And just like that, our 70th year of celebration came to an end last Sunday. We had the most magnificent but warm and inclusive inter-generational quiz hosted by Paul and Sharon Silver-Myer. It was a delight and the good will in the room from our members and guests was palpable.
It needn’t have fallen on Chanukah but it did and by doing so, it reminded me of the teaching by the 12th century Maimonides (Hilchot Chanukah 4:1) who said about this minor festival that it is incumbent on all Jewish households to light one Chanukiah. He then continues to say that for those who want to fulfil this commandment more intensely, more enthusiastically, hamhader et hamitzvah, then every member of the home should light their own Chanukiah. We Progressive Jews always have the choice to consider this instruction to intensify our mitzvot but last Sunday we lit many, many lights here at FPS. It was, both literally and symbolically, a powerful reminder that all 90 of us representing our congregation cared deeply about it and happily [re]dedicated ourselves, as the word Chanukah means, to our community and our Jewish way of being. It was a wonderful moment, as were these past days of Chanukah – that light in the darkness for us all. What a wonderful way to end the year. How far we have come, in what we mean to each other and how more folk are now choosing to dedicate themselves to our house, our home, our synagogue. And how well we have done in raising funds for the [re]dedication of the building.
Wishing you a continuation of this pride and dedication that Chanukah encourages. We Jews are still here, and this minor festival that comes from the Book of Maccabees, not even in the Tanakh but the hidden Apocrypha, has come to mean much to us. A complicated story with the miracle of oil added only by the rabbis of the Talmud 500 years later. We are reminded of human agency, this year of all years: to stand up for ourselves and for others always; to be empowered and emboldened and dedicated.
I will destroy my enemies by making them my friends
I was surprised to hear Archbishop Justin Welby quote Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. We were standing in the pouring rain at the vigil last Sunday. Together. It was incredibly moving; people who have sustained such loss, such violence, begging us to collaborate, to stand together, to reach out to those around us, to make things safer, not more polarized, for our children. It wasn’t an easy ask, yet Robbie Damelin from Bereaved Families Forum warned the crowd, ‘Don’t take sides. It helps no-one.’ These weren’t easy words to hear: many of us had read the articles in the paper that morning revealing yet more sexually violent atrocities perpetrated on that heinous day of the 7th October. Yet what alternative is there other than to reach for hope and for partners in this hell, both here in our home of the U.K and in Israel and beyond?
Everyone was given a candle and I lit a lantern alongside several other religious leaders who wanted to be there. United synagogue, Liberal, Reform and Masorti standing together with Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists and Christians.
It was the perfect diving board into Chanukah, when we will [re]dedicate ourselves to our Judaism and to our people, as the first Chanukah modelled. I can’t think of a year in my lifetime when Chanukah felt so welcome, so needed and so challenging all at on
ce. We associate the story with tribalism at its most raw, with extremism and military might.
But I want to take a different look. The Hasmoneans, whilst passionate and committed, surprisingly also understood nuance. From their
Greek language, rhetoric and culture, they knew it was integral to their way of life. And the subsequent celebrations of Chanukah understood that innovation and freshness was key. Chanukah is often referred to as a time of התחדשות, of renewal, of not letting our spiritual vitality become stale and uninspired.
This year I hope we let ourselves rededicate to our congregation our Jewish life and our families and do so in a way that the flames of the Chanukiah fill our hearts with hope and light. There is surely no other way.
Please check out each night of lighting planned @FPS:
And Jacob was left alone and a man wrestled with him until dawn.
In Torah this week, Parashat Vayishlach, Jacob becomes Israel: a new name, the One who wrestles with God. And that is our name too as Jews. This scene of the struggle is profoundly comforting to me every time I read it. As we know from our own lives, growing into one’s full identity is complicated.
It was never meant to be one dimensional. It is so interesting to observe that despite being given the new name of Israel, he is referred to as Jacob again and again in the book of Genesis and later throughout Tanakh. He carries it all with him. And so do we – the Jew who is brave and open and the one who retreats at times; the one who reaches for community and the one who holds back; the times one finds meaning and the periods one doesn’t; the times our mezuzah feels a welcome symbol on our doors and the times it evokes fear and questions. I imagine we are all of that and Jacob’s physical wrestling match is echoed in our life choices. Especially now.
Sitting at home with covid, it was powerful to watch last Sunday’s march through photos and clips sent by friends and many of you. We were told over 100,000 gathered – more than at Cable Street. But even some of those who attended enthusiastically described the experience as complex for them: the streets were quiet, no-one else was witnessing, the palpable and understandable support for Israel at times complicating the desire for clear and unwavering Jewish presence here in the UK. It called on so many feelings of solidarity, pride, fear and desire to be seen and, like Jacob, it carried the hope of being blessed in our lives and of finding blessing in all of this for us and our children.
