Two Minutes of Torah: Parashat Vaera (Exodus 6:29-7:18) - Magic or Miracle

As a child I really loved magic. I would always be transfixed as I watched magicians on television performing tricks which seemed impossible and inexplicable. As a child there was something amazing about these men who could read minds, guess the correct cards, and even saw a woman in half. I believed that the woman was really sliced in half and I believed that she was then magically stuck back together. These men who performed these feats, were magical and mysterious, possessing special powers (or so it seemed), and I was in awe of the way in which they appeared to make the impossible possible, always glued to the television screen when they were on.

As children we watch magic and we enjoy the illusion, without any awareness that there is actually any form of illusion involved. As we get older we slowly realise that the magic is not always all that it seems. The practitioners are still very skilled performers able to trick us into believing, but the belief in a pure magic (for want of a better term) disappears.

In this week’s Torah portion we read about the difference between magic and miracles, as Aaron duels with the magicians of Pharaoh’s court. God tells Moses and Aaron: ‘You shall speak all that I command you; and Aaron your brother shall speak to Pharaoh’ (Exodus 7:2), preparing them for their first encounter with the ruler of Egypt on behalf of God and the Israelites. And God appears to understand that the two brothers will need some form of proof that they really do have Divine backing: ‘When Pharaoh shall speak to you saying; “show a miracle”; then you shall say to Aaron, take your rod and throw it before Pharaoh and it shall become a serpent’ (Exodus 7:9).

We already know that God is about to bring the ten plagues upon Egypt and to part the sea so that the Israelites might cross; and we might feel that God could have begun with a bigger miracle for Aaron. However, it turns out to be perfectly appropriate for the situation.

Aaron did exactly as God had commanded him, and threw down his rod, which became a serpent (Exodus 7:10). But then, ‘the magicians of Egypt, they also did in like manner with their enchantments; for they threw down every man his rod, and they became serpents’ (Exodus 7:11-12). However, before we begin to doubt the supremacy of God, or spend too long questioning how the Egyptians were able to perform an equivalent miracle, the text tells us: ‘but Aaron’s rod swallowed up their rods’ (Exodus 7:12).

This was a society in which there could be a form of duel between sorcerers and magic. In this encounter, while the power remains with Pharaoh and the Egyptians, it is clear that God’s powers are far greater than anything they can create.

In our modern world the link between magic and religion has all but been broken, and we do not think of modern day magicians as having a power over the Divine and supernatural forces. But even modern magic has not forgotten the fact that all real miracles and magic emerged originally from God.

The word that magicians use: ‘Abracadabra’ has at its source the Hebrew abareh kedaber – I will create as it is spoken. This can be seen as a link to God’s very first miracle when the word was created simply by God’s words, ‘God said let there be light, and there was light’ (Genesis 1:3). God’s miracles do not involve any illusion, God is able to speak and the miraculous happens. Every time a magician says ‘Abracadabra’, whether they know it or not, they acknowledge that at its root all magic and miracles originate with God.

Two Minutes of Torah: Shemot (Exodus 3:1-22) - God has a name

Growing up in my orthodox Jewish primary school, the word God was never written on the board, on handouts, or anywhere in the school; it was always G-d. It was as though the three letters G-O-D written together had a certain sacredness, which meant that we were never able to write it down ourselves. And for many years of my life I would only write G-d. I imagine that it was at some point in my youth movement days with RSY-Netzer when I began to question why I was unable to write down G-O-D. It seems that it originates with the sacredness of the Hebrew name for God, which is Yod-Hay and Vav-Hay (even there I feel I can’t place the letters together).

The Hebrew name of God, which we read as Adonai, is considered so sacred that it is not written or read, and in Orthodox circles it is referred to as Adonai in prayer and Hashem (The Name) or Adoshem when referred to in study. The sacredness of this name is such that when using Hebrew letters for numbers: aleph = 1, bet = 2, yud = 10, etc. the number fifteen is not yud-hay (10+5) it is tet-vav (9+6) and sixteen is not yud-vav (10+6) it is tet-zayin (9+7). This significance is transferred to the word God, which is not a sacred name, it is not even a translation of this word; it is the English word which is used to refer to the Divine.

In this week’s Torah portion we gain an insight into the name of God, when Moses is first introduced to the Hebrew Deity. After witnessing the miracle of the burning bush (Exodus 3:2-4), and having been instructed; ‘I will send you to Pharaoh, that you may bring forth my people the children of Israel out of Egypt’ (Exodus 3:10). Moses’ first concern is with his inadequacy for the task which God has set before him, a worry which recurs throughout the beginning of Moses’ story. However, his second question is about God’s name; after claiming that he has been sent by the God of their ancestors, Moses imagines that the people will say: ‘What is his name, what shall I say to them?’ (Exodus 3:13).

Before considering God’s answer it is a fascinating concern for Moses to have. Why does he imagine that the Israelites’ first question will be about the name of God? Moses appears to imagine that knowledge of the name of God will be the test which the people will place before him, seeking proof that he truly is God’s messenger. Knowledge of someone’s name suggests a level of knowledge about that person, and it appears that in the case of the Divine it works in a similar way.

