SUKKOT PRAYER 5780

Sh’chinah M’kor Chayyeinu, Divine Presence Source of our lives, You have accompanied us on all our journeys ‘from Egypt until now’. As we celebrate Sukkot, we pray that the fragile sukkah recalling our ancestors’ forty-year sojourn in the wilderness, may remind us of our obligation to support the poor and the destitute, the homeless and the oppressed, and to assist those experiencing persecution and violence, hardship and humiliation across the globe. In particular at this time, we think of the Kurds in northern Syria.

Pause to reflect

As we gather in the sukkah open to the elements, may our exposure to the wind and rain also turn our thoughts to those peoples living in regions of the world that are suffering the devastating impact of climate change. This Sukkot, our hearts go out to the people of Grenada, whose nutmeg farms are being destroyed by hurricanes and flooding.

Pause to reflect

Ru’ach Olamim, Spirit of the Universe, You invite us to acknowledge the Earth around us and Eternity beyond us. As we wave the lulav in all directions, we ask You to strengthen our courage and resolve so that we may reach out to peoples in distress, extend our care to the planet and all that lives on it, and commit ourselves to the sacred task of tikkun olam, repair of the world.

And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue

Hinneinu – Here we are on Yom Kippur morning. Although several hours of praying, reflecting and fasting lie ahead, in fact, the aseret y’mei t’shuvah, the ‘ten days of returning’ are drawing to a close. After sunset, the New Year begins in earnest, and we will turn from looking back to moving forwards. In the meantime, here we are, with one another, with ourselves – and with our personal thoughts, concerns, regrets and memories. Memory is a funny thing. Perhaps, everything is stored somewhere in our amazingly complex brains, but if my experience is anything to go by, we only remember a tiny fraction – and then recall the same memories again and again. Whatever the memory – painful, joyful, miserable, humorous – each one a trophy of our past kept alive within us because for reasons we don’t always understand, it continues to resonate in the present.

One of my most powerful memories goes back to 1984. As a first-year rabbinic student who had worked as an editor, I was asked to be one of the proof-readers of the English of the Days of Awe prayerbook of Reform Judaism, which was published the following year.^[1] My memory centres on the first passage in a section of responsive readings in the Erev Rosh Ha-Shanah service that quotes from the 19^th century German Rabbi, Samson Raphael Hirsch, the intellectual founder of modern Orthodoxy:^[2]

What calls us here tonight, out of the daily routine of our lives?

The sound of the shofar … calls us all to God. It calls poor and rich to true riches; it calls the most distant wanderer home.

I didn’t feel called to God and the phrase about calling ‘poor and rich to true riches’ didn’t speak to me. But that last phrase was like an arrow going straight into my heart: I was a ‘most distant wanderer’. And I hadn’t only been a ‘distant wanderer’, I had wandered all over the place: antiracist and, specifically, anti-apartheid activism alongside involvement in the International Marxist Group while a sociology student at LSE, and then radical feminist activism and lesbian separatism in the late 1970s and early 1980s. When I arrived at Leo Baeck College in 1984, longing to belong, I hoped that at last I had found a home, where all of who I was could reside and thrive.

Over the course of my rabbinate, since my ordination in 1989, I’ve had one-to-one meetings with dozens of individuals longing to belong. Each individual, with their own story, their own journey, but ultimately, with a single goal: to find a home for themselves. It’s a simple need that we all share. I’m proud that Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue has become home to so many different people. We have succeeded in creating an oasis of inclusivity, equality and diversity, reflected in the different religious, cultural and social backgrounds, genders, sexualities and life situations of our members and friends.

What we have achieved here at BHPS is very special. It’s not easy to hold those values together in one home. For many people, the need for safety and refuge that home offers, makes it impossible for them to embrace others. The emphasis on the need for a home, of a place to belong to, of a people to belong to, stirs up feelings of wariness, suspicion, and even hatred of ‘outsiders’ – of those who look different or sound different, eat different foods, pray and worship in different ways, live and love differently. We have seen this in the Brexit debate since the Referendum campaign of 2016. The human need for belonging becomes dangerous when it becomes tribal, inducing a binary ‘us’ and ‘them’ mentality.

In his fortnightly ‘Light on anti-Muslim Prejudice’ Hope Not Hate^[3] email of 6^th September, Safya Khan-Ruf examines ‘the Identarian Movement’ put under the spotlight in Hope Not Hate’s report, From Banners to Bullets. The term ‘identitarianism’ is based on the word ‘identity’. Identitarians want to enforce strict mono-identity codes. Safya Khan-Ruf writes: ‘Identitarianism is an ideology that seeks to breed hatred and spread division. This ideology had inspired its followers to pick up firearms and travel to a mosque in Christchurch, a synagogue in Poway and Walmart in El Paso to carry out acts of terrorism.’ The email goes on to reference the Christchurch killer’s ‘manifesto’, entitled, ‘The Great Replacement’, which expresses ‘the central idea perpetuated by Identitarians’. ‘The Great Replacement’ danger is that white Christians are being replaced by Blacks and ethnic minorities – the ‘replacement’ a massive conspiracy, orchestrated, of course, by ‘the Jews’. The blog put out by the right-wing extremist who rampaged into the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh on Shabbat morning on 27^th October 2018 killing eleven people and injuring seven, made it clear that he was targeting the synagogue because of its support for migrants and refugees.^[4] The Identitarians want ‘ethnic autonomy’ in the context of what they call ‘ethno-pluralism’ as an antidote to the multicultural society. What they really want is white supremacy – again.

Of course, there is a huge difference between most people’s desire to find a home and this kind of xenophobic extremism. Nevertheless, unless our need for belonging, for a home, a refuge, is also linked with a sense of solidarity with others and a desire to connect with others, our emphasis on ‘our home’ – whether understood as ‘sovereign England’ or ‘sovereign Britain’ or on a smaller scale, as ‘our’ city, ‘our’ town, ‘our’ village, ‘our’ synagogue, church or mosque, ‘our own’ ‘bricks and mortar’ with the drawbridge drawn up – becomes self-serving and by definition, exclusive.