The portion ends with the much-anticipated reunion between Jacob and Esau, each now definitively suspicious of the other. Esau embraces and kisses Jacob and they both weep. In a demonstration of gracious and generous love, Jacob responds. It is a beautiful moment in Torah and one that challenges us, as we read it, to find contemporary meaning for ourselves.
It is a serious thing
Just to be alive on this fresh morning
In the broken world.– Mary Oliver
Moments when I feel my humanity, my deep sense of being human has a profound effect. Last Shabbat, welcoming Kaya Comer-Schwartz was unexpectedly life affirming as she spoke of her Austrian Jewish and Zimbabwean roots. She described those roots and values as ‘being of service’ and those strands led her into politics and living a life of connection and collaboration.
In the afternoon, we made Christmas presents for the families who attend the Rainbow Centre. Such gestures mean a great deal to them.
Representing Liberal Judaism at the Cenotaph on Sunday, I watched with pride as our own FPS folk marched. It was very moving to stand there under the blue, blue sky above Whitehall and to reflect on the past eighty years of such ceremonies and British Jewish collaboration.
Such moments which affirm the gift of life are exactly what I believe Jacob meant when he awoke from his dream in this week’s Torah portion:
| And Jacob awakened from his sleep, and he said, “Indeed, God is in this place, and I, I did not know it. | טזוַיִּיקַ֣ץ יַֽעֲקֹב֘ מִשְּׁנָתוֹ֒ וַיֹּ֗אמֶר אָכֵן֙ יֵ֣שׁ
:יְהֹוָ֔ה בַּמָּק֖וֹם הַזֶּ֑ה וְאָֽנֹכִ֖י לֹ֥א יָדָֽעְתִּי |
All the experiences I mentioned above have had that same effect on me and I am profoundly grateful.
Shabbat shalom,
Rebecca
I am wondering a great deal about what makes us Jewish. What is it that calls us to our Jewish lives? There are many answers, I am sure. One that speaks to me is being responsive to each other. Our prayer for peace adds on the words, grant peace to us, to all Israel and to all humanity.
As Edmund Flegg reminded us:
I am a Jew because in all places where there are tears and suffering the Jew weeps. I am a Jew because in every age when the cry of despair is heard the Jew hopes.
Bearing witness is what we do. We do it here in our congregation to each other, we do it beyond and as a very Jewish obligation, we take it seriously. We have raised our children and all those grown in LJY Netzer to feel deeply the suffering of others. We are compelled to look and see within our families and beyond. Isaac’s wife Rebekah is troubled and says Kazti bchayei – my life is bitter. (Genesis 27:46) That is what has characterised these last five weeks for everyone and none more so than those there – watching and standing as we grieve in the Jewish community and alongside all who are suffering. Being broken hearted by what we see and, frankly cannot un-see, is the right response. That’s why the image of Isaac in this week’s portion is moving when he loses his ability to see:
It came to pass when Isaac was old, and his eyes were too dim to see, that he called Esau his elder son, and he said to him, “My son?” and Esau said to him, “Here I am.”
I read this week that activist writers around Israel have volunteered to write eulogies for the almost ninety dead on Kibbutz Be’eri, a task that usually falls to fellow residents but now is way too much for the grieving survivors. This act of bearing witness, capturing the legacy of each person and their lives, is intensely moving. All that bearing witness to each precious life. On Tuesday, I read that the family of peace activist, Vivian Silver, was informed she had been murdered on 7th October, not taken captive. It took this many days to discover. Her own words, offered in 2018, have become her eulogy and her legacy:
‘I have basically lived and breathed the [Peace] movement day and night. Living on the border of the Gaza Strip is a compelling factor for me. I am driven by the intense desire for security and a life of mutual respect and freedom for both our peoples.
I cannot begin to imagine the enormous pain of grief for those able to mourn and those who simply can’t. Our role continues to be to bear witness to as much as we can. It is the least and sometimes the most we can do right now. It calls on our Jewishness and our humanity and, I hope, may offer both strength and consolation as we bear witness.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rebecca.
This week Rabbis Charley Baginsky and Josh Levy will be talking at FPS about collaboration between Liberal Judaism and Reform Judaism. The focus on our Jewish life here in the UK is important for us even now with many of gazes turned further afield. I am thinking a great deal this week about our values of justice, joy, sensitive and engagement. And how we are informed by them in how we live and attempt to live. I was at the New Israel Fund gathering on Sunday evening attempting to reflect on what’s happening and still celebrate the human rights work the organisation supports. We do well to be proud of them as a congregation with the collaboration and complexity at the heart of their support for all in Israel. A life of longevity and well lived, we are being reminded is a luxury. Not everyone has the opportunity to live into old age at peace.
