March 1144 and 2019

MARCH 1144 AND 2019 by Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah, SJN, March 2019

Purim begins this year on evening of 20th March. As most of us are aware, this minor postbiblical festival celebrates a victory against anti-Semitism and the scheme of a demagogue, intent on destroying the Jewish minority scattered throughout the vast empire of King Achashveirosh.

There is no external evidence that the particular events described ever happened. Indeed, the Book of Esther reads like a classical ‘once upon a time’ fairy tale. Nevertheless, the story resonates with the reality of the vulnerability of Jewish existence in the diaspora over millennia. And for generations of Jews the happy ending was welcome respite. What fun to get drunk and revel in a revenge fantasy in which the Jewish heroes turn the tables on their enemies.

And then, a real-life Haman arose in the form of Adolf Hitler. The ‘Thousand-Year Reich’ was defeated after twelve years; but not before six million Jews had been murdered and tens of thousands of Jewish communities destroyed across the continent of Europe. No happy ending for Jewish life in that particular diaspora.

Here in Britain, we were at one remove from the horror. Thanks to a narrow strip of water and the courage of British airmen, Hitler did not reach these shores. Yet, Britain, too, has a hinterland of anti-Jewish persecution, fuelled by familiar anti-Semitic tropes about Jewish power. Just a day after Purim this year, it will be the anniversary of the first ritual murder libel, which took place at Norwich 875 years ago in 1144. The historian Cecil Roth wrote: “A boy of 12 or 13, named William, apprenticed to a skinner at Norwich, was found dead on Easter Eve in a wood near the city. According to a story afterwards recounted, he had been enticed away by the Jews on the previous Monday and was crucified by them in a mockery of the Passion after their service in the synagogue, on Wednesday, the second day of the Passover (March 22nd, 1144). This was the first instance in Europe of the infamous Ritual Murder accusation …. In this case the essential element of the Blood accusation was lacking, as no suggestion was made the blood was used in the manufacture of the Unleavened Bread or for other ritual purposes” (The Jewish Book of Days, pp. 70-71). Roth also wrote of these accusations continuing ‘down to the present day’. The book was published by Edward Goldston Ltd of London in 1931… Did Roth have any idea of what was to follow? And would he have believed that anti-Semitism would continue to be a menace in ‘the present day’ of March 2019?

Choosing Jewish Life: A Commentary on Va-eira – LJ e-bulletin – January 2019

Jewish life is thriving. Jewish life is diminishing. The facts vary from place to place and depend on your perspective and experience – and on whether you measure Jewish life by narrow Jewish status definitions, or acknowledge that Jewish life comes in many different guises.

Jewish life in all its forms is rooted in a commitment to live as Jews, wherever we reside; a commitment that is expressed in myriad ways that encompass a spectrum of religious affiliations and multi-various secular, humanist and cultural expressions.

So, what nourishes this commitment that takes so many different forms? There will be as many answers to this question as there are Jews – in fact, there will be more answers than there are Jews – let’s not forget, ‘two Jews, three opinions’ ….

My answer is two-fold. Commitment to Jewish life is nourished by the ethical values first articulated in the Torah about the primacy of justice, equity, compassion and love in the social structure and in our dealings with one another. It is also nourished by the powerful Jewish story that began with our ancestors, Abraham and Sarah, who chose to leave their land, their kindred and their home to go on a journey towards new horizons (Lech L’cha, Genesis 12:1-5)

We are a journeying people. Our oldest name, Ivrim, ‘Hebrews’, is based on the Hebrew root letters, Ayin Beit Reish, to cross over. We are a people always on the move; forever crossing borders.

The journey that began with our ancestors and the promise of a wondrous future for their descendants is interrupted by the descent into slavery. Significantly, that chapter of the Jewish story doesn’t dwell on the hundreds of years spent in servitude, but rather focuses on the great liberation, the Exodus from Egypt and the journey that followed; a liberation orchestrated by an all-powerful God, who lifted Israel out of Egypt on Eagle’s wings (Exodus 19: 4).

This week’s Torah portion, Va-eira opens with a forthright statement about God’s intention to liberate the descendants of the ancestors. The immediate setting is the encounter between the Eternal and Moses at the burning bush, which concludes the preceding parashah, the first portion of the Book of Exodus/Sh’mot. The promise to liberate the slaves is expressed in four phrases, later commemorated, in turn, by each of the four cups of wine at the Pesach Seder (Mishnah Pesachim 10:1). We read (Exodus 6: 6-7a):

And I will bring you out from under the burdens of Egypt;

and I will deliver you from their bondage;

and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great judgements;

and I will take you as My people.