As a distant wanderer, who eventually found a home in Jewish life, but only after struggling hard for LGBT equality and inclusion for twenty years after I first became a rabbinic student, for me, Judaism can only be my home – and the synagogue can only be my home – if the doors are open to others, who are welcomed to come in and make it their home, too. Most of us want to ‘belong’ and feel at home. A sense of belonging is integral to many people’s sense of well-being. But for belonging not to become exclusive, we need to cultivate a sense of solidarity with others that involves connecting with others outside our home and inviting them in.

In the past three years the power of this kind of solidarity has been very evident in the monthly Interfaith prayer hour organised under the auspices of the Brighton and Hove Interfaith Contact Group.^[5] Initially established as a way of enabling people to connect together and express a sense of solidarity in response to a spate of devastating terrorist atrocities, the monthly Interfaith Prayer Hour has continued, and after being hosted at Hove Methodist Church for two years, and then the Baha’i Centre last year, just this past month, it was inaugurated here at Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue.

For the uninitiated, perhaps, the word ‘Interfaith’ is perplexing. Evidently, people attend of all religions and none, so what do we do? How do we connect, given the differences between us? The answer is very simple. People are free to remain silent, or to offer a prayer or a poem or a reading or a song – and whether reminding silent or speaking, to light a candle. There are no words adequate to describe the feeling of solidarity generated. Rather than differences being obliterated, everyone is free to express themselves in their own way – and together a home for mutual respect is created.

Of course, it is relatively easy to foster solidarity in the context of a sense of the external threat of extremism. Since 2016, apart from the ongoing Brexit debacle, there has also been a continuing problem with anti-Semitism in the Labour Party – experienced by Jewish members of the Labour Party, including Jewish MPs. The rise of the Momentum movement has brought in young people to the Labour Party inspired by the renewal of the Labour Party’s socialist vision. It has also re-activated far-left elements within the Labour Party that have not had a voice since Neil Kinnock defeated Militant tendency in the early 1980s^[6] – which in turn has led far-left activists from ultraleft groups to join the Labour Party. So: a perfect storm for the propagation of the particular left-wing version of anti-Semitism that is expressed in the characterisation of Israel as a ‘colonialist state’^[7] and a complete disregard for the way in which political Zionism emerged in Europe in the late 19^th century in response to a new form of virulent racist anti-Semitism.^[8] From the perspective of the father of political Zionism, Theodore Herzl, since Jews were not safe in Europe, the Jewish people needed to have our own home.^[9]

How should Jews respond to anti-Semitism in the Labour Party? One response is retreat – retreat into the refuge of a like-minded Jewish community. But the problem is, we’re not all like-minded. And Jews with progressive values that include reaching out to others, can’t find a home in a Jewish community that does not share those values. Solidarity rooted in reaction is negative and likely to foster negative feelings – fear, suspicion – that are not conducive to connecting with other communities.

So, how might we respond positively? What we need is solidarity rooted in positive affirmation of our lives and values as Jews that supports our efforts to reach out to others. Of course, anti-Semitism in the Labour Party and anti-Semitism on the right must be confronted. At the same time, we need to save some energy to connect with others and to focus on issues that demand the concerted action of all communities – not least the threat of climate change. As individuals and as families, there is much we can do to reduce our carbon footprint, cut out single use plastics, and so on. But we also need to work together as a community and across communities.

In January 2018, a new cross-communal Jewish initiative was launched to enable this to happen: Eco Synagogue. Eco Synagogue aims to change the relationship of our synagogues with the environment. To quote from the website:^[10] ‘It operates through an online survey aimed at synagogues which assesses broad domains of activity – how we use our buildings and any land we own or care for; how we eat and consume; how we use the opportunities of the liturgical year; how we teach and preach; and how we change the behaviours of our congregations … [through] community action, supported and encouraged by rabbis and lay leaders and put into practice by green teams of motivated members’.

I’m delighted to say that at the festival of Shavuot on June 8^th/9^th, with our all-night programme on ‘climate change and our responsibility to repair the world’, BHPS began the process of becoming an Eco Synagogue. Since then, a ‘green team’ of synagogue members has got to work. Just as exciting, at their first session, the new Kabbalat Torah class of 13 to 15-year-olds, discussing what they would like to focus on this year, said that they wanted to make ‘being an Eco Synagogue’ a regular weekly item in their sessions. At their second session, they decided that they wanted to create a newsletter and take on the task of monitoring the steps taken by the synagogue towards becoming a fully-fledged Eco Synagogue.

Clearly, we have an important task ahead as a congregation. Another initiative, championed by of one of our members, Benita Matofska, invites us to look beyond our community and work towards transforming how we live on this planet and how we connect with one another by generating a ‘sharing economy’. For the past couple of years, Benita has travelled all over the world meeting with people engaged in sharing projects. What she discovered is recorded in her wonderful book of testimonies and photographs, entirely made from recyclable materials, Generation Share, the proceeds of which are going to fund an amazing sharing project in a slum in Mumbai, India, where a young teenager has started a school for girls in her one-room home.^[11] A sharing economy is exactly that. Clothes can be shared – we hosted our first clothes-sharing event at the synagogue in the past year. Cars can be shared – a way of dramatically reducing the number of cars on the road and their toxic emissions. Just think of all those electrical items that you only use once or twice a week – hoovers, lawnmowers – they can all be shared between neighbours. And then, imagine what a difference sharing rather than, consuming and discarding could make to the planet.