God’s enigmatic answer to Moses is: ‘Ehyeh asher ehyeh’ (Exodus 3:14), which can most accurately be translated as ‘I will be that I will be’. It is not really a name in the conventional sense, God does not say ‘My name is Yud-Hay and Vav-Hay’; offering something which appears to be more of a designation than an actual name. God follows this by saying: ‘You shall say to the people of Israel, I WILL BE has sent me to you’ (Exodus 3:14).

At first glance this may appear frustrating as we seek to know the true name of God. However, there is something very powerful about the designation ‘I will be that I will be’. God cannot be confined to a single name, and simply is, God exists as the ‘I Will Be’ to be referred to by various peoples in whatever language, and with whatever name they see fit. In England, when we talk about the Divine we use the word God, the same word which is used by our Christian cousins. And in Arab countries the Jews use the Arabic for God, using the word Allah, the same as our Muslim cousins.

God may appear to the various monotheistic religions by many names, and for each religion the name itself may hold a certain sacredness. But above the specifics of a single name there is God, the Divine, which simply exists. The Israelites do not really need to know God’s specific name, they simply need to know that God exists – the same God which we all worship in our own ways, using our own names.

Two Minutes of Torah: Vayigash (Genesis 45:8-28) - Getting over the bumps in the road

Spending the second year of my rabbinic programme in Israel was probably the single best decision I have ever made. I was able to build wonderful friendships with my fellow students. I was taught by inspirational teachers who made the subjects come alive and led me to deeper and further study. And most importantly, I met a young American girl, studying for her Jewish Education Masters, who would become my wife. All in all it was a very successful year.

However, many of the factors which led me to decide to spend my second year in Israel were beyond my control; and in the preceding years there were several times when I questioned whether I had made the right decisions for myself. Through various trials and tribulations I wondered about the paths not taken, and the opportunities not explored. It was hard for me to accept that I was on the right path until I found myself in Israel for that very special year, and I realised that this had been the plan for me all along.

I like to imagine that Joseph had similar feelings about the way his life had worked out. When he was thrown into the pit by his brothers (Genesis 37:24) we can picture the arrogant young boy begin to doubt that his destiny really would involve the adulation, which his prior dreams had foretold. As a slave being taken away by the Midianite traders (Genesis 37:28) Joseph must have begun to see a future which would be filled with hardship and struggle, with no more elaborate coats or paternal favouritism.

And while things looked up for Joseph briefly while he prospered in the house of Potiphar (Genesis 39:2), these good times were short lived as he was sent to prison after the alleged attempt to seduce Potiphar’s wife (Genesis 39:20). In prison Joseph could have given up, but he continued to work hard, finding favour with the prison warden (Genesis 39:23).

Ultimately as we all know Joseph interpreted Pharaoh’s dreams and was placed in charge of the entire land of Egypt (Genesis 41:41). So that when his brothers came to buy food they stood before him and they bowed down low asking him, as their master, to permit them to buy food to take back to Canaan. Joseph as Pharaoh’s number two, was able to realise that all of the challenges along his journey had been intended to bring him to that specific point, so that he could say to his brothers: ‘it is not you who sent me here but God who made me a father to Pharaoh, a lord of all his household, a ruler of the whole land of Egypt’ (Genesis 45:8).

Joseph did not blame his brothers for selling him into slavery, a path which ultimately led him as low as a prison in Egypt. Instead he saw that it was all part of God’s plan. The hardships were necessary so that he could reach the light at the end of the tunnel.

When we are in the midst of a difficult situation it can be hard to believe there is a light at the end of the tunnel, let alone see it. But we can remember the story of Joseph and his experiences. Along the way I am sure that at various points he cursed his brothers, and maybe even questioned God, but at the end he was able to see the higher purpose, towards which he had always been travelling. It was not a direct road, and there were many bumps along the way, but Joseph made it. And he therefore serves as an example for us to overcome challenges along the paths of our lives, looking forward to a positive future.

Two Minutes of Torah: Parashat Mikeitz (Genesis 42:1-23) - Overprotective Parents

I remember the first time my sister and I were allowed to walk to the newsagents on our own. In our childhood home we lived around the corner from a small shopping strip which was the place we went to buy sweets and chocolate. The distance door-to-door could not have been much more than 100 metres; but for us it was an epic journey. It was epic not because of the distance, but because of the independence and freedom which we were being given.

Knowing my parents, especially my mother, I am sure that they were at least a little bit nervous letting us so far out of eye-sight and without supervision. But we were growing up and it was time for us to be allowed to go to the newsagents on our own. What I did not know at the time was that as my sister and I walked hand-in-hand to the shop, my father followed slightly behind, keeping us in eyesight almost all of the time. We felt like we were being granted our independence, while our parents kept a watchful eye.

Jacob was an overprotective parent, but only in relation to one of his children.

When the land of Canaan was suffering from the severe famine, which had impacted the entire region, there was still food in Egypt. Jacob heard about this and told his sons: ‘I have heard that there is grain in Egypt; get down there, and buy for us from there; that we may live, and not die’ (Genesis 42:2). So he sent ten of his sons to Egypt, Joseph was already presumed dead, but ‘Benjamin, Joseph’s brother, Jacob sent not with his brothers; for he said, Lest perhaps harm befall him’ (Genesis 42:4).