Note that the Eternal One is presented with these majestic words as a great Liberator acting on the liberated, who are to play no part in their liberation. Note also that the four promises of redemption end at verse 7a, with, ‘and I will take you as My people’. The second half of the verse is not included in the four promises of redemption. This is because although it is expressed as an action of God, it isn’t. We read: ‘And I will be to you for a God’ (6:7b) – v’hayyiti lachem leilohim. The assertion of the repeated, ‘I will…’ formula sounds awkward here – and it is misleading. A more straightforward formulation would be: ‘And you will take Me for your God’ – V’lakachta Oti leilohim.

So, there is a crucial contingent element in the process of the Eternal One’s liberation of the slaves. If the liberated had not consented to be God’s people, that would have been the end of the story of the Jewish people. As it was, when Moses returned to Egypt with the message of Divine liberation, the slaves weren’t impressed. We read (6:9b): ‘But they would not listen to Moses because of shortness of spirit – kotzer ru’ach – and because of hard bondage.’

The slaves needed some convincing. In the end, the plagues did their job of persuading them, and so we find at the end of parashat Mishpatim which concludes the Sinai chapter of the story, that the rabble of ex-slaves, encompassing the erev rav, ‘the mixed multitude’ (Bo, Exodus 12:38) along with the descendants of Jacob/Israel, consented to the covenant with God. We read: ‘He [Moses] took the book of the covenant, and read it in the hearing of the people; and they said: ‘All that the Eternal has spoken, we will do and we will listen’ – na’aseh v’nishma, (Ex. 24:7).

The Book of Deuteronomy records that at the end of the forty years of wandering in the wilderness, the descendants of the slaves consented to the covenant (Nitzavim, Deuteronomy 29: 9 -14). After the exiles returned from Babylon, the Book of Nehemiah records that all the people gathered together in Jerusalem in the seventh month to hear the Ezra read ‘the book of the teaching of Moses’ (Seifer Torat Moshe) from early morning until midday. He then blessed the people who responded with the words, ‘Amen, Amen’ (7:73b-8).

Throughout the ages, the continuation of the Jewish story has depended on a reassertion of communal consent in every generation. In the modern era, with the exception of the ultraorthodox, most Jews live lives liberated from the shackles of authoritarian communal control. And so, the consent that keeps the Jewish story going has devolved upon individuals. Liberal Judaism emphasises the principle of ‘informed choice’. Nevertheless, by definition, the power to choose Jewish life is also the power to choose not to live a Jewish life. Today and into the future, the choices made by individuals will largely determine whether or not the Jewish story continues.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue

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REMEMBERING LILY MONTAGU, Z”L | SJN, January 2019

January is generally a dreary month in the northern hemisphere. And yet, set at the heart of winter, January also ushers in new beginnings. Across the world, the Jewish people marks Tu Bishvat, the 15th day of the month of Sh’vat with the New Year for Trees – Rosh Ha-Shanah La-Ilanot – as in Israel, the almond blossom appears on the trees. This year, Tu Bishvat falls on Sunday, 20th January. And then, a week later, on National Holocaust Memorial Day, we will recall the liberation of Auschwitz by the Red Army on 27th January 1945, which marked the beginning of the end of the Sho’ah.

In late December, I was conscious of a much less familiar date: the 145th anniversary of the birth of Lily Montagu, one of the three founders of Liberal Judaism, who was born on 22nd December 1873. Lily Montagu died in 1963, at the age of 89, and between Tu Bishvat and National Holocaust Memorial Day, on 22nd January, it will be her yahrzeit.

Limitation of space allows me to share just a few key highlights from her life. At the age of 20, together with her elder sister Marion (1868-1965), and their cousin, Beatrice Franklin (1871-1959), who later married Herbert Samuel (1870-1963), Lily Montagu founded the West Central Jewish Girls Club. The aim of the club was to give working-class Jewish girls the opportunity to develop themselves through classes, concerts and outings – and also through Shabbat services which she led. During this time, Lily also led services for children at the West Central Synagogue.