We know that unless governments – including the British government – commit to acting now, climate change will become irreversible. We also know that we can’t wait for governments to act. We must act. What we do as individuals and communities can make a huge difference. Building a sharing economy is about sharing the world together in a sustainable way and creating connections across continents, regions, nations, cultures and communities, for the sake of the planet which is home to all of us. As we share this sacred day together, let us reflect on how we can draw positively on our personal needs for belonging and commit ourselves to connecting with one another and sharing and repairing our world.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue

Yom Kippur Shacharit 5780 – 9^th October 2019

1. Days of Awe. Forms of prayer for Jewish Worship, Volume 3. Prayers for the High Holy Days. RSGB, London, 1985, p. 156. ↑

2. Samson Raphael Hirsch (June 20, 1808 – December 31, 1888 formulated a philosophy he called Torah im derech eretz – ‘Torah with the way of the land’. In other words, a way of integrating Jewish observance with participating in the wider society. See: ‘Religion Allied to Progress’ in the Collected Writings of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, edited by Philip Feldheim (1996). ↑

3. Email: lamp@hopenothate Postal address: HOPE Not Hate Ltd, PO Box 61382, London, N19 9EQ. United Kingdom ↑

4. https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/27/us/active-shooter-pittsburgh-synagogue-shooting.html https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pittsburgh_synagogue_shooting ↑

5. https://interfaithcontactgroup.com/ ↑

6. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Militant_(Trotskyist_group) ↑

7. See for example: Israel. A Colonial-Settler State? by Maxime Rodinson (Pathfinder Press, 2002. First published in 1973). ↑

8. https://encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/antisemitism-in-history-racial-antisemitism-18751945 ↑

9. Theodore Herzl (2^nd May 1860 – 3^rd July 1904). Herzl’s Der Judenstaat (The State of the Jews) was published in 1896. The first Zionist Congress took place in Basel in 1897. ↑

10. https://ecosynagogue.org/ ↑

11. https://www.thepeoplewhoshare.com/generation-share

    Generation Share. The changemakers building the Sharing Economy by Benita Matofska, with photographs by Sophie Sheinwald. Policy Press, University of Bristol and University of Chicago Press, 2019. ↑

We have arrived at the final long day of the aseret y’mei t’shuvah, the ‘ten days of returning’. It has become commonplace to use the metaphor of journeying. In the context of this most sacred season of the Jewish year, it is completely appropriate. We began nine days ago, summoned by the blasts of the shofar to wake up to our deeds of the past year, examine our lives and our relationships and resolve to make amends and return to the true path of our lives. And now we are here, in this sanctuary together. But we are not only here together. We are here as individuals. We have taken different journeys to reach this day – and now, we will accompany each other as we take our own journeys through the day.

The metaphor of the journey continues to resonate because we recognise that it has a depth of meaning very different from alternative words in the lexicon, like ‘travel’ or ‘transport’, both of which summon up thoughts of the practical aspects of getting from A to B. Think of people travelling on their daily commute, being transported by car or train; the experience of being on a journey completely undercut by the vagaries of traffic jams and signal failures. Do you remember the huge power cut on August 9^th that caused such chaos on the railway network?

By contrast, the journey of Yom Kippur held within the fragile frame of a single day is more profoundly, a journey into eternity beyond time. The day is orchestrated by a series of services, which gives the impression of a clear itinerary. But each service is more like a galaxy in the vast universe. We journey through light years in 25 hours – and yet all the while, the movement we make is entirely internal.

So, where are we going? For each of us, individually, in our own ways, the destination is the New Year and what we will make of it; what we will do with our lives; how we will contribute to the lives of others, to the society in which we live and to the world around us. The Jewish year is marked by sacred moments in time, but each of these moments is rooted in tangible material existence. Tomorrow morning, we will read from chapter 58 of the Book of Isaiah, and be reminded that the rituals of Yom Kippur are not an end in themselves:

Is not this the fast I look for: to release the shackles of injustice, to undo the fetters of bondage, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every cruel chain? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house? When you see the naked, to clothe them, never to hide yourself from your own kin?

We are called to act. And at this very moment in our lives and in the life of the world, we know that the future of Life itself is at stake. And so, to our other responsibilities – towards the persecuted and oppressed, the marginal and the vulnerable, the poor and destitute – we must add, our responsibilities towards all that lives on this planet, and to the very existence of planet Earth.

It may seem that the notion of our human responsibility for the planet reflects a contemporary pre-preoccupation, but in fact, it’s very old – certainly within Jewish teaching. We read in a collection of midrashim – rabbinic commentary – on the Book of Kohelet, Ecclesiastes, dated between the 6^th and 8^th centuries:^[1]

After creating the first human, the Holy One Who is Blessed, took them round all the trees of the garden, and said to them: ‘See how lovely and excellent my works are; I have created them all for you. Take care not to spoil and destroy My world, for if you spoil it there will be no one to repair it after you.’

In his commentary on Psalm 115, verse 6, the 12^th century mediaeval Spanish biblical commentator, Abraham Ibn Ezra, but the challenge more positively:^[2]

‘The heavens belong to the Eternal One, but God has given the earth to humankind.’ This means that we are like God’s stewards on earth, charged to exercise responsibility in God’s name for all that exists.

Ibn Ezra’s comment reflects his understanding of the creation narratives in the Torah. In the first creation story, human beings created on the ‘sixth day’ are presented as the pinnacle of creation, with a licence to exercise ‘dominion’ over all the other creatures of the earth.^[3] In the second narrative by contrast, absolute mastery is circumscribed and transformed into guardianship.^[4] We read:^[5]

The Eternal God formed the human [ha-adam] – dust from the ground [‘afar min-ha-adamah] – and breathed into its nostrils the breath of life [nishmat chayyim], so the human became a living being [nefesh chayyah] / ………. The Eternal God took the human [ha-adam], placing (the human) in the garden of Eden to serve it and to keep it [l’ovdah u’l’shomrah].’