It is hardly surprising that Jacob was so protective of Benjamin, who was after all the baby of the family. He was also Rachel’s son, Jacob’s favourite wife, who had died while giving birth to him. And after the disappearance of Joseph (who Jacob believed to be dead), he was the only remaining connection for Jacob to Rachel. We can therefore understand why Jacob may have been particularly protective of Benjamin.

However, as every parent knows, there is a time when children need to be allowed to make their own way and to become independent of their parents. For my sister and I this began with a secretly supervised trip to the newsagents, and it was the first stage in our attainment of independence and the road to adulthood.

Benjamin could not be coddled and protected forever. Joseph was the catalyst who told his brothers: ‘If you are honest men, let one of your brothers be confined in the house of your prison; you go, carry grain for the famine of your houses. But bring your youngest brother to me’ (Genesis 42:19-20). He required Benjamin be brought down to Egypt so that he could see his full-brother alive and well. But at the same time he also forced Jacob to recognise that Benjamin had grown up and had to be trusted to journey, with his brothers, down to Egypt. The quest to Egypt was vital for the survival of the family, as they were sure to need more grain. It was crucial for Simeon who was left behind as collateral until Benjamin was brought. And it was necessary for Benjamin as an opportunity to grow up and leave his father’s house.

Jacob did not follow a few paces behind to make sure that Benjamin was safe on the journey, but he did have nine other sons who were with him, and could ensure the security of his favoured child. In the journey to Egypt all of the brothers were forced to grow up, leaving the security of their father, and entrusting their fate into Joseph’s hands.

It was also a test for the brothers. How would they deal with the favoured son this time? Would he face a similar fate as Joseph, sold into slavery and separated from his family? Or would the brothers show that they were siblings who were prepared to assume responsibility for each other outside of Jacob’s home, ignoring his favouritism and the challenges which it presented.

It was at that moment, when they were all freed from the parental house, that the brothers could truly be reconciled making peace with each other.

Two Minutes of Torah: Vayeishev (Genesis 39:1-18) - Joseph has the X-Factor

Last year a survey was conducted of families to discover what children’s career aspirations were. Amongst five to eleven year olds, the most popular careers are now: sports star, pop star and actor. This contrasts significantly with the findings 25 years ago, which had teacher, banker and doctor at the top of the list. Our society has become obsessed with celebrities, they are always on the front page of the press, and they are lead items on radio and television broadcasts. With such a degree of prominence, it is little wonder that children aspire to be famous. The cult of reality television is also often blamed by many experts for this change in culture, as these programs present a ‘get famous quick’ path to fame and fortune. Many children assume they just have to sing in front of Simon Cowell to be handed a recording contract, pots of money and a paparazzi following.

At one point it seemed that Joseph was destined for a life of fame and fortune. At the very beginning of the Torah portion Joseph was having dreams where sheaves of corn bowed down to his sheaf, and where the sun, moon and eleven stars bowed down to him (Genesis 37:5-9). There was already a tension between Joseph and his brothers, because of their father Jacob having a favourite (Genesis 37:3), and these dreams only served to deepen the divide between the siblings. Things got so bad that the brothers decided to sell Joseph to Ishmaelite traders (Genesis 37:28), lying to their father that Joseph had been killed (Genesis 37:32).

At this lowest point, one might imagine that Joseph would have done anything to regain his former status, and at the very least elevate himself out of servitude. In Potiphar’s house Joseph was once again highly regarded, and Potiphar ‘made him overseer over his house, and all that he had he put into his hand’ (Genesis 39:4). It seemed like Joseph’s stock was once again rising.

But then Mrs. Potiphar took a shine to Joseph: ‘And it came to pass after these things, that his master’s wife cast her eyes upon Joseph; and she said, Lie with me’ (Genesis 39:7). Now Joseph may have feared for his position if he did lie with his master’s wife, but he must also have feared for his position if he refused her. And despite his initial refusal, she proved to be persistent, asking him everyday to lie with her. Surely for Joseph it would have been easiest to acquiesce to his mistress’s demands, and continue to serve his master in the house. Successfully serving Potiphar and satisfying his wife, it is likely that his star would have continued to rise.

Ultimately, Potiphar’s wife grabbed hold of Joseph’s clothing (Genesis 39:12) and then claimed to her husband that Joseph had in fact tried to seduce her (Genesis 39:17). Once again Joseph found himself at rock bottom, as he was placed in prison by Potiphar (Genesis 39:20). And yet Joseph never gave up, he became the senior prisoner working with the keeper of the prisons and once again did not let adversity stand in his way.

Joseph provides an example of how one needs to keep persevering to reach to the top and attain ones dreams. There was no Egyptian reality television show to elevate him to superstardom and instead he had to rely on his God-given talents, hard work and a little bit of luck, being in the right place at the right time.

When we read the story of Joseph we read the story of someone who attained celebrity and stardom not through some quick fix, but with a lot of hard work and setbacks along the way. The arrogant boy was forced to become a man, and along the way he set an example for all of us to emulate; a far more important example than many of today’s so-called celebrities.