It was also during this time that Lily Montagu met the Jewish scholar, Claude Montefiore (1858-1938), whose vision of Liberal Judaism mirrored her own approach to living as a committed Jew in the modern world. In January 1899, she published an essay in the Jewish Quarterly Review, entitled, ‘Spiritual Possibilities of Judaism Today’, which encapsulated the worldview of Liberal Judaism. She wrote: “Together we must sift, with all reverence the pure from the impure in the laws which our ancestors formulated in order to satisfy the needs of the age…”

The commitment to respond positively to ‘the needs of the age’ became a cornerstone of Liberal Judaism, which first found organisational expression in February 1902 with the establishment of the Jewish Religious Union. Open to all Jews interested in reflecting on how to live as Jews today, services were held on Shabbat afternoons to enable Jews of all denominations to attend. However, by 1909, opposition from some Orthodox quarters led to the decision to reformulate the JRU as a movement dedicated to the ‘Advancement of Liberal Judaism’.

In the years that followed, Lily Montagu helped to found Liberal synagogues around the country, and in 1928 became lay minister of the West Central Synagogue, a position she held until her death in 1963. In 1925, she helped found the World Union for Progressive Judaism, and was responsible for running the WUPJ from 1926 through 1959, including organising its international conferences; the first of which was held in Berlin in 1928. Today, the WUPJ is the largest global Jewish organisation with affiliates around the world, including, in this country, both Liberal Judaism and the Movement for Reform Judaism. Zichronah livrachah – May her memory be for blessing; a source of continual blessing as we respond to ‘the needs of the age’ in the 21st-century.

How can we find a modern sexual ethics? Look in the Bible – Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah Jewish Chronicle, Judaism page, 29 December 2017

Sexual harassment has been in the news in the past few weeks, and the #MeToo campaign in social media has revealed just how widespread it is. Of course, it’s not just a contemporary problem. The Hebrew Bible is full of similar stories of predatory male sexual behaviour, from the rape of Dinah, daughter of Leah and Jacob by Shechem the son of Hamor (Genesis 34:2 ff.), to the rape of Tamar, daughter of King David by her half-brother, Amnon II Samuel 13: 1 ff.).

But there is an important difference between then and now – or should be. The recent expose of sexual harassment and abuse has concerned so-called advanced, democratic societies that have seen huge advances in gender equality in the past fifty years. But similar advances have not been made, it seems, in sexual ethics. The gender equality revolution has its roots in the sexual revolution of the 1960s. And therein may lie the problem. Although, ostensibly, the sexual revolution liberated the genders on an equal basis, in practice, sexual freedom was a licence for males to have liberal access to females. It took the advent of the women’s liberation movement in the 1970s before an incisive critique of male power and privilege emerged that unmasked the sexual harassment and exploitation of females that passed for ‘freedom’.

So, what has Jewish teaching got to say about sexual ethics? The short answer is: not a lot. Traditional Jewish teaching on sexuality starts from the premise of male power. Fathers and husbands are the preeminent actors, and the emphasis is less on ethical behaviour than on the regulation of relationships. In the first extensive treatment of sex set out in the Torah, in Acharei Mot and K’doshim, Leviticus chapters 18 and 20, the focus is on prohibited sexual acts – those between family members; a man and his neighbour’s wife; a man and a menstruating woman; two men; a man or woman and an animal. In all these cases, with the exception of bestiality, where initiation of the act by a woman is conceived, the individual male is the subject; the individual female is the object.

Interestingly, a chapter with a very different agenda is sandwiched between Leviticus 18 and 20. Leviticus 19 focusses on ethical behaviour towards the needy, vulnerable and marginal – the poor, the disabled, the elderly, and the stranger – and also towards one’s neighbour. In my view, the juxtaposition of the chapters is not accidental. Rather, it suggests that the sex rules should be understood in the context of the ethical regulation of social relationships. And yet, to this day, Halakhah (Jewish law) has failed to consider the implications of this juxtaposition for sexual ethics.

None of the various laws relating to sexual behaviour in Leviticus say anything about love. At the heart of Leviticus 19, by contrast, lies the famous dictum: ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself. I am the Eternal’ (19:18). The Hebrew word translated as ‘neighbour’, rei’a, also means ‘friend’ or ‘companion’. Loving your sexual companion as you love yourself transforms sex from a series of acts perpetrated by one party on the body of another, into a relationship characterised by equality and reciprocity; an expression of love in which two people, regardless of sexuality or gender, are active subjects, peers, equals.

So what happens when we apply the criteria of love, equality and reciprocity to the sexual prohibitions outlined in Leviticus 18 and 20? The expression gillui ervah, ‘uncovering nakedness’, which is used repeatedly in these chapters, suggests not only sexual intimacy, but vulnerability and danger, and the potential for exploitation. Clearly all sexual conduct in which the inequality of the parties is an inherent feature, for example, sexual acts inflicted by adults on minors, is abusive. Similarly, all non-reciprocal sexual behaviours, designed to intimidate, including, leering and touching. ‘Uncovering nakedness’ can be literal, it can also be figurative: lewd and obscene remarks objectify and humiliate.

