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.
During the week leading t
o Simchat Torah, I can never resist looking at the now-famous entry in Samuel Pepys diary of October 14th, 1663. He and his wife are guests of the tiny synagogue Shaar Hashamayim, the forerunner to Bevis Marks which opened formally in 1701. He describes himself as completely aghast at the joyous scene before his eyes.
… my wife and I, by Mr. Rawlinson’s conduct, [went] to the Jewish Synagogue: where the men and boys in their vayles, and the women behind a lattice out of sight; and some things stand up, which I believe is their Law, in a press to which all coming in do bow; and at the putting on their vayles do say something, to which others that hear him do cry Amen, and the party do kiss his vayle. Their service all in a singing way, and in Hebrew. And anon their Laws that they take out of the press are carried by several men, four or five several burthens in all, and they do relieve one another; and whether it is that every one desires to have the carrying of it, I cannot tell, thus they carried it round about the room while such a service is singing. And in the end they had a prayer for the King, which they pronounced his name in Portugall; but the prayer, like the rest, in Hebrew. But, Lord! to see the disorder, laughing, sporting, and no attention, but confusion in all their service, more like brutes than people knowing the true God, would make a man forswear ever seeing them more and indeed I never did see so much, or could have imagined there had been any religion in the whole world so absurdly performed as this. Away thence with my mind strongly disturbed with them, by coach and set down my wife in Westminster Hall, and I to White Hall,
I remember being similarly amazed by the dancing in the street with Torah scrolls, Sifrei Torah, in Cambridge, Massachusetts where I was for my Master’s degree. Growing up in modest UK it was anathema to me and pretty extraordinary to witness such confident and joyful expressions of Judaism – in the street no less!
Whilst I have to work hard to feel the abandon that the festival of Purim asks for, I love Simchat Torah. As a religious Progressive Jew, I do indeed live my life intricately involved with Torah and love nothing more than its ability to speak to our lives here and now.
We are celebrating the ending and beginning of Torah this Friday and Saturday – Shabbat and Simchat Torah 5784 happily combine – and we are honouring seven pairs of FPS folk as we do so. The Midrash on Numbers (BaMidbar Rabbah) says Torah has 70 faces – everyone has their own personalised message from it. 70 years of FPS and 70 faces of Torah. Join us to celebrate and enjoy the seventeenth century take on Simchat Torah as well.
Chag Sameach!
Rebecca.
Z’man Simchateinu
This is the festival that insists on joy – and I intend to grab it this year, when it’s so easy not to, from the cup of coffee inside the sukkah to the end of our flowering plants in our autumnal fading gardens, to the re-read of Keats’ ‘Ode to Autumn’ to the last few outdoor swims I can manage (I am not yet an all-year-round cold water swimmer!).
Sukkot, the next holiday of our HHDs, pulls us back to the corporal. Despite this festival calling on us to consider impermanence, fragility and temporary shelter, I am thinking of what lasts. Inspired by Paul Silver-Myer’s beautifu
l words on Yom Kippur, I am thinking of all those who stood inside the sukkah at Finchley Progressive Synagogue over these past 70 years. I am thinking of those who decorated and ate and squashed in for an outdoor service with the chill of Autumn and the wide night sky above. I am thinking of David Hoffman’s huge quantities of skach – the greenery for the roof and walls – which he and Ruth would always bring. I am thinking of Hilary Luder’s fairy lights and decoration. I am remembering years where we hung allotment harvests and years we have been rained out. I am thinking of last year’s car park sukkah that happily trapped many of us until festivities were finished. And this year Eti, Susanna, Annabel and Bobbie have returned to our traditional spot and made it ready for us this Friday. We will fill it with our waving of the Luluv and Etrog. The etrog is called pri etz hadar, “the fruit of a splendid tree” (or a goodly tree) and the scent of it lives up to its name. Exhausted you may be from the spiritual intensity of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur but the physicality of Sukkot has its place.
I am thinking of the first Sukkot celebration in the first building in 1963 – and how everyone managed and whether there are surviving photos recording the day.
I am remembering every year I sat in a sukkah, in other people’s before I constructed my own. Mine always have my drying pink hydrangea heads as decoration and some 1950’s vintage tea cloths from Israel adorning the walls. This year I have hangings from Zambia to add to the decor.
Although Sukkot is about tasting impermanence I’m thinking of longevity and where our sukkah will be when we have renewed our building and completed our renovations. It’s exciting and daunting and right.
See you on Friday evening,
Rebecca.
This week sees us reading the last portion of Deuteronomy as we hover between the new year and Day of Atonement over Shabbat Shuvah. As Moses, prepares for his own death, he recalls and reminds the Israelites, on God’s behalf of their past and their future. The tension is touching
If they were wise, they would understand this; they would reflect upon their fate.
ל֥וּ חָֽכְמ֖וּ יַשְׂכִּ֣ילוּ זֹ֑את יָבִ֖ינוּ לְאַֽחֲרִיתָֽם
Rather than considering their lives, they are urged to consider their past and the temptation they had and then they are given a reminder of why regret followed by commitment is so critical
כִּי לֹֽא־דָבָ֨ר רֵ֥ק הוּא֙ מִכֶּ֔ם כִּי־ה֖וּא חַיֵּיכֶ֑ם וּבַדָּבָ֣ר הַזֶּ֗ה תַּֽאֲרִ֤יכוּ יָמִים֙ עַל־הָ֣אֲדָמָ֔ה
For it is not an empty thing for you, it is your life, and through this thing, you will lengthen your days upon the land.
As I said on Rosh Hashanah, building for our next seventy years of Finchley Progressive Synagogue life is just this. Don’t forget to join us for the first of the Renewing our Home evenings Saturday 23rd at 5.30p.m.!
How extraordinary to read these words now as we hover in this time and place, considering our lives. Rashi comments on the weight of the word ‘empty’ and suggests the people were being reassured of the importance of this reflection and its life–giving properties.
On Saturday morning, before the service, we will have Book Club – reading the first part of Danya Ruttenberg’s Making Amends in an Unapologetic World and a chance to reflect a little before Yom Kippur begins. Then our Shiur on Yom Kippur will continue such conversations on the themes of regret and return. Yom Kippur will be filled this year with opportunities for conversation and also reflection through music. Our own beautiful musicians have been preparing and honing our liturgy and Daniel Dolan will play Bruch’s Kol Nidrei with his father David accompanying him at the start of Sunday evening’s service. Abigail Dolan will bring reflective pieces on her flute for marking the stages of the Musaf in the Additional Service on Monday.
I so look forward to sharing this all with you.
Rebecca
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