To serve it and to keep it – l’ovdah u’l’shomrah. Let’s ponder for a moment on that pairing. In a sense, since the development of agriculture 10,000 years ago, humans have worked the earth to death, clearing forests to make way for animal husbandry and the planting of crops. And now, biodiversity that is so essential to the well-being of the planet is threatened further by mass cultivation – in particular, the planting of single crops. But have we ‘served’ the earth? Most of us have only recently become aware of how many different products – including, non-food products – contain palm oil as we’ve learnt of huge areas of forest across the globe being replaced by oil palm trees.^[6] So, it’s not enough to work the earth, we must also serve the earth and take seriously our responsibility for ‘keeping’ it – for maintaining, guarding and protecting it.

As it happens, the responsibility for planting trees is central to Jewish teaching. We read in a 3^rd century collection of rabbinic wisdom called Avot d’Rabbi Natan:^[7]

If you hold a sapling, ready for planting, in your hand, and they tell you, ‘The Messiah has come!’, Go ahead and plant a sapling, and then go to greet the Messiah.

For the early rabbis, the coming of the Messiah would herald in the future time of peace. This teaching from Avot d’Rabbi Natan reminds us rather that we must continue the task of planting every day because we are responsible for creating the future. A story in the collection of midrashim, Va-yikra (Leviticus) Rabbah, edited between the 5^th and 7^th centuries, underlines the imperative of tree-planting for the sake of tomorrow:^[8]

Once, when the Roman Emperor Hadrian was walking along one of the paths that lead to Tiberius, he saw an old man digging trenches to plant saplings of fig trees. ‘How old are you?’ The Emperor asked him, and he answered; ‘A hundred years.’ ‘You are a hundred years old’, said Hadrian, ‘yet you are digging trenches to plant saplings of fig trees! Do ever hope to eat of them?’ Then the old man replied: ‘If I’m worthy I shall eat; but even if not – as my ancestors worked for my benefit, so I will work for the benefit of my children.

We will recall the despotic tyranny of Emperor Hadrian during the Yom Kippur Musaf, ‘additional’ service, when we will remember the rabbinic leaders murdered by the Romans following the crushing of the Bar Kochba revolt against Rome in the year 135 CE. In that context, the plucky determination of this centenarian planter of fig-trees takes on even more significance.

The importance of tree-planting for the early rabbis is also reflected in halakhah, Jewish law. The very first paragraph of the tractate Rosh Ha-Shanah in the Mishnah,^[9] the first rabbinic code of law edited around the year 200 CE, mentions the New Year for Trees – Rosh Ha-Shanah l’Ilanot – alongside other New Years, including the new year for the festivals commencing with the first month of the Jewish year, Nisan, and the New Year for years on the first day of Tishri. The passage references a debate between the Schools of Shammai and Hillel about the actual date of the New Year for Trees. According to the School of Shammai, it should it be the 1^st of Sh’vat. The School of Hillel preferred the 15^th. As with many debates recorded in the Mishnah, the ruling of Hillel prevailed – hence: Tu Bishvat; the 15^th day of the month of Sh’vat.

Tu Bishvat: a date in the Jewish calendar, celebrated each year with the planting of trees – and, since the 16^th century, following the practice of the students of the great teacher of Kabbalah, Jewish mysticism, Isaac Luria, with the additional practice of a Seder to celebrate the fruits of the land.^[10] So, as we witness the horror of mass deforestation, we have a ready-made festival to spur us on as we consider our responsibility to plant trees on a massive scale. A few weeks ago, one of my God-Sons, Elliot Cohen-Gold, contacted me, asking me to support a new project he had initiated with his older brother, Aaron, to plant one million trees by Tu Bishvat, which will fall this year on 9^th February 2020. On their crowdfunding site, they explain the rationale behind the project:^[11]

– Reforestation has been identified as the #1 most effective and affordable solution for climate mitigation in a peer-reviewed study by scientists in over 15 institutions around the world.

– Trees clean the air we breathe and the water we drink. They also contribute to a stable climate and overall health, support wildlife and biodiversity, and provide a positive social impact.

– Deforestation has increased dramatically around the world. In 2017 alone, the Earth lost 40 football fields worth of forests every SECOND – due to logging, mining, cattle grazing, forest fires, and poor forest management practices. We can’t undo all of that, but we can help in the work of restoration.

– We love trees! They are the pillars of our outdoor adventures, fill us with inspiration, and create stunning landscapes we want to enjoy for many years to come.

As I mentioned in my Rosh Ha-Shanah morning sermon, young people are leading the way as we confront the threat of irreversible climate change and environmental catastrophe. So, I urge you to join the campaign to plant one million trees by Tu Bishvat. You can also make a contribution to planting trees by switching from Google to Ecosia, an Internet search-engine based in Berlin, Germany that donates 80% or more of its profits to non-profit organisations that focus on reforestation.^[12] When I looked on the site as I was writing this sermon last week, the number of trees planted was 69,442,008 – and rising every half second.

Planting trees is essential. Hopefully, this day out of the routine of our daily lives will give us the perspective we need to prioritise our responsibility for the planet. This year marks the 50^th anniversary of Woodstock, the music festival held from August 15-18, 1969 at a dairy farm in Bethel, New York state, 43 miles south-west of Woodstock. Taking place at the height of resistance to the Vietnam War, the festival was billed as ‘An Aquarian Exposition: 3 Days of Peace & Music.’^[13] To mark the anniversary, BBC 4 screened a documentary, entitled, ‘Woodstock – Three days that Defined a Generation.’^[14] The documentary revealed how many Jews were involved in setting up the festival – and also that Yasgur’s farm was owned and run by Jewish dairy-farming couple, Max and Miriam Yasgur. Half a million revellers descended on the farm, and when the food ran out, locals raided their fridges and larders to feed the young people. And then, on Sunday morning, the Yasgurs supplied milk, so everyone had porridge. Max Yasgur also addressed the crowd saying how good it was that young people had come together for music and to enjoy themselves.

