Tu Bishvat

Bare 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

  1. 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. ↑

  2. Mikdashyah: The name given to certain mediaeval Spanish Hebrew Bible Codices. ↑

  3. 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

  1. Ha-Tikvah is the title of Israel’s National Anthem. ↑

  2. The last phrases of Ha-Tikvah. ↑

  3. 5-10 June 1967. The ‘Six-Day War’ between Israel and the coalition forces of Egypt, Syria, and Jordan. ↑

  4. 1949 ceasefire line that assigned the ‘West Bank’ of the River Jordan to the Kingdom of Jordan. ↑

  5. Kinah is the Hebrew word for ‘lamentation’. Kinot, ‘lamentations,’ are recited on Tishah B’Av. ↑

  6. 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

  1. The United Nations was officially established by 51 countries on 24 October 1945. http://www.un.org ↑

  2. 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). ↑

  3. https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episodes/p07922lr/the-planets ↑

  4. https://www.theguardian.com/science/2021/aug/26/mini-neptune-beyond-solar-system-may-soon-yield-sign-life-hycean-exoplanet-cambridge-astronomer ↑

  5. ‘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

  1. Emil L. Fackenheim, The Jewish Return into History. Reflections in the Age of Auschwitz and a New Jerusalem, chapter 2, The 614th Commandment, pp.19-24. Schocken Books, 1978. ↑

  2. Lily Montagu, ‘Spiritual Possibilities of Judaism Today’. Jewish Quarterly Review, 1899. ↑

  3. Exodus 25:1-9. ↑

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

  1. 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. ↑

  2. Covenant of Love. Service of Commitment for Same-Sex Couples. Liberal Judaism, London, 2005. ↑

  3. See: https://www.liberaljudaism.org/what-we-do/lgbtqi-projects/ ↑

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

  1. https://palestinecampaign.org/case-sodastream/

    https://brightonpsc.org/campaigns-2/brighton-says-no-to-israeli-settlement-business-in-our-town-the-ecostream-campaign/ ↑

  2. See Genesis 23: 1-20 for Sarah’s death and Abraham’s purchase of the cave. ↑

  3. https://www.ecohubmap.com/company/NGO/friends-of-the-earth-middle-east/ktvmz1co ↑

  4. 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 ↑

  5. 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 ↑

  6. 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). ↑

  7. 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).

    ↑

  8. ‘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

  1. https://ifimustdie.net/ ↑

  2. Zechariah 9:12. ↑

  3. 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

  1. https://www.rhr.org.il/eng ↑

  2. https://www.womenwagepeace.org.il/en/about/ ↑

  3. https://www.womenwagepeace.org.il/en/vivian-silver/ ↑

  4.  https://www.womenwagepeace.org.il/en/ghadir-hani-woman-waging-peace/ ↑

  5. 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). ↑

  6. 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). ↑

  7. 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. ↑

  8. https://www.standing-together.org/en ↑

  9. 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 ↑

  10. https://www.ukfost.co.uk/ ↑

  11. For further information about Progressive Jews for Justice in Israel/Palestine, email: info@ljjip.org ↑

  12. https://www.standing-together.org/en ↑

Teasing out the Shabbat verses in K’doshim

This week, we are reading the parashah that is at the heart of the Torah: K’doshim (Leviticus chapters 19 and 20). Known in English as ‘the Holiness code’, the majority of the commandments outlined in Leviticus 19 concern ethical behaviour and our relationships with others. Progressive Jews are particularly enamoured of Leviticus 19 for this reason. Indeed, on Yom Kippur, both Liberal and Reform congregations read Leviticus 19, rather than the traditional text assigned to the day, Leviticus 18, from the previous portion, Acharei Mot, which is preoccupied with prohibited sexual acts. As it happens, K’doshim concludes in Leviticus 20, with a reprise of these prohibitions.

 

Rather than re-examine K’doshim’s ethical teachings, my reflections here concern two verses about Shabbat in Leviticus 19. We read (verse 3):

You shall revere, each person, their mother and their father; and keep My Sabbaths. I am the Eternal your God.

And (verse 30):

You shall keep My Sabbaths and revere my Sanctuary [mikdashi]. I am the Eternal.

 

My focus is on teasing out of these verses the significance of Shabbat, beginning with the comments of four of the most influential mediaeval commentators.

 

Abraham Ibn Ezra (b. Tudela, Spain, 1092) points out that verse 3 ‘corresponds to the fourth and fifth Commandments’ – the fourth being about Shabbat (Exodus 20:8-11; Deuteronomy 5:12-15), and the fifth about honouring parents (Ex. 20:12; Deut. 5:16).