Interestingly, the expression ‘uncovering nakedness’ is not used in Leviticus 18 and 20 in connection with adultery, sex between men, and bestiality. In these cases, the more neutral term ‘lying down’ is employed. In the verses concerning two men lying down together (Lev. 18:22 and 20:13), there may be an implicit assumption that the independent adult male subject is not in a position to exploit his equal – another adult male. But, at a deeper level, ‘uncovering nakedness’ refers not only to who is involved, but to what is involved. Even if the parties involved are equals, any sexual behaviour which is imposed on another without their consent, or entails exposing and exploiting another person’s vulnerability, is ‘uncovering nakedness’. The practice of a code of sexual ethics rooted in love, equality and reciprocity is the only antidote to sexual harassment and abuse. For a fuller treatment of sexual ethics, read Chapter 9 of my book, Trouble-Making Judaism, David Paul Books, 2012. 811 words

Chanukkah sermon – Not by Might

How did the minor festival of Chanukkah get to be so big? I will return to this question, but first, it’s important to acknowledge that when the rabbinic sages referred to Chanukkah as a minor festival, they meant it in the sense that it wasn’t a biblical festival. The major festivals are those that are recorded in the Torah: Pesach, which celebrates the Exodus, the first fruits festival of Shavuot, ‘the day of blasting’ (later known as Rosh Ha-Shanah), Yom Kippur, that’s the Day for Atonement, the late harvest festival of Sukkot, and Sh’mini Atzeret, which concluded the autumn festivals.[1] That was the festival calendar in biblical times – with a gap of almost six months over the late autumn and winter into early spring.

So, by definition, Chanukkah is a minor festival. Unlike the regulations governing the biblical festivals, there is no prohibition on work for any of the minor festivals.[2] Daily life goes on as usual with the addition of special rituals; in the case of Chanukkah, the nightly eight-day ritual of lighting the nine-branched M’norah, which became known as a Chanukkiyyah distinguish it from the seven-branched Temple M’norah.[3]

Chanukkah commemorates the cleansing and rededication[4] of the Temple in Jerusalem in 164 BCE by the Maccabean freedom fighters during their guerrilla campaign against the oppressive Assyrian Greek empire. So, why does the festival last eight days? The simple answer to this question is found in the Second Book of Maccabees (10:6-8):

They celebrated it for eight days with rejoicing in the manner of the feast of Sukkot, mindful of how but a little while before at the festival of Sukkot they had been wandering about like wild beasts in the mountains and caves. That is why, bearing thyrsi and graceful branches and also palm leaves, they offered up hymns to God who had given them success in purifying the Divine place of worship. They decreed by edict and confirmed by vote of the entire nation that the Jews should celebrate these days every year.

A straightforward explanation for the eight-day celebration. But the books of the Maccabees were excluded by the sages from the canon of the Bible and so most people are not familiar with them. Why were they excluded? Because the Hasmonean priestly family that led the struggle became corrupt once they assumed the reins of political power in 140 BCE with the re-establishment of an independent Jewish state.[5] As the famous adage puts it: ‘Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely’.[6]

In place of the more mundane reason for an eight-day festival, the rabbinic sages promulgated the story of a miracle, which is recorded in the Talmud, in the tractate Shabbat (21B). Significantly, the Talmud was edited around the year 500, that is, almost 650 years after the events of 164 BCE. We read:

Mah Chanukkah? What is the reason for Chanukkah? For our sages taught: on the 25th day of Kislev commence the days of Chanukkah, which are eight on which a lamentation for the dead and fasting are forbidden.[7] For when the Greeks entered the Temple, they defiled all the oils in it, and when the Hasmonean dynasty prevailed against and defeated them, they made search and found only one cruse of oil which lay with the seal of the High Priest, which contained sufficient for one day’s lighting only; yet a miracle was wrought and they lit the lamp with it for eight days. The following year these days were appointed a festival with [the recital of] Psalms of praise [Hallel] and Thanksgiving.

So, according to the sages, Chanukkah is an eight-day festival because, miraculously, one day’s supply of oil lasted for eight days. On the same page of the Talmud we find a discussion of how the nightly lighting inaugurated to celebrate the miracle should be conducted. Should all the lights be lit on the first night, and then successively reduced day by day? This was the view of Beit Shammai, the disciples of the sage, Shammai. The matter was resolved in favour of Beit Hillel, the disciples of the sage, Hillel: An additional flame should be added on each successive night because ‘we promote in [matters of] sanctity but do not reduce.’ And so, we celebrate Chanukkah by increasing the light night by night. More of that in a moment.

