Lechavod u’letifaret
לְכָב֖וֹד וּלְתִפְאָֽרֶת
These words jump out at me from this week’s Torah portion, Parashat Tetzaveh. The text describes the priestly garments, detailing how their splendour and “fanciness” served to inspire the congregation.
While chatting with student rabbi Richard Greene over lunch in Leo Baeck College’s sunny garden this week, I realised this phrase speaks equally to our newly renovated synagogue. The renewal of FPS has lifted our collective mood and deepened our love for our space. As we hoped, it has already begun attracting new faces – and with our tidying and gardening still underway, who knows what’s yet to come!
This Friday, we will celebrate Purim back in our sanctuary. The recent improvements truly provide both “honour and beauty” to our proceedings. I am exceedingly grateful that we managed to restore and renovate this little place of our own in our corner of the North London diaspora.
The Book of Esther paints a scene of a Persian diaspora community working hard to ensure their continuity. While our journey has had rather fewer dramatic twists and turns, I believe we have achieved something similar.
Join Us This Friday
Please join us for Shabbat, our Purim Spiel, and the inevitable festive snacks:
P.S. I was recently a guest on Rabbi Karstadt’s podcast, The Rest is Commentary, discussing diaspora concerns. You can listen to the episode here: https://open.spotify.com/episode/4IKUZygUhVx2j6BmwqlRgU?si=9bL3Xjz4QhSAjUm3OAgVZA
Shabbat Shalom and an early Purim Sameach!
Rebecca
This past Tuesday evening in Swiss Cottage, behind Waitrose, I joined a clergy gathering to meet Rabbi Jill Jacobs. I try to squeeze these opportunities into my already busy week because they are incredibly inspirational; they remind us of our core purpose when we build community.
Rabbi Jacobs leads the American organisation T’RUAH: the Rabbinic Call for Human Rights, which brings the Torah’s ideals of human dignity, equality and justice to life by empowering rabbis and cantors to be moral voices. They do fantastic work in both the United States and Israel. Indeed, it was T’ruah’s network of leaders that connected and supported so many in Minneapolis during ICE’s random attacks there – delivering food parcels to families afraid to leave their homes and supporting school and neighbourhood communities. It was inspiring for our group of UK rabbis and cantors to consider our own capacity to influence public life for the better.
It was particularly poignant to do so during the week of Parashat Terumah, the portion that begins the building of the mishkan (sanctuary): “Tell the Israelite people to bring me gifts (terumah); you shall accept gifts for me from every person whose heart is willing… And let them make me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them.”
I love this verse especially. God dwells among the people, not in the building. Community is created by all of us contributing what we have, what we do and what we can bring.
I have talked about this a great deal in relation to our congregation at FPS, who we are and what kind of community we want to be: kind, principled, learning, curious. You can add the adjectives. But this also reminds us that being part of a Jewish community means keeping an eye on public life and making a difference. I write this as I wait for guests to arrive for the final night of our Winter Homeless Shelter. I know what a difference we have made by hosting these past two months. We have worked with refugees settling here, those seeking asylum and with food banks that support so many, all while looking after the lonely and bereaved within our own community. There are many other just, kind and principled initiatives that our members undertake because of, and on behalf of, us at FPS. I am thinking of all of that this week.
Rabbi Jacobs once wrote of the T’ruah community, “Jews who exercised their commitments to public life outside of the Jewish community will find a place within this community, as they contribute their own wisdom and observations to the conversation [of justice]… .”
May it be so for us.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rebecca
And God spoke to Moses and said: “Come up to me on the mountain and just be there.”
I am struck by this invitation. How rare it is to simply “be,” and how noticeable this small, quiet moment is. We find this within Parashat Mishpatim, which we read this Shabbat. After the cacophony of Sinai and the delivery of the Ten Commandments in last week’s portion, Yitro, this portion follows in a more grounded way, detailing legal rules and the people’s enthusiastic response. With alacrity, they agreed to join this endeavor, this faith, and this relationship.