 

The comment of Rashi (Rabbi Sh’lomoh Yitzchaki, b. Troyes, France, 1040) draws out the implications of the juxtaposition between revering parents and keeping Shabbat: ‘The law [to keep Shabbat] follows immediately to indicate that if a child is ordered by their father to desecrate the Sabbath, he is not to be obeyed, and similarly with the other commands.’

 

Turning to the second verse about Shabbat in Leviticus 19, Obadiah ben Ya’akov Sforno (b. Cesena, Italy, c. 1475) draws attention to the plural form: ‘My Sabbaths’, suggesting that this implies that the festivals are included. Sforno’s comment is underlined in the festival calendar in Emor (Leviticus 23), where Shabbat provides the model.

 

Meanwhile, Ramban (Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, b. Gerona, Spain, 1194) comments on the conjunction of the two statements – keeping Shabbat and revering the Sanctuary: ‘The law of Shabbat is equal to all the commandments of the Torah, its desecration implying a denial that God created the universe.’

 

All of these interpretations emphasise the primacy of ‘keeping’ Shabbat. Ramban’s observation reminds us that the significance of Shabbat lies first and foremost in its sacred origins. The concept of the sacred is introduced in the Torah in connection with Shabbat, which is mentioned for the first time in the account of the completion of the work of Creation. We read at Genesis 2:3:

Then God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it [va-yikaddeish oto], because on it, He ceased [shavat] from all His work which God had created to do.

 

To ‘sanctify’ is to ‘set apart’; that is what the Hebrew root, Kuf Dalet Shin essentially means. God’s ceasing from the work of Creation on the seventh day as a rationale for the observance of Shabbat is stated explicitly in the Exodus version of the Shabbat Commandment (20:10a; 11):

The seventh day is a Sabbath to the Eternal your God, in it you should do any work … For in six days the Eternal heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested on the seventh day; therefore, the Eternal blessed the Sabbath day, and sanctified it [va-y’kad’sheihu]

 

The Exodus version of the Shabbat commandment begins with the exhortation, Zachor, ‘Remember’, while the opening word of the Deuteronomy version is Shamor, ‘Keep’. To appreciate the full resonance of the obligation involved in ‘keeping’ Shabbat, let us turn from sacred time to sacred space; from the Sabbath to the Sanctuary, bearing in mind the second statement about Shabbat in K’doshim: ‘You shall keep My Sabbaths and revere my Sanctuary. I am the Eternal’ (Lev. 19:30).

 

The Hebrew root Shin Mem Reish, to ‘keep’, also means to ‘guard’. In the Book of Numbers, the imperative of ‘guarding’ is mentioned innumerable times in the context of the Levites’ responsibilities in connection with the Sanctuary. This is the first reference, translated literally (Num.1.53b):

V’sham’ru ha-l’viyyim et mishmeret mishkan ha-eidut.

The Levites shall keep [verb: v’sham’ru] guard [noun: mishmeret] of the Tabernacle of the Testimony.

 

When we read this verse, we hear echoes of a similar formulation in connection with the Israelites’ responsibility for keeping Shabbat. As he read in Exodus 31:16a:

V’sham’ru v’nei Yisraeil et-ha-Shabbat …

The Israelites shall keep the Sabbath …

 

The Israelites/Jewish people are exhorted in the Torah to ‘keep’ / ‘guard’ the sacred time that is the Sabbath in the same way as the Levites were appointed to ‘guard’ the sacred space that was the mikdash/mishkan. It is for this reason that it is traditional to speak of an individual being shomeir (masculine)/shomeret (feminine) Shabbat; a ‘guard of the Sabbath’, an expression that appears in two verses in the Book of Isaiah 56.2; 6 (plural), and in the Shabbat piyyut, ‘poem’, Barukh El Elyon (attributed to Barukh ben Samuel of Mainz, c.1150-1221). Interestingly, it is not found in the Mishnah or the Talmud.

The Torah teaches that the Israelites are guardians of the seventh day that is set apart from the six working days. By setting apart the seventh day, the Jewish people, simultaneously, fulfils its purpose as a people set apart for God. As we read at the beginning of K’doshim (Lev.19.2):

You shall be holy [k’doshim], for I, YHWH, your God, I am holy [kadosh].

 

Having explored the two ‘Shabbat’ verses in K’doshim, we are left with questions as Progressive Jews that go deeper than how we understand ‘keeping’ Shabbat today: Do we subscribe to the vision of our task as a people expressed in this famous injunction? Is being ‘holy’ as God is ‘holy’ the rationale for our Shabbat observance as Progressive Jews? Do we still regard the Jewish people as ‘set apart’?