What was the rabbinic rationale for promoting the miracle story? We find it in the reading set aside by the rabbis for the first Shabbat of Chanukkah.[8] The passage is from the prophet Zechariah, and begins by describing the seven-branched Temple M’norah. It then goes on to make this glorious statement (4:6):

Lo v’chayil v’lo v’cho’ach ki im-b’ruchi amar YHVH tz’va’ot.

Not by valour, nor by might, but by My spirit, says the God of heaven’s hosts.

The word chayil is principally used in the TaNaKH, the Hebrew Bible, of soldiers in battle.[9] Ko’ach means might in the sense of ‘strength’. Samson, for example, is described as having ko’ach.[10] The word ru’ach, by contrast, a feminine noun, means ‘spirit’, ‘breath’, or ‘wind’. In the second verse of the Torah we read, for example: ‘Now the earth was unformed and void – tohu va-vohu – and darkness was upon the face of the deep; and the spirit of God hovered over the waters’ – v’ru’ach Elohim m’rachefet al-p’nei ha-mayyim.[11] The philosopher and biblical commentator, Martin Buber likened ‘the spirit of God’ to a great mother-bird hovering over her young in the nest.[12]

So, what do we learn from the biblical text chosen by the sages to convey the message of Chanukkah? The Maccabees may have won a military victory, but it was a triumph of the spirit that made the rekindling of Jewish life possible. But more than this, the central message of Zechariah is that valour and strength do not – cannot – accomplish this. Again:

Lo v’chayil v’lo v’cho’ach ki im-b’ruchi amar YHVH tz’va’ot.

Not by valour, nor by might, but by My spirit, says the God of heaven’s hosts.

This powerful statement raises an important question: When oppression and tyranny reign, how can we create change and transform society? When I was a sociology undergraduate at the London School of Economics in the mid-1970s and a member of the International Marxist Group, I shared the commonly-held revolutionary socialist belief that the oppressor never gives up their power without a fight. Of course, the French Revolution of 1789 was the model for violent insurrection. But look at what followed: the tyranny and narcissism of Louis the 16th was replaced by Robespierre’s Reign of Terror. And the Bolshevik Revolution of October 1917 also involved massive bloodshed, which continued through the dictatorship of Stalin. The past hundred years have seen many more violent revolutions – which for the most part have only replaced one form of tyranny with another. By now, we must have learnt, surely, that violence only begets violence.

But the problem isn’t just that violence does not achieve justice – look at Northern Ireland, look at the Israeli-Palestinian conflict – but our understanding of how we create change is based on a false dichotomy. We think that all we have is a binary choice between evolution and revolution; between minutely gradual change that takes aeons to achieve and total apocalyptic transformation. Given that choice, in the face of oppressive regimes, I for one would go for revolution – minus the violence – every time. But generating change is not a matter of evolution or revolution; it’s about taking steps, real steps for change. It’s about the day by day work of creating change. Seventy years ago, on 10th December 1948, in the shadow of the Sho’ah and in response to the havoc wreaked by two world wars in less than fifty years, the United Nations, which was established in New York on 24 October 1945, promulgated the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. The declaration set a new standard for the nations based on the acknowledgement that each and every human being, wherever they live, whatever their ethnicity, religion, culture, gender, sexuality, physical or mental ability has equal rights. The Torah, which includes texts that go back 3000 years, puts it more simply using sacred language: the human being, regardless of gender, is created b’tzelem Elohim – ‘in the image of God.’[13] The implications of this awareness were explored by the early rabbis. We read, for example, in the Mishnah, the first rabbinic code of law, edited around the year 200:[14]

Why was the human being created singly? A human sovereign has coins stamped out in a press and they all look alike. But the Holy One Who Is Blessed [Ha-Kadosh Baruch Hu] stamps each of us in the imprint of the first human, and no two human beings are the same.

A paradox: We are all essentially the same; we are all different. The concept of human rights is rooted in the notion that we are one human race and the practice of human rights depends on the recognition that all the ways in which we are different from one another are equal and demand equal treatment.

