbers 26:59 (in the context of the members of the family Amram). ↑
We read: Va-ta’an la-hem Miryam: Shiru ladonai, ‘Miriam responded to them: “Sing to the Eternal.”’ If she had addressed the women alone, the Hebrew would say la-hen, ‘to them’ (feminine), not la-hem, to them (masculine). ↑
The Torah. A Modern Commentary. General Editor, W. Gunther Plaut. General Editor, Revised Edition, David E.S. Stern. Union of Reform Judaism, New York, 2005, p. 965. Chumash, meaning, ‘Fived’ is the traditional way of referring to the book version of the ‘Five Books of Moses’, that is divided into weekly portions, and which is used by congregants to follow the reading of the Torah during Shabbat morning services. The Chumash includes the haftarah, the reading from the Prophetic books of the Bible that forms the ‘conclusion’ of the reading from Scripture. ↑
https://www.haaretz.com/israel-news/2024-03-08/ty-article-magazine/.premium/i-couldnt-just-sit-at-home-the-arab-jewish-gaza-aid-convoy-carrying-food-and-hope/0000018e-1e72-df0d-adaf-9efee0d50000 https://www.ukfost.co.uk/standing-togethers-humanitarian-guard-defeats-far-right-settlers ↑
For further information about Progressive Jews for Justice in Israel/Palestine, email: info@ljjip.org ↑