וַיִּקַּח֙ סֵ֣פֶר הַבְּרִ֔ית וַיִּקְרָ֖א בְּאׇזְנֵ֣י הָעָ֑ם וַיֹּ֣אמְר֔וּ כֹּ֛ל אֲשֶׁר־דִּבֶּ֥ר יְהֹוָ֖ה נַעֲשֶׂ֥ה וְנִשְׁמָֽע׃
Then he took the book of the covenant and read it aloud to the people. And they said, “All that GOD has spoken we will do and heed!” (24:7)
It is a clear-eyed commitment to a way of life and it brings a sense of calm. At the end of the portion, God shares a moment with Moses, calling him and Joshua to the summit of the mountain to “just be there.”
וֶהְיֵה־שָׁ֑ם
(The Hebrew word (ve-hyeh – “and be”) is an anagram of the Divine Name, יהוה. Whatever that name signifies to you, it serves as an invitation to go deep into the silence to find the sacred – the necessary pause in our lives.
The world is heavy right now. There is so much that demands our response. As Jews, we know it is our task to speak out against injustice, from the streets of Tehran to the cities of Minnesota. We’re proud at FPS to host a weekly group of women who are Iranian dissidents. And from the debates over immigration in the UK (the Reform party is currently creating a rather worrying Jewish Alliance) to the daily support of and leadership in our own synagogues. There is always something to do. Yet, in order to sustain that doing, we must occasionally shut out the cacophony of voices and information, sitting quietly with ourselves to be fully present to recoup energy.
Wendell Berry’s Sabbath poem captures this feeling perfectly:
I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
where I left them, asleep like cattle.
Take a moment for this invitation.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rebecca
*this was also written for MPJ Thought for the Week found on https://progressivejudaism.org.uk/
I love receiving advice as much as I like giving it!
Each year we read this portion Parashat Yitro as it describes Moses’ non-Hebrew father in law giving recommendations with candour and confidence.
Lo tov hadavar asher atah oseh…navol Tivol gam atah, gam ha’am hazeh…
This thing you are doing, managing this people on your own is not good… You will wear yourself out.
Torah continues to say the task of carrying the people that Moses does is too heavy. Rashi, French rabbi, commentator and vintner (in his spare time) comments that it’s too much for Moses to bear. I can’t imagine anyone reading it without marvelling at the prescience of these observations – the first management consultancy or community organising. This truth continues to be at the heart of every healthy congregation; indeed, of every household, organisation, or community endeavour.
Right now, there is much work to do, so many injustices that need our attention, but we are reminded we are better placed when we work together, from speaking out in solidarity for Iranian dissidents and refugees in the UK, to adding our voices on immigration here and to maintaining focus on sustainability and climate change.
I see the tangible expression of our support and solidarity for Iranian dissidents every Thursday here at FPS. March 14th will be Refugee Shabbat and this week we mark Tu B’Shvat, the New Year for Trees, by soft launching our attempts to reclaim our Eco-Synagogue status – and we are well on the way. Please join us on Shabbat for our seder, which will be an opportunity to talk trees and what we, as a synagogue, can do better. I’m committing to conversations about what products we use in the synagogue, for example, sticking as much as possible to glass and not plastic at kiddush. I will be sharing the Torah text of ‘Bal Tashchit’ (do not waste, do not destroy) and ensuring that we are as informed and collegial as possible as we work towards it.
I love this reminder and I love when Torah and Jewish tradition is hand in hand with what our world presents.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rebecca
Last Sunday began early, ahead of our services for Holocaust Memorial Day. I had been invited to speak on BBC Radio 4’s Sunday programme regarding the Beckham family crisis. I chose to speak on the theme of honouring one’s parents, a concept central to Jewish tradition and vital wherever possible.
To illustrate this, I shared a story from the Talmud about a man who was offered a phenomenal business deal. He declined it because the keys to his safe were tucked under a pillow where his mother was sleeping; he refused to disturb her rest, even for a fortune.
This story feels particularly apposite as we mark Holocaust Memorial Day. The dwindling generation of Shoah survivors are, in a sense, parents to us all. Their legacy and personal testimonies are a treasured inheritance that must inform our lives and those of the next generation.
In these recent years of anguish – marked by the suffering of both Israelis and Palestinians – the act of remembrance becomes even more critical. Whether through communal Yizkor or personal Yahrzeits, memory is the golden thread of Jewish life. This year’s HMD theme, “Bridging the Generations,” is therefore deeply welcome. While not a date on the Jewish calendar, HMD was established by the British government on 27 January 2001 to mark the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau in 1945. It insists on the passing of memory to the young, reminding us of the incapacitating truth of human cruelty, a truth evidenced today from the streets of Minnesota to Tehran.