Two Minutes of Torah: Vayishlach (Genesis 33:1-20) - The Reinvention of Esau

In my childhood Darth Vader was in many ways the ultimate bad guy. George Lucas managed to create a villain who looked the part, sounded the part and even acted the part. He was the Emperor’s right-hand man, and as such he was involved in all the villainy which took place under the evil galactic Empire. And then, in ‘Return of the Jedi’, the final film in the original trilogy, Darth Vader redeemed himself. (I cannot believe that there is anyone who is reading this that has not seen the film, but in case you are in the category, skip down to the next paragraph). As Luke is being overpowered by the Emperor, Darth finds the ‘good’ which Luke sensed within him, and he emerges as the hero of the Trilogy, the one who ultimately defeated the Emperor. When the Star Wars prequels came out, over two decades after the original films, we gained further insight into why Darth Vader behaved the way he did, and why he ultimately redeemed himself.

When we look for our bad guy in the Bible, Esau would definitely be featuring in our ‘Top Ten’. From the moment of conception ‘the children struggled in her womb’ (Genesis 25:22), and there was enmity between Esau and Jacob, who would be the founders of two separate nations. The Rabbis developed an idea of Esau as the ultimate bad guy. On the one-hand he was the founder of Edom, which became associated with Rome, and the Romans, who destroyed the Second Temple, and ultimately with Christianity, the rival religion at the time of the Rabbis. The Talmudic Rabbis even referred to him as ‘the wicked Esau’ (Megillah 28a).

However, despite Jacob’s fears about a reunification with his brother in this week’s Torah portion, Esau’s behaviour appears to be anything but wicked, as the brothers are reunited. ‘Esau ran to greet him. He embraced him and, falling on his neck, he kissed him; and they wept’ (Genesis 33:4). This does not seem to be the behaviour of a man who was ‘wicked’. Esau even hoped to join with Jacob’s community, he requested: ‘Let us start on our journey, and I will proceed at your pace’ (Genesis 33:12). And, the two brothers even came together to bury their father Isaac (Genesis 35:29), the last time they were together.

It is true that Esau did at one point want to kill his brother, harbouring a grudge and claiming: ‘Let but the mourning period of my father come, and I will kill my brother Jacob’ (Genesis 27:41). However, we have to remember that this declaration came after Jacob had stolen the paternal blessing from his brother, causing the ‘wicked’ Esau to weep aloud (Genesis 27:38).

When we read this week’s Torah portion we see the relationship between Jacob and Esau in a completely different light, and we see Esau as a brother who, despite the wrongs done to him, is willing to forgive and attempt to rebuild the sibling relationship. There is a power in the moment when ‘he kissed him’ (Genesis 33:4). The text in the Torah has dots above it, which allowed for the Rabbis to interpret the deeper meaning of the text. In Genesis Rabbah 78:9, Rabbi Shimon ben Eleazar said that the dots demonstrate that Esau kissed him with all his heart. However, Rabbi Yannai taught that the dots symbolise the fact that Esau wished to bite Jacob.

Rabbi Yannai viewed Esau as a bad guy and was unable to alter his perspective, despite evidence to the contrary. He would probably have maintained that Darth Vader was still a bad guy, despite the fact that he ultimately redeemed himself, saving his son and contributing the downfall of the galactic Empire.

Esau often gets a bad press from the Rabbis, and especially as a result of his association with Edom, Rome and Christianity. But just as our relationship with Christianity has changed over the last fifty years, perhaps it is also time to change the way we view Esau. Maybe it is time for us to focus on Esau the man who was wronged by his brother, but provides us with an example of how family love can overcome sibling rivalry and tension. Esau may not be one of the Patriarchs, but as one of our ‘uncles’ we can learn a lot of lessons from him. We have to remember that underneath Darth Vader’s mask it was always Anakin Skywalker.

Torah for Today - Why we should wear the poppy

(This article was originally published in the Jewish News on the 11th November 2010)

At this time of year, as we approach Remembrance Sunday, poppies can be seen everywhere. It becomes a part of the uniform for everyone involved in public life and appearing on the media. And across the country many people will not leave the house without first affixing a poppy to their lapel. There is something very compelling about the way in which this campaign unites British society as we remember those people who gave their lives to protect this country and the values Britain upholds.

On the 11th November 1918, The Great War, as it was then known, came to an end as the armistice between Germany and the Allies came into effect. This moment marked the end of a war which had raged for over four years and claimed millions of lives on battlefields across Europe. In the fields of Northern France and Flanders after the guns had fallen silent there was a barren wasteland, on which the poppy was one of the only plants growing.

The wearing of a poppy is usually traced back to two poems. The Canadian military doctor, John McCrae wrote the famous poem In Flanders Field, which contained the moving line: ‘We shall not sleep, though poppies grow in Flanders fields’. In response to that poem the American Moira Michael wrote We Shall Keep the Faith, in which she committed: ‘And now the torch and poppy red we wear in honor of our dead’.