Those three days on Yasgur’s Farm that brought hundreds of thousands of young people out of cities and towns and into the countryside were much more than an anti-war protest. I remember going to see the film of the festival in the early 1970s with my mum, brother and sister. I’ll never forget the performances of Joe Cocker and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. But there were a few conspicuous absences in the line-up – several acts simply couldn’t get there because of the roads blocked with cars. One of the performers, who didn’t make it was Joni Mitchell. Watching the festival on TV, she was inspired to write a song, which she premiered a few months later at a concert in Worcester Massachusetts on December 12^th. Joni Mitchell’s song, ‘Woodstock’, captures an essential element of what drew 500,000 young people ‘to camp out on the land’. As the chorus puts it: ‘We are stardust / We are golden / And we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.’^[15]

‘We’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.’ But not ‘back’, exactly. We cannot go back – we can only go forwards. And we must act now. We must take responsibility for our unique task as humans to be the guardians of the Earth. I would like to close by inviting you to sing ‘Woodstock’ with me.^[16] May the lyrics and our voices lifted in song, inspire us to liberate ourselves from ‘the devil’s bargain’ and do everything in our power to repair the world. And let us say: Amen.

I came upon a child of God

He was walking along the road

And I asked him where are you going

And this he told me

I’m going on down to Yasgur’s farm

I’m going to join in a rock ‘n’ roll band

I’m going to camp out on the land

I’m going to try an’ get my soul free 

We are stardust

We are golden

And we’ve got to get ourselves

Back to the garden

Then can I walk beside you

I have come here to lose the smog

And I feel to be a cog in something turning

Well maybe it is just the time of year

Or maybe it’s the time of man

I don’t know who I am

But you know life is for learning

We are stardust

We are golden

And we’ve got to get ourselves

Back to the garden

By the time we got to Woodstock

We were half a million strong

And everywhere there was song and celebration

And I dreamed I saw the bombers

Riding shotgun in the sky

And they were turning into butterflies

Above our nation

We are stardust

Billion year old carbon

We are golden

Caught in the devil’s bargain

And we’ve got to get ourselves

back to the garden

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue

Erev Yom Kippur 5780 –8^th October 2019

1. Kohelet (Ecclesiastes) Rabbah 7:13. ↑

2. Abraham Ibn Ezra (1089-1164, Spain). ↑

3. B’reishit, Genesis 1:26-30. ↑

4. For an examination of the two creation stories, see chapter 1 of my book, Trouble-Making Judaism (David Paul Books, 2012) ↑

5. Gen. 2: 7; 15. ↑

6. https://www.iucn.org/resources/issues-briefs/palm-oil-and-biodiversity ↑

7. Avot d’Rabbi Natan version B, chapter 31 (3^rd century CE). This text is similar to Pirkei Avot, the ‘Chapters of the Sages’ appended to the Mishnah (3^rd century CE). ↑

8. Va-yikra (Leviticus) Rabbah 25:5. ↑

9. Mishnah Rosh Ha-Shanah 1:1 (3^rd century CE). ↑

10. https://jewcology.org/resources/what-is-the-tu-b-shvat-seder/

    Isaac ben Solomon Luria Ashkenazi (1534 – 25th July 1572). Known as Ha-Ari, meaning, ‘The Lion’. See: Physician of the Soul, Healer of the Cosmos: Isaac Luria and his Kabbalistic Fellowship (Stanford University, CA, 2003.

    https://jewcology.org/resources/what-is-the-tu-b-shvat-seder/ ↑

11. https://www.classy.org/team/250434 ↑

12. https://www.ecosia.org/ ↑

13. https://www.woodstock.com/ ↑

14. 16^th August. https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m0007n24 ↑

15. https://jonimitchell.com/music/song.cfm?id=75 ↑

16. ‘Woodstock’ by Joni Mitchell © 1969; Siquomb Publishing Company. ↑

During the past year, there has been much to cause us dismay – even despair – from the ongoing Brexit shenanigans through our growing awareness of the threat of environmental catastrophe. But there have been signs of hope, too. Hope has come in the form of young people taking to the streets to demand action, determined to ensure their future and the future of the planet. 16-year-old Greta Thunberg showed us that, as the title of her collection of speeches puts it, ‘No One is Too Small to Make a Difference’.^[1] And she has made a difference already to our sense of responsibility. Greta Thunberg has spoken to all of us and for all of us with a single clear message: We must act now.

Greta Thunberg and those young people abandoning their classrooms for the streets have been our leaders over the past year – leading the way. And yet, look at how we continue to treat children: the ongoing stories of sexual and physical abuse, including within the family, of female genital mutilation and forced marriages, of child labourers and sex-trafficked teenagers.

There are many complex reasons why many children still endure unbearable suffering, even in an enlightened society, like Britain. Significantly, the two Torah portions set aside for reading on Rosh Ha-Shanah, both tell tales of the powerlessness of children and their suffering. There are two portions because, according to the rabbinic calendar, Rosh Ha-Shanah is observed for two days. So, traditionally, Genesis chapter 21 is read on first day Rosh Ha-Shanah and Genesis chapter 22 is read on the second day. Liberal Judaism only observes one day, but as the machzor, the High Holy Day prayer book indicates, Liberal congregations can choose which portion to read. Here at BHPS, we read them in alternate years. This year, it’s the turn of Genesis 21.

So, what we find in Genesis 21 and 22 and why are these chapters read on Rosh Ha-Shanah? I will begin by responding to the second part of the question. The rabbinic calendar assigns Genesis 21 to the first day because it begins with the birth of Isaac, Sarah’s son with Abraham. Genesis 22 follows on the second day because it focuses on how Abraham’s faith in God was tested when the Eternal told him to sacrifice Isaac – and he passed the test by proving that he was prepared to do it.