Last Shabbat at FPS, we were privileged to hear from Lydia Tischler, MBE. As both a Holocaust survivor and a child psychotherapist, she spoke with unique authority. Her final words to us were a warning:
“Be aware of the dangers of projection that can result in the dehumanising of the ‘other.’ By understanding that impulse, you are more likely to resist it. Projection is at the heart of every cruel act and regime. To project our own darkness onto others and deny their humanity is what unleashes cruelty.”
She explained that this psychological mechanism was at the core of the Holocaust and every genocide since. It is a call to remain vigilant.
I brought our baby orphan scroll from Prague to the service at St Mary’s in Finchley that was attended by local councillors, MPs and the Mayor.
I showed the binder, from the monochrome in Praha to brightly coloured at FPS, bearing the names of babies blessed in our synagogue. One of those children celebrated his Bar Mitzvah last June using that very binder.
These threads are woven together: past and present, stories and impulses for courage. May the memories of those murdered in the Shoah, and in Bosnia, Cambodia, Rwanda, and beyond, be for a blessing. May we take seriously our duty to carry them forward.
Shabbat shalom,
Rebecca
“There will be a palpable, thick darkness … there was an opaque darkness in all Egypt for three days. No one could see their neighbour, nor could anyone rise from their place.” (Exodus 10:21-23)
We often think of this plague as innocuous, perhaps the least severe of the ten. In fact, many “Plague Story Kits” for children include nothing more than a pair of sunglasses to represent it.
Yet this, the penultimate plague, was arguably one of the most devastating, because of the profound isolation it created. It is for this reason that JAMI (the Jewish Association for Mental Illness) chose this Shabbat to raise awareness for mental wellness.
Darkness is heavy, pervasive and frightening. We have all encountered it in both its literal and metaphorical forms and we know many others who struggle with it. The most harrowing part of this biblical description is not just the lack of light but also the paralysis: the Egyptians were unable to rise from their beds or reach out to one another.
The artist Vincent van Gogh once wrote in his journal: “A man may have a great fire in his soul and passers-by see only a little smoke coming from the chimney.”
It is difficult enough not to know how someone is; not being able to reach out or be reached out to is harder still. Many of us struggle with these periods of darkness. We should take this parasha as a vital reminder of the Jewish impulse that permeates the Torah: Lo tuchal l’hitalem – you cannot remain indifferent. You cannot ignore the suffering of those around you.
I am deeply grateful to JAMI for the essential support they offer to those experiencing their own darkness. Long may their precious work continue. My sermon mental wellness sin light of this Torah portion will be on their website.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rebecca
We watched Marty Supreme this week. My children were moved and animated by the film, which is loosely based on the real-life story of Marty Reisman, a shoe salesman, and a hustler and a brilliant table-tennis champion in the late1950s . The film captures a certain Jewish angst specific to post-war New York, yet endemic to that post-war identity everywhere. As the director Josh Safdie said, “I do think there is a certain unrest in Jewish culture.”
The enduring image of the film is this tenacious, smart and reckless young man wearing a Magen David chain throughout. He refers to his people and his past a great deal, inviting the viewer to reflect on the Jewish spirit that enthused him, the film and many of us today.
The word am, “people,” occurs nearly 1,500 times throughout the Hebrew Bible, 204 of which appear in the Book of Exodus. These particular parshiot hold the core of our people’s identity and storytelling. On seven occasions, the word ammi, “my people,” is expressed in the famous phrase addressed to Pharaoh, “Shallach et-ammi v’ya’avduni ba-midbar,” “Let my people go, that they may worship Me in the wilderness.”
We become a people through these Egypt narratives and the way we have held onto the story through generations. Yet the people we meet in this parasha are so downtrodden and exhausted they are unable to hear the consoling message of imminent freedom. The film reminded me of the enormous recalibration of Jewish life and existence post-Shoah:
וַיְדַבֵּ֥ר מֹשֶׁ֛ה כֵּ֖ן אֶל־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל וְלֹ֤א שָֽׁמְעוּ֙ אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֔ה מִקֹּ֣צֶר ר֔וּחַ וּמֵעֲבֹדָ֖ה קָשָֽׁה׃
“When Moses told this to the Israelites, they would not listen to Moses, their spirits crushed by hard and cruel work.” (6:9)
Kotzer ruach literally means “shortness of breath.” As they were becoming a people, they initially resisted consolation but, as we know, eventually bought into the idea. And so the story continues for us, in every place, in every generation and in every heart.