One of the chief architects of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights was the French Jewish lawyer, René Cassin. The Jewish human rights charity, René Cassin, based in Britain has adopted his name to remind us of the Jewish links with the Universal Declaration. I’m very proud that one of our young people who grew up here at this shul, Hannah Swirsky, is now working as Campaigns Officer for René Cassin. With her colleagues, Hannah is engaging in the day by day work needed to make human rights a reality – including in the UK, which as a René Cassin briefing paper puts it, ‘is currently contravening its own Home Office guidance with the practice of indefinite detention of asylum seekers’; adding that ‘the UK is the only European nation not to have a time limit on detention.’[15]

To return to my original question: How did the minor festival of Chanukkah get to be so big? A cynic would say that the minor festival of Chanukkah got so big under the influence of the commercialised extravaganza that Christmas has become. If this is the reason, it’s rather ironic, given that the Maccabees were also fighting against the assimilation of their fellow Jews to Greek culture.[16] Not being of a cynical disposition, I like to think that Chanukkah has become so important because as technological developments make us increasingly conscious of what is happening across the globe, we are increasingly determined to increase the light; to muster the spirit of hope we need to engage in the work of tikkun olam, repair of the world.

Kein y’hi ratzon. May this be our will. And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue – Adat Shalom Verei’ut

8th December 2018 – 30th Kislev 5779

  1. See Emor, Leviticus chapter 23 for the biblical festival calendar. ↑

  2. The minor festivals include the New Year for Trees on Tu Bishvat, the 15th day of the month of Sh’vat (Mishnah Rosh Ha-Shanah 1:1), Purim, which tells the story of a victory against anti-Semitism recounted in the biblical book of Esther, and Tishah B’Av, the 9th day of the month of Av, which commemorates the destruction of the first Temple in 586 BCE by the Babylonians and of the last Temple in 70 CE by the Romans. On Tishah B’Av, observances include the reading of the biblical book of Eichah, Lamentations, which describes the destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonians. ↑

  3. The first description of the M’norah is at T’rumah, Exodus 25: 31-39. The lighting is prescribed at T’tzavveh, Exodus 27: 20-21. ↑

  4. Chanukkah means ‘dedication’. ↑

  5. See Robert M. Seltzer, Jewish People, Jewish Thought: The Jewish Experience in History (Macmillan Publishing, New York, 1980), pp. 178-183. ↑

  6. John Emerich Edward Dalberg-Acton, the first of Baron of Acton, a Liberal peer in the second half of the 19th century, who was also an English Catholic historian, politician and writer. ↑

  7. See Ta’anit 9, the ‘Scroll of Fasts’, a work of the ta’anim, the ‘teachers’, the generation of scholars whose teachings are recorded in the Mishnah, the first code of rabbinic law, edited around 200 CE ↑

  8. The passage from Zechariah is read after the weekly Torah reading as the haftarah, the ‘concluding’ scriptural reading, which like all haftarot (pl.) is taken from the second section of the TaNaKH, the Hebrew Bible, N’vi’im, ‘Prophets’. If Chanukkah begins on a Shabbat, then there are two Shabbatot in Chanukkah. The haftarah reading set aside for the second Shabbat is: First Kings 7:40-50. ↑

  9. For example, see Joshua 1:14. ↑

  10. Judges 16:6 ff. ↑

  11. B’reishit, Genesis 1:2. ↑

  12. ‘People Today and the Jewish Bible: From A Lecture Series’ by Martin Buber (November 1926) pp. 4-21 in Scripture and Translation by Martin Buber and Franz Rosenzweig, translated by Lawrence Rosenwald with Everett Fox (Indiana University Press; Indianapolis,1994. ↑

  13. B’reishit, Genesis 1:27 ↑

  14. Sanhedrin 4:5. ↑

  15. http://www.renecassin.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/Refugees-in-Focus.pdf ↑

  16. See Seltzer, 1980, pp.155-158. ↑

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Interfaith Contact Group Annual Interfaith Service Sunday, St Peter’s Roman Catholic Church, Hove

Friends: It’s wonderful to be here this afternoon for this annual interfaith service that celebrates the rich and diverse religious and spiritual life of our city, and the bonds of love and respect we have forged between us. Brighton and Hove is a city of angels – and I want to take this opportunity to thank Rev Anthea Ballam, who conceived and developed the Angels project, for reminding us that angels are all around us. After all, angels are not just those carved in stone, or depicted in the beautiful and varied artworks produced for the ‘Angels’ exhibition. Angels are also people of flesh and blood.

In the original Biblical Hebrew sense of the word, an angel – malach – is a ‘worker’. The word malach is related to m’lachah, meaning, ‘work’. But a malach is a very special kind of worker; one that does the work of the Eternal.

In the Bible, these m’lachim – the plural of malach – are messengers, bringing messages from the Eternal One to individuals, in all kinds of circumstances.