But Genesis 21 is not just about Isaac. We read that after Isaac was weaned Sarah, concerned to ensure that Isaac was not displaced by his older brother, Ishmael, urged Abraham to expel Ishmael and his mother, Hagar from the household. Abraham was not happy about it, but he did do it.^[2] And Genesis 22 is not just about Abraham. Isaac had already lost his older brother. How did he feel as he walked alongside his father to the place of sacrifice?^[3] Did he trust that his father would not offer him up to his God? These succeeding chapters in the saga of the first family of the Jewish people – incidentally, also the first family for Muslims and Christians – are terrible and terrifying tales. In both, parents make decisions that have a devastating impact on their children and change their lives forever. Ishmael lost his father and his brother. Isaac lost himself. That’s what subsequent stories about him seem to suggest. Why else was Isaac found wandering in a field at twilight when Rebekah arrived to become his wife?^[4] Why else, having been comforted for the death of his mother by Rebekah’s presence^[5], did he favour his venison-hunting son, Esau, who comforted him with his stews,^[6] and then fail to recognise that Jacob was impersonating his twin when the time arrived for Isaac to give Esau the blessing due to the firstborn?^[7] The text tells us that Isaac was old and his eyes were dim^[8], but it seems that the light went out of his life years earlier when bound on the altar, his father raised his knife ready to kill him.

Tales from the distant past. And yet, children are still thrown out by their parents, children are still subjected to their parents’ absolutist religious convictions. So, is there anything we can learn from the Torah portions set aside for reading on Rosh Ha-Shanah? After all, surely, at the very least, they offer negative lessons in how not to parent.

Let’s begin with that – those negative lessons. A family is experiencing unbearable strain because it is a composite family, involving ‘step’ parents and children. How might the tensions be resolved? Perhaps, as with Ishmael and Isaac, separation is seen as necessary? But who thinks this is the answer? The parents or the children? How would we know – unless the children are consulted. So, what do the children want? Maybe they want different things. But maybe, like Ishmael and Isaac, they have developed a relationship and want to stay together. The point at which Sarah tells Abraham to throw out ‘the slave woman and her son’ because ‘the son of that slave woman is not going to share in the inheritance with my son Isaac’, is when she sees Ishmael ‘playing’ – m’tzacheik.^[9] The verb m’tzacheik is an intensive form of the Hebrew root Tzadi Cheit Kuf to ‘laugh’ which is the meaning of Isaac’s name, Yitzchak, ‘he shall laugh’. What a tragic irony that just when, having been weaned, Isaac could enjoy ‘playing’ with his older brother, Ishmael was expelled, and Isaac was robbed of his laughter.

And what of the second family scenario? A devout man is consumed with his religious convictions to the extent that he is prepared to sacrifice his son to prove his faith in God. We might think that this is very rare. But how many people – in particular, men – are so certain of their political and/or religious beliefs that they will sacrifice their children to ‘the cause’? They might not actually kill them, but they will ensure that the lives of their children are utterly subjected. There are obvious examples: family life amongst religious fundamentalists of all persuasions; family life amongst political radicals and revolutionaries. And there are less-extreme versions of these families, that are nevertheless pernicious. When families demonstrate outside primary schools because they object to their children learning about diverse family structures, including those where the parents are two women or two men.^[10] When families insist on sending their children to denominational schools that teach ‘Creationism’ – the belief that the world was created in six days – and only focus on the teachings and values of their particular faith.^[11] How can one help children in these situations, when their parents have total control over their lives?

Good parenting begins with putting children and their needs first. In fact, in every setting where children are involved – a school, a congregation – for them to thrive, acknowledging and responding to their needs must be our primary concern.

In the past year, an unprecedented number of young people have celebrated their b’nei mitzvah at the synagogue – nine individuals in all. And I’m using the word ‘individuals’ deliberately. The sacred rites associated with becoming b’nei mitzvah may be the same for everyone, but each individual approaches this milestone in their lives completely differently and, importantly, we celebrate each individual as an individual, not as part of a group. In the past year, as we prepared to update our ‘Rough Guide’ to b’nei mitzvah for parents, the education committee made the decision – endorsed by the synagogue council – to include b’ mitzvah as a gender neutral option alongside bar mitzvah and bat mitzvah, so that each young person would know that we were treating them as an individual.

But expanding language is not enough. And so, each individual who goes on the journey towards becoming b’nei mitzvah is empowered to choose which section of the weekly Torah portion they wish to study and is enabled to learn and explore for themselves – both the portion, and what it means for them to be Jewish, to celebrate their b’nei mitzvah, to be part of the synagogue, to leave their childhood behind and to think about embarking on the journey towards adulthood. It is always very heart-warming to find out what young people at the end of their b’nei mitzvah journey feel they want to do in the future to make the world a better place. I could quote from every single b’nei mitzvah student who has addressed that question during the almost 19 years since I became the congregation’s rabbi. But lack of time permits me to quote from just one young person, so here’s what the first b’nei mitzvah student of the year, Leah Churchill, had to say in preparation for celebrating her bat mitzvah almost a year ago on 6^th October 2018, when she read from the first portion of the Torah, B’reishit:

I really care about justice, equality and fairness. I hope that I can contribute to making the world a better place to live in for everyone. I also think consideration for the environment and how we use – and damage – the world is something that’s becoming a more and more vital to think about. I want to join the efforts to make thinking about the environment a part of daily life, so that we connect that we all have a direct impact on the world, and therefore a clear responsibility.