Please join us for our extraordinary Holocaust Memorial Evening on Wednesday, 28th January. We will be showing the film Dragon, Chaos and Light, followed by a Q&A with the directors. More information here Chaos Dragon and the Light
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What does it mean to have a ‘calling’ – to be called to a career, a family life, or a new place? We spend our lives making names, shemot, for ourselves, shaping how we want to be known and recognised. The book of Exodus, which we begin reading this Shabbat, is titled Shemot, meaning ‘Names.’ In it, Moses is called at the burning bush to liberate the Hebrews. He resists this calling five times before reluctantly agreeing, struggling with a heavy dose of imposter syndrome. Yet Moses recognises this as a decisive moment. Most of us will experience such moments, even if they aren’t quite as grandiose as a burning bush. Many of us feel called to do hard things; I am frequently humbled by those who undertake extraordinary tasks simply because they felt called to do so. The author James Baldwin put it this way: “You have to go the way your blood beats. If you don’t live the only life you have, you won’t live some other life, you can’t live any life at all.” (From one of his final interviews with Richard Goldstein, discussing love and identity). Ultimately, I suppose each of us is called to attend to our own life and create the ‘name’ that only we can carry. Shabbat Shalom, N.B. Talking of being called I wanted to remind of our Holocaust Memorial Day evening Wednesday 28 January with the film and life story of Marika Henriques, Hungarian Jew and survivor. See details below. Please join us. |
You’d be unsurprised to learn that I think about death a great deal. I get to accompany so many as they approach it and afterwards, I witness families as they grieve. There is no doubt that talking about and preparing for death is a good thing, if it’s manageable and available. Knowing what you might wish for in the end days is helpful not only for yourself but also for others. I read Dr Katherine Mannix’s extraordinary book, With the End in Mind; How to Live and Die Well (whilst on honeymoon – occupational hazard!). In it, she talks of ways of dying and the energy and thought we give to it to prepare ourselves, not only in a lachrymose way but in a positive and sanguine manner as well.
So it’s interesting that this last portion of the Book of Genesis, Vayechi, as we inch our way into the new Gregorian year, speaks of death and endings, both Jacob’s and Joseph’s. We encounter Jacob speaking plainly and candidly to his children:
“I am about to die” (Gen. 48:21) . . . “I am about to be gathered to my kin” (49:29).
And he tells them what he hopes for, then Joseph does the same to his brothers. They both want to ‘go home.’ They want their bodies, and bones in the case of Joseph, to be laid to rest back home. The pull for the familiar and where they came from is so compelling, so they exact promises from the brothers that they’ll go home.
Both scenes illustrate the writer William Faulkner’s truism from his 1951 play Requiem for a Nun that “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.”
We carry it all around with us. I like thinking that more than just our life should inform our death but equally, the other way around. Our death and what matters should inform our life and the way we live. This feels apposite for these early days of 2026. Join us for what is likely to be a an intimate first Shabbat of the year at FPS.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rebecca
This season of Christmas and its repercussions and ripples affect all of us living here, chiefly being the invitation to gather with friends, family or community, even just briefly through these sometimes interminable bank holidays. I know it’s not easy for everyone. Not everyone has folk to gather with. Loneliness is a real epidemic and I think of it a great deal during these days.
This week’s Torah portion, Parashat Vayigash, captures the moment Joseph’s brothers draw near to him. The word ‘vayigash’ literally means ‘he drew near.’ Joseph properly [and rather shockingly] reveals his real identity to them. This is followed by much intimate crying and getting closer. Jospeh wants to be with Benjamin, his brother, and his father, Jacob. His brothers seemed to have learned a lesson not to cause more grief in the family and they are loathe to return to Jacob without Benjamin.
I suppose this portion serves to remind that getting close to family, friends or community is a very good thing. If it is not available to us, then I want to remind you all that community is here for everyone. It’s one of the best things about FPS.
This Shabbat morning after the service, Beverley will host a Bagel Brunch for all who fancy staying and being together on one of these bank holidays. Do let know if you fancy staying.
I wish you a restful few days.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rebecca
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