Here in Brighton and Hove, m’lachim of all faiths and none are found working for and with those who are the most vulnerable and marginal in our city: people living in poverty on the streets, those who have taken flight from tyranny and persecution, war and destitution in search of refuge, young LGBT+ people, who have been rejected by their families and bullied by their peers.

From a Jewish perspective, a malach is not an other-worldly creature, but rather a person who commits themselves to translating feelings of care into acts of caring. The early rabbis, who lived and taught 2000 years ago, spoke of g’milut chasadim, ‘deeds of lovingkindness’, as one of the three pillars that upholds the world. We read in Pirkei Avot, the collection of the wise teachings of the rabbinic sages that is included in the Mishnah, the first code of rabbinic law edited around the year 200 (Pirkei Avot 1:2):

Al sh’loshah d’varim ha-olam omeid: al ha-Torah, v’al ha-Avodah v’al G’milut Chasadim.

The world stands on three pillars: on Teaching, and on Divine Worship, and on Deeds of Lovingkindness.

The world stands on these three pillars; which suggests that without the three pillars, it falls. So, why are these three particular things so important that they constitute the three pillars that uphold the world? Through engaging in Sacred Teaching, found in the Scriptures of all faiths, we discover what it means to be human, and our obligation to use our powers to build and sustain a just society. Through Divine Service, we acknowledge the Eternal One as the source of our lives, empowering us to act in the world. By undertaking Deeds of Lovingkindness, we channel our powers and our capacity for love to the service of others.

In the popular imagination, angels – m’lachim, may seem to be extraordinary ethereal presences, but they are only extraordinary insofar as people willing to summon up their personal resources of compassion and commit themselves to deeds of lovingkindness are extraordinary. Angels are not extraordinary in Brighton and Hove. On the contrary, they are ordinary people, doing deeds of lovingkindness each and every day.

And they – we – are here today. This multi-faith gathering is a congregation of angels, and this special annual day in the calendar of our city is an opportunity to celebrate the angel-work we do. The first verse of Psalm 133, offers these words of celebration:

Hinneh mah-tov u’mah-na’im, shevet achim gam-yachad

How good and how pleasant it is when brothers dwell together in unity.

I would like to conclude by singing those words to the tune I learnt from my mother, who sadly died in November 1991. Zichronah livrachah – May her memory be for blessing. I will sing the words achim, ‘brothers’, and achayyot, ‘sisters’, alternately, recognising that both words, achim and achayyot, share a common root that conveys the deep connections we all share with one another as human beings, regardless of gender, sexuality, ethnicity, culture or religion. May the bonds that hold us ‘together in unity’ today on this day of light and joy, continue to hold us ‘together in unity’ during days of darkness and sorrow. And may they strengthen us for the angel-work that lies ahead.

This And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue

Interfaith Contact Group Annual Interfaith Service

Sunday, 25th November 2018

St Peter’s Roman Catholic Church, Portland Road, Hove

Prayer on the 80th Anniversary of Kristallnacht | 9th/10th November 2018

Prayer on the 80th Anniversary of Kristallnacht

Eternal One, we have gathered together this Shabbat to enjoy your weekly gift of rest and renewal – and also to mourn. Twenty years after the Armistice that ended the war that was supposed ‘to end all wars’, another devastating conflagration was ignited, even more deadly, with hatred at its heart – hatred of the Jewish people.

On the 80th anniversary of Kristallnacht, as we reflect on that terrifying night of violence unleashed against the Jews of Germany and Austria, and the deportations, incarcerations and mass murder that followed, we ask for courage, hope and strength.

We ask for courage to face the past and to acknowledge the challenges of the present, the tyranny and oppression, prejudice and hatred that still desecrates the world.

We ask for hope; for the capacity to hope to be ignited within us, within each one of us, hope that overcomes fear and cynicism, despondency and despair, so that we may yet see that change is possible and that we can transform the world.

We ask for strength to confront the evils and injustices all around us and to build alliances to bridge the divisions between nations and peoples, religions and cultures, genders and sexualities, so that we may work together to repair the world.

Kein y’hi ratzon May this be Your will – and may it be our will.

And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue

9th/10th November 2018

Jewish Connections with Human Rights | Sussex Jewish News

JEWISH CONNECTIONS WITH HUMAN RIGHTS – Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah – SJN – 12.18

This year we have been marking several anniversaries, including the 70th birthday of the establishment of the State of Israel (14 May 1948/5th Iyyar 5708) and the 80th anniversary of Kristallnacht (9th-10th November 1938/16th Cheshvan 5699).