Sarah our matriarch was 127 years old when she died. Torah repeats her life span:
And the life of Sarah was one hundred years and twenty years and seven years; [these were] the years of the life of Sarah
Rashi, the best of Torah commentators, who incidentally was an esteemed rabbi and a vintner well into his old age, insists that all of Sarah’s years were equally good. Her age only enriched her experiences. Sarah, we are told, negotiated a lot of new adventures in her advanced years.
I’m sure Sarah would have been the first to say that her longevity was a blessing. Barbra Streisand released her memoirs this week at the age of 80. We see the preciousness of life in greater focus right now. And perhaps Sarah’s life and death is a reminder of this-to try for a life well lived. We recently began a new group at FPS, Living with Ageing, to share experiences with fellow travellers.
We live in new times and the wisdom of our elders shines brightly and so often offer such examples of courage and resilience, grace and capacity. Yehuda ben Teima of the Mishnah 200 C.E got a lot right when he wrote about old age…at sixty seniority; at seventy fullness of years; at eighty spiritual strength….And onwards.
Living to old age in safety and security has never felt more of a blessing than it does at this moment. May it be so for us. May we take the examples around us to inspire, inform and instruct our living.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rebecca.
This morning I visited my friend Marika, a Holocaust survivor, who as a child, was hidden in Hungary. Her book, ‘Hidden Child,’ and film of that name has gained much support. As a survivor and a still-practising Jungian analyst in her eighties, she is interested in holding complex thoughts; pain and empathy. But right now, she is afraid.
I was able to see her because I was invited to a ‘cosy’ conversation with the Second Gentleman of the U.S., Doug Emhoff, and Matthew A. Palmer, Deputy Chief of Mission of the Embassy of the United States, also an American Jew. I was representing CoLRaC and Liberal Judaism.
Tension is high across our communities and this conversation was intended to share and connect. I appreciated Mr. Emhoff’s commitment to finding joy in his Judaism, whatever fear grows, but he also memorably said that he is excited by the tzedek, the justice within Judaism.
How we see things at the moment is such a challenge and our legacy is to wrestle daily with how we negotiate sadness, and even fear for what comes next; trying to grapple with the ways things are seen and the disseminating of information, both true and false. At this time, discerning and watching is what we are all required to do – but how we do so is up to each one of us.
It’s interesting that this week’s portion is Vayera, meaning appeared; God appeared to Abraham and then the same word of seeing is repeated; Vayar Avraham, Abraham saw the three visitors who come. Maybe he saw straight away that they are angels; maybe not. Of course, this is the portion that contains the expulsion of Hagar and Ishmael and the binding of Isaac. It is intense stuff and we are invited to engage robustly with the stories. But this year, this month, at this time, I am drawn to the meaning of the words Vayera in its different conjugations of Abraham seeing what was happening around him. It connects through the generations; and the capacity to observe and notice and we need that now.
I feel keenly us as a congregation being here and watching out for each other.
I’m sharing the document and statement of values which Progressive Judaism produced today; and invite you to sign if you would like. And of course, I look forward to seeing you over Shabbat and, for those who are joining us, at our anniversary dinner when we can proudly see our history.
https://www.ourjewishvalues.org.uk/
Shabbat Shalom
Rebecca
I was sitting in a café this week nursing an Americano and fretting over the news. Someone at a table next to me expresses concern that a man is pacing on a call in front of the window.
Her friend reassures her and even I added my (unasked for) reassurance until the diner comes back and resumes his lunch. I share this because anxiety is high at the moment – for everyone here, of all backgrounds.
This Shabbat is Parashat Lech Lecha, where for the first time we meet Abraham and Sarah, the parents of the Jewish people. As always, I think, Torah speaks to us in this moment of our lives. Abraham is honoured by Jews, Muslims and Christians as the founder of ethical monotheism. Most of all, he is remembered for courage to move into the unknown, Lech Lecha. Rashi insists God meant go for your benefit and for your good. This courage and positivity is important. This week of all weeks, it helps to be reminded of this; there is much we share. Julie Siddiqi, Muslim scholar and teacher and one of the founding members of NISA-NASHIM, (Jewish and Muslim women) spoke of the importance in Islam of not letting outward expressions of loyalty disturb and threaten neighbours. Indeed, she quoted the Koran and explained one who carries a flag that frightens a neighbour is, according to Islam, a non-believer. Brave statements of solidarity like these at this time are immensely welcome.