 

996 words

 

COUNTING THE DAYS IN ISRAEL & GAZA

Counting the Days

Counting the Days

Counting the days
In Israel
For the safe return of
The hostages
In Gaza
For the bombs
To stop falling
For sufficient aid
To get through
So many days
Since October 7
How many more?

The counting
Of the days of the Omer
Forty-nine days
From the second day of Pesach
Festival of
Freedom
To the eve of Shavuot
The Feast of  
‘Weeks’
The ‘Day of First Fruits’
The first harvest
After the long months of
Winter
Seven anxious weeks
In ancient times
Lest the harvest
Failed

And then
Centuries later
After the Roman overlords
Defeated rebellion
Destroyed Jerusalem
And the Temple
The land
Laid waste
Those seven weeks
Consumed with
Anxiety
For the future
And the anguish of
Continuing occupation
Emperor Hadrian
Crushing the rabbis’ revolt
Lashing persecutions
Subjugation
Exile

And now
After
The depraved
Killings
Violations
Abductions
Of October 7
The relentless
Bombardment
Of Gaza
Its people
Displaced
Trapped
Starved
Lives destroyed
That strip of land
Laid waste
As if it is possible
To defeat
Murderous extremism
With extreme
Indiscriminate
Violence

The commencement of
The Omer counting
Marked
One hundred and ninety-nine days
Of destruction
How much longer?

We continue
To count
The days
Will we still be counting
When the seven weeks are
Complete?
When will the horror end?
Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Additional Symbols on the Seder Plate PESACH/PASSOVER 2024/5784

PRAYER FOR REFUGEES AT PESACH

Eternal God, our Creator and Liberator, as we celebrate together at our seder and rejoice in our many blessings, we pause to remember those across the world whose lives are blighted by the curses of poverty and persecution. We think of the many millions in flight from tyranny, violence and destitution, risking their lives as they make their escape in the hope of finding refuge and security elsewhere.

Eternal Teacher of Your people Israel, as the children and grandchildren and descendants of refugees, aware of Your teachings of justice and our sacred obligations towards the stranger, we express our commitment before You now to open our hearts and our hands and our communities to welcome those in need of refuge, and to do what we can to contribute to the alleviation of their suffering. And let us say: Amen.            

SHOELACES

The shoelaces on the seder plate remind us of all those in flight from persecution and destitution, tyranny and war across the world today.

Let us take a moment now to think of them.

BEETROOT

The beetroot on the seder plate is a reminder of Putin’s brutal war against Ukraine and Ukrainian sovereignty. Ukraine’s most famous national food is borscht, for which the main ingredient is beetroot. Rabbi Igor Zinkov of the Liberal Jewish Synagogue, who is Co-Chair of the World Union/European Union of Progressive Judaism Ukraine Emergency Support Fund, writes:

“The story of Pesach is the story of freedom – and we will all be praying for those in Ukraine to be free this Passover. Many of us feel helpless in the face of what is happening, but all of us placing a beetroot on the sederplate is a powerful symbol of solidarity.

The Hebrew for beetroot is selek (סלק), which resembles the word for retreat, yistalku (יסתלקו).

At our seder, we will eat the beetroot after the bitter herbs are consumed and say the following prayer: May it be Your will, Eternal God, that all the enemies who might beat us will retreat (yistalku), and we will beat a path to freedom.”

SUNFLOWER SEEDS

The sunflower seeds on the seder plate are another way of expressing our solidarity with the Ukrainian people. Ukraine is a major grower of sunflowers, exporting sunflower oil around the world. Russia’s war against Ukraine has had a devastating impact on people and homes, on cities, towns and villages, on utilities and the economy, including, agriculture.

 

A RED CHILLI

The red chilli on the seder plate is a reminder of the burning world and of the catastrophic effects of climate change. As we pause to reflect on our impact as human beings on the planet, and to think of melting ice caps and the destruction caused by fires and floods over the past year, let us resolve to take responsibility for doing what we can to repair the earth, our only home.

AN ONION

The onion on the seder plate is a reminder of all those who are enslaved across the globe today.

Nicky Lachs writes: “It is not enough that the symbols on the seder plate just remind us that we were once slaves. We should also have something symbolising the fact that people are enslaved around the world today. I chose the onion for several reasons – but the main one is just that the onion is a basic but non-noticed ingredient of many food-stuffs, just as those who are exploited/ abused/enslaved are the ones who hold up the economy, but remain unseen…”                                         

AN ORANGE

The orange on the seder plate is a reminder of all those who feel excluded from Jewish life.