As Jews we are well aware of the importance of remembering. In the Tanach, the verb for remember, zachor, appears 169 times. We are constantly being commanded by God to remember. We are told to ‘remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt’, ‘remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy’, and ‘remember the days of old’. We know the importance of memory, and when we participate in the ceremony and symbols of Remembrance Day we participate in the national memory, we remember together with all other members of British society.

In the Shulhan Aruch, Yoreh Deah 367, we are told that we should bury the non-Jewish dead, and comfort their mourners, so that we follow the ways of peace. Even then the responsa literature recognised that we did not live in an exclusively Jewish society, and that within this context we have an obligation to all members of society. In this situation, we mourn together with the members of the society in which we live. On Remembrance Day all of British society is united in mourning regardless of religion, and the poppy is an outward symbol of this.

If one were looking for reasons to be concerned about wearing the poppy, one might want to consider it in the context of the laws of hukkat ha-goi (laws or customs of the gentiles). The interpretation of Vayikra 20:23 ‘And you shall not walk in the manners of the nation’ means that we are forbidden from following customs which are associated with idolatrous practices or form a part of non-Jewish religious ritual. However, the poppy is a symbol which has no religious context, it is a national symbol, and as such it is not prohibited by this law.

During this time of year I am proud to wear my poppy as a member of British society and as a member of the British Jewish community. When I wear the poppy I think about the millions of men and women who gave their lives defending Britain and the values which Britain represents. I think about the fact that I am privileged to be a Jew in a society where I am free to practice my religion, and I remember that this is a privilege which has been defended and fought for by others who came before me, the vast majority of whom were not Jewish, but their sacrifice has given me, and others, religious freedom. And I am proud of the Jewish servicemen and women who stood shoulder to shoulder with all other members of British society answering the call to defend Britain and making the ultimate sacrifice.

Two Minutes of Torah: Vayetze (Genesis 29:12-30) - God help the mister...

One of the rituals which I really enjoy at the Jewish wedding is the bedeken ceremony. Before the bride and groom come to the chuppah (marriage canopy) they have a private moment (sometimes with family or friends) where the groom checks that it is the correct woman under the veil. I appreciate being a part of this quiet and intimate moment between bride and groom, before they are surrounded by their community. Whenever I officiate at that ritual there is always a giggle when I ask the groom to check that it is the correct bride under the veil. There is something almost ridiculous about assuming that a veil could completely hide the identity of a person, and lead to a mistaken marriage.

The origin most often cited for this wonderful ritual is this week’s Torah Portion, when our Patriarch Jacob managed to make the mistake of marrying the wrong woman.

The love between Jacob and Rachel is beautiful in the way that it is described. After seeing her at the well, we read that he ‘kissed Rachel and lifted up his voice and wept’ (Genesis 29:11). There was a powerful connection between the two of them from the very beginning. And after striking the deal with Laban to work for seven years, to earn Rachel’s hand in marriage, we read ‘Jacob served seven years for Rachel and they seemed to him but a few days, because of the love he had for her’ (Genesis 29:20).

Everything appears to be pointing towards the happy ending of Jacob and Rachel marrying and beginning a family together, when Laban intervenes, and on the night of the marriage brings the older sister Leah to Jacob, tricking him into marrying the wrong woman. Somehow the veil was thick enough because Jacob only realised his mistake the following morning, when he challenged Laban: ‘why did you deceive me?’ (Genesis 29:25).

In terms of Jacob this may seem to be an appropriate punishment. After all, Jacob is the same person who tricked his father into believing he was his brother Esau, and thus fraudulently gained his father’s blessing. He pretended to be his sibling to gain the blessing, and now he has been tricked into marrying the wrong sibling. It is also worth considering that Rebecca, who was the orchestrator of Isaac’s deception, as she told Jacob ‘your curse, my son, be upon me’ (Genesis 27:13) is Laban’s sister; these two siblings seem quite similar in their willingness to deceive others.

With Esau and Jacob we saw competition between siblings, with Laban and Rebecca we saw siblings who were willing to deceive those around them, but with Leah and Rachel we have a completely different model of the sibling relationship.

Rachel had found the man of her dreams, Jacob was the man she wanted to marry, ‘she ran and told her father’ (Genesis 29:12) after meeting him. And Jacob reciprocated in his love for her. The text does not tell us what happened between Rachel and Leah when Laban came to them and told them that it would be inappropriate for the younger sister to marry before her elder. We have no account of Rachel breaking down in tears, we read nowhere of the sisters arguing with their father; all we have is the fact that Laban ‘took his daughter Leah and brought her to him [Jacob]’ (Genesis 29:23).

For Leah to have been able to deceive Jacob until the morning, so that he thought he had married Rachel, a veil would not have been sufficient (as bedeken always proves). She must have been able to behave in the same way as her sister; she would have needed to know secrets about the relationship and their interactions. Rachel must have been complicit in helping Leah to trick Jacob. Rachel was willing to lose the man she loved to save Leah the embarrassment of seeing her younger sister get married first.

For most of the book of Genesis we have very challenging sibling relationships beginning with Cain and Abel. But here, when we have sisters, we see a different way for siblings to treat each other. We see a love between siblings which is absent elsewhere. Leah and Rachel do not fall into the trap of sibling rivalry; they offer a model of sisterly love.