Moments and connections like these are so critical as is the reminder of what we share here as people of faith in Britain. And despite, or maybe in spite of, the grief and the fear that still permeate we continue to mark time and moments of life in our congregation. We commemorate an admission of someone new into our Jewish community, a Bar Mitzvah on Shabbat and an extra one in the afternoon for an Israeli family who can’t get home. We celebrate with all three families who look to us as a synagogue to enable these moments that celebrate life.
Our attachment to life and being cajoled continually to choose it has never felt more critical than now. It is an act of optimism and hope.
”This day I call the heavens and the earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, that you and your children may live,” Deuteronomy 30, means we continue reaching for these moments.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rebecca.
The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other, and children cling to us. The moment we cease to hold each other, the moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.
James Baldwin, Nothing Personal
I was reminded of this as we prepare for Parashat Noach – the story of the flood which, although our children’s favourite portion, is actually very difficult to read. For us adults, the pairs of animals living on the ark do not soften the massive loss of life. Noah’s family stays together, but there are so few of them – and presumably they witnessed the death and trauma too.
Death is around us right now and it is painful. Part of that pain is the collective amnesia that forgets and relativises the brutality of October 7th. https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2023/oct/13/pogrom-israel-angel-of-death-gaza-hamas-jews
Last night, I attended the memorial service held by LJY Netzer, RSY Netzer, New Israel Fund, Masorti and its youth movement Noam, Yachad and Arzeinu. The organisers reminded us that Memorial in English is for those who have died but Zicharon in Hebrew is more nuanced and full of life and possibility. It calls us to direct our thoughts and memories. In these bleak times, we are thinking of and praying for those families who have lost dear ones, as well as those families in the excruciating wait for the freedom of those captives, perhaps enduring a fate worse than death.
So what to do?
~ To show up, that is for sure, to be connected and in community. So many of you came last Shabbat for just that consolation and it helps
~ To join the collective voice to pray and hope for the safe return of captives
~ To keep our courage in holding onto our humanity in the most difficult of circumstances, to honour the sacred life of every human being, which is exactly what terrorists do not do.
Howard Jacobson in the Observer last Sunday talked of weeping, the immense amount of weeping we need to do. He called on the Yiddish word, rachmones, explaining to readers its meaning of pity. I see that as the greatest challenge for us all now – to hold onto that rachmones, even as we mourn; even as we experience the shocking surprise that those we’ve cared for repeatedly and shown up for have not reached out to us.
It has never been more painful to be a grieving Jew. As Rabbi Sharon Brous said so memorably last Shabbat, amidst this horror and grief, “we must not lose our damn minds.” We must be able to stand in the complexity of rachmones as we mourn. We know that in recognising the suffering of others, it does not diminish the enormous reality of our own pain. We must hold onto our humanity and listen to the moral voice inside us that knows there is no context, no possible way of justifying, the brutality that Hamas wreaked. No context can ever explain such depravity – and we may find ourselves at a loss for words and perhaps it is ok not to rush past that wordlessness. Sometimes uncertainty must reign. I have been asked this week to sign seven petitions already. But as loss deepens, so does the desire to prevent further suffering and death of the innocent.
So Baldwin’s words reinforce our need for each other; to be in conversation, community and care. The moment we cease to hold each other, the moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.
Raba Nathalie Lastreger from the north of Israel shared these powerful words: “Along with needing each other we also need both oz va’anavah, that is robust strength and inner humility at this terrible time.”
Rebecca
This week has been unbearable.
The week following Simchat Torah is usually a quiet one for the Jewish world. Sukkot get taken down and synagogues get tidied after the heavy footfall of the High Holidays. But this year, we awoke last Shabbat-Simchat Torah to the news of Israel at war. 1973’s Yom Kippur has permeated everything, only this time it’s been citizens, not just military, who were caught by this surprise attack.
The Jewish world unequivocally condemns this attack on Israeli civilian life. Across Liberal Judaism and the wider Jewish family, we stand with Israel and its citizens during this terrible time. In this small world of ours, it seems no-one is exempt from knowing someone who is lost or missing. Attacking innocent civilians is always fundamentally wrong and will never do anything to bring about a better future for Israelis or Palestinians. I am thinking especially of those with family and children in Israel, particularly in the army. It is an unimaginable suffering for them.
I am keenly aware of our families navigating how to talk to children about this so they know it is not their responsibility to explain events in Israel and Gaza; similarly, I am mindful of our students at university, nervous on campus. This week we are offering several opportunities to connect and reflect together.
I will send families resources to aid conversations at home and I will endeavour to ensure that all feel as equipped, supported and comforted as is possible.
Rebecca.
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