I am grateful to all our young people for their thoughtfulness and commitment. One of the assumptions of traditional societies is that increasing age is associated with wisdom. Of course, it’s important to value older people – particularly, after they cease to be productive members of the society. But it is also essential that we recognise the gifts of young people. They may lack experience, but if enabled to develop their potential, lacking the experience of being worn down by life, their uncontaminated sense of justice and uncomplicated integrity can be a powerful force for good. We have seen this during the past year. We have heard the powerful voice of justice and integrity expressed by Greta Thunberg speaking into the ears of the powerful and articulating the demands of the young, as she addressed numerous fora, including the Climate March in Stockholm on 8^th September 2018, the UN Climate Change conference in Katowice in Poland on 15^th December, the World Economic Forum in Davos on 22^nd and 25^th January 2019,^[12] and most recently, the General Assembly of the United Nations, just last week.^[13] Let’s hear her plea to the adults of the world on behalf of the world’s children, a plea that shines with the clear-eyed perspective of a 16-year-old – the closing words of her address to the UK Houses of Parliament on 23^rd April:^[14]

We children are not sacrificing our education and our childhood for you to tell us what you consider is politically possible in a society that you have created. We have not taken to the streets for you to take selfies with us and tell us you really admire what we do.

We children are doing this to wake the adults up. We children are doing this for you to put your differences aside and start acting as you would in a crisis. We children are doing this because we want our hopes and our dreams back.

The impending climate catastrophe apart, so many children increasingly come of age with little prospect of a worthwhile job and decent housing. We must put their needs first. As we read in the Prophet Joel^[15]: ‘Your old shall dream dreams, your young shall see visions’. ‘The old’ tend to ‘dream dreams’ of the past. Surely, the time has come to confront the global mess we are in and set on repairing the world, so that instead of being overwhelmed by visions of doom, the young can be free to generate much-needed visions of hope. And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue

Rosh Ha-Shanah Shacharit 5780 – 30^th September 2019

1. Penguin Random House, UK, 2019 ↑

2. Va-yeira, Genesis 21:9-11. ↑

3. Ibid. Gen. 22: 6, 8. ↑

4. Chayyei Sarah, Gen. 24:64-65. ↑

5. Ibid. 24:67. ↑

6. Tol’dot, Genesis 25:28. ↑

7. Ibid. 27:18-29. ↑

8. Ibid. 27:14. ↑

9. Va-yeira, Gen. 21:9-10. ↑

10. https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2019/may/26/birmingham-anderton-park-primary-muslim-protests-lgbt-teaching-rights ↑

11. https://www.theguardian.com/education/2012/jul/17/creationist-groups-approval-free-schools ↑

12. The book of Greta Thunberg’s speeches, No One is Too Small to Make a Difference, also includes addresses to Extinction Rebellion’s ‘Declaration of Rebellion’ in Parliament Square in London on 31^st October, the European Economic and Social committee on Civil society for reEUnaissance in Brussels on 21^st February, the Goldene Kamera Film and TV Awards in Berlin on 30^th March, the European Parliament in Strasbourg on 16^th April, the Extinction Rebellion rally at Marble Arch in London on 23^rd April and the UK Houses of Parliament also on the same day. ↑

13. https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2019/sep/23/greta-thunberg-speech-un-2019-address https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pXywZ8mLaRY ↑

14. See No One is Too Small to Make a Difference, pp. 67-68. ↑

15. 3:1b ↑

As the sun set this evening, the Hebrew year ended – and also a decade came to a close: the 5770s. This evening, a new decade begins with the year 5780. As many of us are aware, the Hebrew year date reflects the chronology in the Torah going back to Creation. We know that the world wasn’t created 5780 years ago, but the date reminds us to consider the world, this planet Earth.

In Hebrew, the date is represented by Hebrew consonants. The consonant for ‘80’ is the 17^th letter of the 22-letter Hebrew alphabet: a Peh. Interestingly, Peh also means ‘mouth’. If you look at the letter Peh you will see that it looks like the profile of a face, with a nose and a mouth and a dagesh; a ‘dot’ for an eye.

Thinking of the decade of the 70s that has just ended, the consonant for ‘70’ is an Ayin, which means ‘eye’. So, from an ‘eye’ decade to a ‘mouth’ decade. Before I say more about that, let’s stay for a moment with Peh, the mouth – because the mouth is the most essential practical feature of our bodies – and not just for our human bodies. For babies, human and animal alike, life begins with our mouths; our wide-open mouths: crying out as we come into this world, then sucking hard on the breast for nourishment. And this is true, even for babies that are born blind or deaf and who grow up unable to speak.

The fact that 70 is represented by the letter Ayin, meaning, ‘eye’, and 80 is represented by the letter Peh, meaning ‘mouth’ is not significant in itself. But human beings are meaning-makers, and the change of decade invites us to make meaning as we face the unknown future. And so, this evening as a new year and a new decade begins, I would like to invite us to reflect on the Ayin and the Peh.

Let’s begin with the Ayin, with the eye and what it beholds. A decade ago, in my Rosh Ha-Shanah morning sermon for 5770, on 19 September 2009, I spoke about visiting the Eden Project in Cornwall and what I saw there. Already, ten years ago – and long before that – scientists had seen the extent of climate change and the impact on the planet. The Eden Project and other similar initiatives urged us to see, too: to open our eyes. Since then, surely, we have had a surfeit of seeing. We have watched news reports of extreme weather events around the globe – including, in this country, where just this past July, the UK recorded its hottest day since records began, and there were also flash floods across northern England, where a reservoir dam was even damaged, causing a widespread evacuation.^[1] We have watched David Attenborough’s ‘Blue Planet’ documentaries and seen the plastic waste polluting the oceans and killing the fish. And then, we have gone to the supermarket, and seen, as if for the first time, our shopping trolley pileup with items wrapped in plastic.

What more do we need to see before we are convinced of the need for change? Eighty years ago, a new century in the Hebrew calendar dawned at Rosh Ha-Shanah: 5700 – less than two weeks after the Second World War broke out.^[2] What haven’t people witnessed during the past 80 years? The loss of life and utter devastation caused by that war. The murder of one third of the world Jewish population and the destruction of tens of thousands of Jewish communities in the course of a few short years. Stalin’s purges and Pol Pot’s massacres. Biafra. Bosnia. Rwanda. Each place a watchword for unfathomable horrors. War after war. Genocide after genocide. Terrorism gone global. Meanwhile, the relentless exploitation and despoliation of the planet.