Two Minutes of Torah: Toldot (Genesis 26:12-29) - The Rebound Patriarch

In one of my earlier jobs, my arrival coincided with the Chief Executive moving on to take on new challenges in another sector. There was a great deal of disappointment surrounding this man’s departure as he was highly respected within the community, and had really helped to elevate the organisation within the community. In the couple of weeks in which we overlapped I found him to be an impressive orator, very charismatic and generally a good guy. His successor really did have ‘big shoes to fill’. And in many ways it is not surprising that this new CEO’s tenure was rather short-lived, as the organisation failed to adjust to a new man at the helm. In relationship terms he was a ‘rebound Chief Executive’ and paved the way for a new person to come in and establish themselves as the longer term successor.

Following a larger than life personality can be a daunting challenge, and often the immediate successor is doomed to failure as their predecessor’s shadow looms large. This happens in business, it happens in relationships and I would suggest it also happens in the Torah.

Isaac is our rebound Patriarch, sandwiched as he is between Abraham and Jacob. Abraham is the person with whom God first made the covenant, and Jacob is the man who becomes Israel, after whom we are named. Isaac sits in between the two and holds on to the baton for only a few chapters before passing it on to his son.

This week our Torah portion begins with the birth of Esau and Jacob, and it concludes with Isaac’s blessing of Jacob as his successor in God’s covenant. Isaac only has one section in which he is the centre of attention, and not the son of Abraham or the father of Jacob. And yet in these few verses he offers us an important lesson in contrast to either his father or his son.

According to the text Isaac was a successful farmer: ‘he sowed in that land, and reaped in the same year a hundredfold. And Adonai blessed him, and the man became rich’ (Genesis 26:12-13). However, his success created envy amongst the Philistines, and they blocked up the wells which had been dug by Abraham’s servants (Genesis 26:14-15). Isaac was faced with a difficult choice: he could have fought to reassert his claim over the land and the wells; Avimelech, the king, even acknowledged ‘you are mightier than we’ (Genesis 26:16). But instead Isaac chose the path of peace, and simply moved his flock and his family to new pastures.

However, despite his continued success in the well digging business, the locals were still resistant towards him, and ‘the herdsmen of Gerar strove with Isaac’s herdsmen’ (Genesis 26:20), disputing the ownership of the wells. This was not the end of Isaac’s struggle, and for a third time he dug wells, and for a third time the locals challenged him, and caused trouble. And yet, rather than fight, each time Isaac simply moved his community and looked for a new place to establish himself and his family.

Finally, he was able to dig a well, which he named Rehovot, and there was no fighting or strife with the locals, and Isaac declared ‘now Adonai has made room for us, and we shall be fruitful in the land’ (Genesis 26:22).

One could view Isaac as weak, lacking the stomach for a fight or to stand up against a local bully. However, the benefit of his strategy is present in the text. Following his successful resettlement, God appears to him and offers him a blessing (Genesis 26:24). This blessing is followed by the return of King Avimelech, the man who had first requested Isaac to uproot and leave. This time there is no suggestion of a fight, and instead Avimelech requests ‘let us make a covenant with you’ (Genesis 26:28). Isaac’s approach yields a peace treaty with his former rival, and concludes with a feast, where the two were able to eat and drink together (Genesis 26:30).

Isaac’s story is not as exciting as that of either Abraham or Jacob; it lacks the action and the excitement of our other Patriarchs. But Isaac, in his own quiet way, as our middle Patriarch, offers a path which brought blessings and peace.

Throughout his life Isaac faced challenges from within his family and from outside. But throughout his life he found ways to build bridges and avoid conflict. He did not fight, not because he was weak, but because he possessed an inner strength. It took bravery and courage to survive the Akedah at the start of his life, and it took bravery and courage to uproot his family each time. And in the end, this rebound Patriarch’s bravery and courage were rewarded with the ultimate blessing of peace.

Two Minutes of Torah: Chayyey Sarah (Genesis 24:1-26) - Finding an appropriate partner

We Jews are obsessed about matchmaking. There is a popular stereotype of the Jewish mother who is always trying to find a wife for her eligible sons, but actually this is a community wide activity. Our Jewish sport is setting people up. We’ve even developed a scoring system, so that according to Jewish folklore, when you score a hat-trick (having made three matches which end in marriage) you automatically guarantee yourself a place in Heaven. And this sport even has professionals, as Shadchanim (matchmakers), go around arranging shidduchim (matches) within the Jewish community (in our modern world if you visit www.shiduchim.com it will link you to an Orthodox Jewish dating site).

We have our first matchmaker in this week’s Torah portion, as Abraham entrusts his senior servant (usually associated with Eliezer of Damasek) with the task of finding a wife for Isaac. Abraham made Eliezer swear an oath ‘that you will not take a wife for my son from the daughters of the Canaanites among whom I dwell, but will go to the land of my birth and get a wife for my son Isaac’ (Genesis 24:3-4). For Abraham the national identity of his son’s future wife is paramount – this may effectively be the first time a Jewish parent said: ‘I want to find a nice Jewish girl for my son,’ or words to that effect.