On 10th December it will be the 70th anniversary of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Although not a date on the Jewish calendar, the UDHR was ratified by the UN in the aftermath of the Sho’ah and has significant Jewish connections.

One of the main architects of the UDHR was the French Jewish lawyer, René Cassin. The Jewish human rights charity, René Cassin, based in Britain has adopted his name to remind us of the Jewish links with the Universal Declaration. Passionate about the Jewish roots of human rights, last year, the charity published Human Rights Thought for the Week. 54 Human Rights Commentaries on the Weekly Parasha, an inspiring collection which includes pieces by a range of rabbis and engaged laypeople (my commentary is on parashat Bo). I’m very proud that one of the young people who grew up at Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue, Hannah Swirsky, is now working as Campaigns Officer for René Cassin.

It’s no accident that Jewish input was so central to the formulation of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. In her book, A Magna Carta for all Humanity, homing in on human rights, published in 2015 to coincide with the 800th anniversary of the Magna Carta, Professor Francesca Klug, who played a major role in the creation of the UK Human Rights Act 1998 for which she was awarded an OBE, shows how Jewish teaching informed the Universal Declaration.

So, perhaps 10th December should be added to the Jewish calendar. As it happens, for decades now the Liberal and Reform movements have observed Human Rights Shabbat on the nearest Shabbat to the 10th. Of course, there are other times in the Jewish year, when we can focus on human rights, not least at Pesach, Sukkot and Chanukkah. This year, Chanukkah, the festival of ‘dedication’, begins quite early, and as it happens the eighth and final day falls on 10th December. As we light the Chanukkiyyah each evening, and see the flames accumulating night after night, may our commitment to increasing the light in memory of the Maccabean struggle against Imperial tyranny, inspire us to re-dedicate ourselves to the continuing task of protecting human rights here in Britain and extending human rights throughout the world. Chanukkah Samei’ach!

BBC Radio Sussex Sixty Second Sermon

Good morning. Eight days ago, the peace of the Sabbath at the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh was shattered when an armed far-right extremist, screaming ‘death to the Jews’ went on the rampage, killing 11 people. The first incident of its kind since Jews first began to immigrate to the United States in the 1650s, that horrific attack was also a horrifying sign of the times. Across the Americas and Europe, in particular, we see the resurgence of the far-right, spewing hatred of black and LGBT people, Jews, Muslims and immigrants.

We had hoped that the end of the 20th century had seen the end of such atrocities. This year, 11th November marks the centenary of the Armistice, which concluded the First World War. There is also another significant anniversary that immediately precedes it: the 80th anniversary of Kristallnacht, the ‘Night of the Broken Glass’. After five years in which the Jewish citizens of Germany were subjected to a systematic process of legal, economic, educational, cultural and social discrimination that excluded them from German society, 9th November 1938 marked the beginning of the violent persecution of the Jews of Europe that culminated in the Holocaust; what Jews call the Sho’ah, the ‘devastation’.[1]

As each year passes, there are fewer people alive who experienced Kristallnacht and the Sho’ah. At Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue just two survivors remain, one of whom, Margarete Mendelsohn, has published her account of those years: The Nazis – Through the Eyes of a Child. [2] Margarete will be reading from her autobiography during our special Kristallnacht anniversary programme. If you’d like to join us, you can book in – free of charge – on eventbrite.

We have been planning the 80th anniversary Kristallnacht commemoration for months. Of course, we had not planned to hold another commemoration on the preceding Shabbat – just yesterday – in solidarity with the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh. The past haunts us. The present challenges us. Last Monday, the Sussex Jewish Representative Council organised a vigil for the Jews of Pittsburgh at Hove Town Hall, which was attended by 200 people from across Brighton and Hove. Speakers included a local Imam and a representative of City of Sanctuary. Apparently, the killer targeted the Tree of Life synagogue because of the involvement of the Jewish congregations of Pittsburgh in supporting refugees. That support will continue. The lesson of Pittsburgh and of Kristallnacht is that we must all stand together against hatred and work together to support the most vulnerable and marginal in our society. May remembrance of victims of violence and hatred past and present, inspire us to build relationships of understanding and respect between communities, nations and peoples and to cooperate together to repair the world.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue

  1. For an authoritative and accessible history of the Sho’ah, see: The War Against the Jews 1933-1945 by Lucy S. Dawidowicz, Penguin Books, 1975. The word Sho’ah is derived from the Hebrew Bible – e.g. see Isaiah 10:3. ↑
  2. MyVoice Publishing, 2012 ↑
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