So now: 5780. The decade of Peh, the mouth. As for some of the other letters of the Hebrew alphabet, Peh has a final form, used at the end of a word.^[3] This final form is known as sophit meaning ‘end’. Will the decade of Peh mark the beginning of the end? This past year, the climate scientists gave us just twelve years to take radical action to reduce our impact on the planet before climate change becomes irreversible.^[4]

It’s hard not to feel overwhelmed. We can feel helpless. Powerless. And yet, we have power; a power within us, imperceptible and yet strong. We can begin to acknowledge that power by pausing and breathing; breathing slowly and deeply, so that we are aware of nishmat chayyim, the breath of life within us that fills our mouths. We read in Psalm 81 (:10):

I am the Eternal your God Who lifted you out of Egypt. Widen your mouth and I will fill it.

In parashat Yitro, the Torah portion that includes the Revelation at Mount Sinai, we are presented in Exodus 19 with a captivating image of the Eternal lifting the Israelites out of Egypt on Eagle’s wings.^[5] But what of the concluding phrase of this verse: ‘Widen your mouth and I will fill it’? I mentioned a few moments earlier the wide-open mouths of babies. Maybe, some of us long to be babies again; well- cared-for babies with mouths open wide to receive nourishment. As it is, as we enter the decade of Peh, the ‘mouth’, we find ourselves in a world where ranting populist leaders would fill our mouths with their malevolence. What is worse: President Trump spewing his stupidities, or hearing the crowds he incites roaring their hatred in unison? Trumped-up narcissistic leaders who exploit their power are bad enough. What’s going on when people avidly drink in their falsehoods, with mouths open wide to receive the venom and spread the poison? The era of ‘fake news’ is a time when lying has become a vicious virtue, toxic and all-pervading. Even the visual evidence – like the paltry attendance at Presidents Trump’s inauguration in January 2017 – can be annihilated by lies. And, of course, we don’t have to look across the pond. We have our own tamer version right here in the ongoing Brexit fiasco. Lies. Lies. And more lies. The country is split, and each side demonises the other. Meanwhile, an Eton and Oxford-educated egoist, fond of spouting classical allusions, spins his fantasies of reclaimed sovereignty and future greatness, and people desperate to be revived and find new hope gulp up the dubiously concocted cocktail.

So, what to do? Like the Israelites who cried out from their bondage, let us widen our mouths to protest fake news and xenophobia and the destruction of our beautiful blue planet. But more than this, let us ensure that our cry of despair becomes a call to action. This past Shabbat, the Torah portion was Nitzavim. Nitzavim begins at Deuteronomy chapter 29, verse 9 with the remaking of the covenant with the descendants of the slaves at the end of the forty years of wilderness wandering. It includes this marvellous passage, which we will read again on Yom Kippur (30:11-14):

For this commandment, which I command you today is not too wonderful for you, nor too remote. / It is not in heaven that you need to say: ‘Who will go up to heaven for us, and fetch it for us, that we may hear it and do it?’ / Neither is it across the sea that you need to say: ‘Who will cross the sea for us and fetch it for us, that we may hear it and do it?’ For the matter is very near you, in your mouth and in your heart to do it – ki-karov eilecha ha-davar m’od; b’ficha u’vilva’vcha la’asoto.

The matter is very near to us in our mouths and in our hearts to do it. But before we consider what we must do, let us pause for a moment to reflect on the perspective offered to us in this evocative passage: the perspective from heaven and from across the sea. Hinneinu – here we are in this synagogue, in this city, on this island between heaven and sea. All life came from the sea and now, incrementally, we are destroying life in the sea. We inhabit a planet that revolves around a sun in a solar system that is a tiny particle in a galaxy that is an infinitesimally small speck in the vast universe. July marked the 50^th anniversary of the moon-landing that culminated in Apollo 11 Commander Neil Armstrong and Lunar Module pilot, Buzz Aldrin walking on the moon on 21 July 1969 and collecting 47.5 pounds of lunar material to bring back to earth.^[6]

Maybe, one day, scientists will build bases on the moon out of moon-dust and launch rockets from the moon to Mars and settle there, too. But the solutions to our problems here on Earth do not lie out there. Again: ‘The matter is very near to you, in your mouth and in your heart to do it.’

And we can do it. If we work together. Let me quote from another Psalm – Psalm 90, verse 10;

The years of our life are seventy, or even with strength, eighty; yet their span is toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away.

What are we alive for, if not to struggle to make the brief span of our lives as meaningful and worthwhile as possible – for own sakes and for the sake of our precious planet? A passage on the human lifespan in Pirkei Avot, the Chapters of the Sages, appended to the Mishnah, quoting this verse, identifies eighty as the year of ‘strength’ – g’vurah.^[7] An individual needs strength to live to eighty and to live beyond eighty. In this year of 5780, in the decade of Peh – the mouth – that lies ahead, may we all find the strength, individually and collectively, to speak out and take action to repair our broken world. And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue – Adat Shalom Verei’ut

Erev Rosh Ha-Shanah 5780 – 29^th September 2019

1. https://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/home-news/whaley-bridge-dam-collapse-flooding-live-toodbrook-reservoir-weather-evacuation-a9033146.html ↑

2. Erev Rosh Ha-Shanah in 1939 was on 14 September. WWII began on 3 September. ↑

3. The other Hebrew consonants that have a form used at the end of the word are: Kaf, Mem, Nun and Tzadi. ↑

4. https://www.vox.com/2018/10/8/17948832/climate-change-global-warming-un-ipcc-report

   http://www.blue-growth.org/Climate_Change.htm

   https://www.theccc.org.uk/tackling-climate-change/the-science-of-climate-change/ ↑

5. Exodus 19:4. ↑

6. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apollo_11 ↑

7. Pirkei Avot 5:24. The Mishnah was edited around the year 200 CE. ↑