However, Eliezer recognised that there would be more to making a successful marriage, than a shared ancestry, and so once he had reached the well outside the city of Nahor, he made a deal with God about the type of woman he was looking for. ‘Let the maiden to whom I say, “Please, lower your jar that I may drink,” and who replies, “Drink, and I will also water your camels” – let her be the one whom You have decreed for your servant Isaac’ (Genesis 24:14). Eliezer essentially asks for a sign from God about the woman whom Isaac should marry, but through the sign he also says something about her character. An appropriate wife, in Eliezer’s opinion, is a woman who will be generous to strangers and even to their animals.

Abraham was concerned by nationality, above all else, but Eliezer, the first Shadchan, reminds us that it takes more than a shared identity to make a marriage work. To fulfil Abraham’s request, Eliezer could have brought back a variety of girls from Abraham’s homeland, and in the style of a Shushan beauty contest, he could have found a wife for Isaac. But rather than pursuing a scatter gun approach, Eliezer looked a little bit deeper, and found a prospective partner for Isaac, who had an appropriate soul and spirit.

Rebecca is a very interesting choice as a wife for Isaac. On the one hand she is a woman from Abraham’s homeland, and a member of his extended familial tribe. But we may assume that she had no idea of the covenant, of which Abraham and Isaac were both a part, and so we can also imagine that she was the first woman who converted to Judaism when marrying her husband.

We might consider that when Jewish folklore set the bar at three couples for a place in Heaven, it was setting the bar rather low. But those of us who have tried to ‘set people up’ and act as the Jewish matchmaker, know that it is not always easy. We often go by appearance or profession, without looking more deeply at whether two people will really be suited. Eliezer looked more deeply, and when the couple were introduced, ‘Isaac brought her into the tent of his mother Sarah, he took Rebecca as his wife, and he loved her’ (Genesis 24:67). We know that Eliezer was at least one third of the way to Heaven.

Two Minutes of Torah: Vayera (Genesis 19:1-21) - The Real Sin of Sodom

What picture comes to mind when we hear the names Sodom and Gomorah?

These cities have become symbols of wickedness, depravity and general abusive behaviour. And their names are forever associated with any place which is deemed to have descended into evil. We can all think of examples of modern day cities which have been labelled as Sodom or Gomorah. The most common association in our contemporary society is with Las Vegas, as can be seen in the portrayal of Sodom in the film ‘Year One’ and can be read about in many articles about our modern day ‘sin-city’.

From almost the first reference in Torah, we know that Sodom is destined for destruction. ‘And Lot lifted up his eyes, and beheld all the plain of Jordan, that it was well watered every where before Adonai destroyed Sodom and Gomorah’ (Genesis 13:10). To leave no doubt as to why the cities were destroyed the text specifies ‘the men of Sodom were exceedingly wicked and sinners before Adonai’ (Genesis 13:13). However, it offers no description of the wickedness or sin perpetuated by the people. And no additional information is given when God informs Abraham of the decision to destroy the cities: ‘because the cry of Sodom and Gomorah is great, and because their sin is very grievous’ (Genesis 18:20).

In this week’s Torah portion we gain some limited insight into the type of cities which they were, through the visit of the 2 angels. When Lot greets them he appears concerned for their safety and urges them to stay in his home (Genesis 19:3). And almost immediately the house is surrounded by the men of the city who inquire about the visitors and demand ‘bring them out unto us, so that we may know them’ (Genesis 19:5). The Hebrew is ambiguous and the request to ‘know them’ may, in the Bible, be a reference to sexual relations. The mob therefore offers another insight into the undesirable nature of the city.

Despite these Biblical references, the Rabbis decided that the sin of Sodom was something different. In Pirkei Avot (the Ethics of the Fathers) there are a series of verses which divide society into groups and categories. One of them states:
‘There are four types of people: One who says, "What is mine is mine and what is yours is yours" – this is the common type, though some say that this is the type of Sodom. One who says, "What is mine is yours and what is yours is mine" – they are an ignorant person. One who says, "What is mine is yours and what is yours is yours" – this is a saintly person. And one who says, "What is yours is mine, and what is mine is mine" – they are a wicked person’ (Pirkei Avot 5:13).

We might have expected that the Rabbis would have equated the behaviour of the ‘wicked person’ with ‘the type of Sodom’, but instead they suggest that the ‘common type’, saying “what’s mine is mine and what’s yours is yours”, is associated with Sodom. This is a striking statement about what a sinful city is like; it is not a den of depravity and vice, it is a place where people are only concerned with their own possessions and well-being.

Sodom was punished for being the ‘common type’. Rather than looking for extreme examples as our modern day Sodom and Gomorah; perhaps we should look at our own cities, and the places where we live. Wherever people are only concerned about their own possessions and well-being – it could be Sodom; where people ignore the community and focus only on themselves – it could be Gomorah. With this understanding we can challenge the sin of Sodom and Gomorah, not just in extreme examples, but in ourselves and our own cities; and perhaps this is the lesson which the Rabbis wanted to teach.