Dr Susannah Heschel tells the story of the genesis of this ritual in the 2003 book, The Women’s Passover Companion (JPL). It began with a story about a young girl who asks a Rebbe what room there is in Judaism for a lesbian. The Rebbe rises in anger and shouts: “There’s as much room for a lesbian in Judaism as there is for a crust of bread on the seder plate.” 

Besides the fact that a piece of bread would make everything un-kosher for Pesach, a piece of bread on the sederplate would carry a message that lesbians were a violation of Judaism itself, that they were infecting the community with something impure. So, the next year, Heschel put an orange on the seder plate “because it suggests the fruitfulness for all Jews when lesbians and gay men are contributing and active members of Jewish life.” The symbolism grew to include people who feel marginalised from the Jewish community, in particular LGBTQ+ people. The orange is a beacon of justice, equality and human rights.

OLIVES

The olives on the seder plate remind us that we cannot celebrate our ancestors’ liberation from slavery in Egypt without acknowledging that today the Palestinian people are not yet free.

The Torah narrates that when Noah sent out a dove from the Ark in search of dry land, she returned with a freshly plucked olive leaf in her mouth (Genesis 8:10-11). Since that time, the olive tree has been a symbol of hope and peace.

Sadly, in recent years, the destruction of Palestinian olive trees by Israeli settlers has been destroying the hope of a just peace between two peoples whose roots in the land that divides them are deeper even than those of the most ancient olive tree.

As we eat the olives tonight at our sacred seder, let us commit ourselves to supporting those courageous individuals and groups amongst the Israelis and the Palestinians who are working for peace and justice, dignity and security for both peoples. Thinking in particular of the people of Gaza, whose lives have been devastated by the war between Israel and Hamas following the depraved Hamas atrocities of October 7 2023, let us also recommit ourselves to a nonviolent resolution of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

 

SPACE ON THE SEDER PLATE

Tonight, as we reflect on the meaning of all these symbols on the seder plate, we also leave a space to acknowledge other injustices that blight our world (an invitation to share).

Passover in the wake of October 7 and its aftermath PESACH/PASSOVER 2024/5784

Anyone
in southern Israel
who found themselves
in the pathway
of the depraved
assailants
on October 7
a target
to be pursued
trapped
killed
mutilated
captured
assaulted
raped

Citizens
migrant workers
overseas visitors
young people
waking up
at a music festival
to a deadly dawn
families
their homes
invaded
as they slept in their beds
or sat at their breakfast tables
and then set ablaze
as in the pogroms
visited on their grandparents
and great grandparents
twelve hundred murdered
in a single day
two hundred and fifty stolen away
a nation traumatised

And then
another nation
caught
in the retaliatory backlash
day after relentless day
bombs raining down
on Gaza
destroying
lives
homes
neighbourhoods
hospitals
schools
utilities
hundreds of thousands
displaced
trapped
in a war zone
with all escape-routes
barred
denied
sufficient medical aid
food
water
punished
for the sins of leaders
who do nothing
to protect them

Sh’mini Atzeret Chanukkah
Christmas Tu Bishvat Purim
Ramadan Eid aI-Iftar Easter Pesach
Friday after Friday
Shabbat after Shabbat
Sunday after Sunday
sacred days
desecrated

What questions will we ask
this Passover
around our seder tables?
how will we respond?
feeling overwhelmed
muted
let us leave
an empty space
on the seder plate
for our pain
our anguish
and fill it
only
with our tears

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Knowing the ‘inner-being’ of the stranger PESACH/PASSOVER 2024/5784

Telling the tale
of the Exodus
around the seder table
and making it personal:
‘In every generation,
each person
is obliged
to regard themselves
as if they had
personally
gone out of Egypt’ (Haggadah)

Each person is
obliged
to remember
to feel
the blood rush of
liberation
to savour
freedom
on our tongues
our teeth crunching
on the brittle bread
baked in haste
as the slaves took flight

And also
to taste the maror
imbibe the bitterness
of generations of
back-breaking
servitude
that made our ancestors’ bones
ache with anguish
that crushed their
shrunken spirits

And further
another obligation
after we rejoice
with psalms and song
and complete the seder rites
a take-away
challenge:
‘A stranger you shall
not oppress
for you know
the nefesh
‘inner-being’
of the stranger
since you were strangers
in the land of Egypt’
(Exodus 23:9)

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

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