The father of IVF finally has the fame his name deserves

(This Article was originally published in The Jewish News on the 14th October)

Last week, for a couple of days, Professor Robert Edwards became one of the lead stories across the British press. Most newspapers dedicated significant column inches towards celebrating the achievements of the man known as the ‘father of IVF’. I have to be honest, before last week I had not heard of Professor Edwards, but by the end of it I had a basic understanding of his research, and can tell you that more than four million children have been born worldwide as a result of his groundbreaking work. In reading about this man, his perseverance and dedication to his quest is something highly admirable. And his is definitely a name I will now remember.

Professor Edwards was the first recipient of a Nobel Prize for 2010. Since him, five other awards have been granted.

The Nobel Prize is a world-renowned award given to people for work in a variety of fields including literature and peace. Many recipients of the Prize, such as Professor Edwards, have fascinating stories to tell about their work and research, and they are worthy recipients of recognition and admiration. In many cases, they are people who may have remained anonymous outside of their field, were it not for the Nobel Prize, which has undoubtedly made their names more widely known. There is one name, however – the most recognised name associated with the prize – which was already very famous before it became associated with the prize itself.

That name is Alfred Nobel.

On the 13 April 1888, Alfred Nobel awoke to discover that he had died. Or at least that is what one French newspaper reported, as it carried an obituary for the inventor. More shocking than seeing his name in the obituary was the description Nobel found within it. The tribute stated: “Dr. Alfred Nobel, who became rich by finding ways to kill more people faster than ever before, died yesterday.” It also carried the line: “The merchant of death is dead”. Alfred Nobel’s shock on reading about his demise was not limited to the obvious fact that he was very much alive. He was also shocked, and deeply distraught by the way in which his life and his name were destined to be remembered.

As it turns out, the French newspaper got the wrong Nobel. It was actually Alfred's brother, Ludwig, who had died the previous day. This unfortunate accident turned out to be quite fortuitous as Alfred Nobel gained something few of us ever receive: an insight into the way we would be remembered after his death. Needless to say he was less than excited about the prospect of being known as 'The merchant of death'.

He was given an extra eight years, until his actual passing on 10 December 1896, to change the way that the world viewed and remembered him. In his last will and testament the bulk of his estate was left for the establishment of prizes in the sciences, literary works, peace, and now economics. Alfred Nobel is still the inventor of dynamite, but today his name is first and foremost associated with prizes awarded to the great and good in society. His name is therefore forever linked with celebrated Nobel Prize winners including Isaac Bashevis Singer, Yitzhak Rabin, Elie Wiesel and now Professor Edwards.

This week, as we read the story of Lech Lecha, when God made the initial call to Abraham, we read about the promise that Abraham received, which included within it the line: ‘I will make your name great’.

Included within the pledge that Abraham will be the founder of a great nation is the idea that Abraham will also possess a great name.

This was a promise about the type of person Abraham would become and the way in which he would be remembered. It was not about a literal name, but rather the reputation which would accompany his name – something he would earn for himself through his life and his actions.

Professor Robert Edwards has a great name in the Abrahamic sense, because of his important work and research in the field of medicine, helping millions of people to create life. The Nobel Prize did not make his name great, it simply gave his name the fame it deserved.

Through his will, Alfred Nobel changed his name from one associated with dynamite and death to one which is now linked to the words scientist, inventor, entrepreneur, author and pacifist. We can’t all endow millions to establish trusts and ensure our legacies. But through our words, our behaviour and our actions, we can gain for ourselves names which we can be proud of.

We may never achieve the fame which accompanies the receipt of a Nobel Prize, but it is within our control to fulfil our Jewish birthright of establishing for ourselves a great name.

My Sermon - 15th October - The Good News from Chile

There are certain events which unite a community. Then there are some events which unite a nation. And occasionally there are events which transcend boundaries and unite the world.

This week we witnessed one of those events.

From the early hours of Wednesday morning, through into Thursday, the world was united. Across the globe, in every continent and every country, we were captivated by a single story. We were transfixed by a single miraculous event.

We watched the inspiring rescue of 33 Chilean miners from an underground prison, which had threatened their lives and their sanity. We watched as a capsule was sent down into the depths of the earth, and we bore witness to the rebirth of each one of the 33 miners as they emerged out of the darkness and into the light.

For a period of just over twenty-four hours no matter where you were in the world, we were all on the same side; we were all hoping and praying for the same outcome, we were united in anticipation.

There was nervous trepidation at first, as we watched the capsule descend and rise; uncertain as to whether it would be able to fulfill its heroic mission. Then, as the capsule bore fruit, rescuing those first few miners, the mood changed to one of anticipation, would this story really have a happy ending? And as the number of miners on the surface grew, the atmosphere became one of charged excitement. Watching the embrace between Chile’s President and the thirty-third man out, Luis Urzua, was a moment of joy, relief, excitement, celebration and gratitude all rolled into one.

Each one of us will have one image or picture which will stay with us from those miraculous 24 hours. I will remember the sight of the daughter of Richard Villarroel Goody, the twenty-eighth miner out. She stood holding her Chilean flag, barely able to contain her excitement at seeing her father again after over two months. As his harness was removed you could hear her calling out, and then we watched as father and daughter embraced, holding onto each other with an intensity we probably can never fully understand.

The topographer, Maria Valdes, whose careful work back in August was crucial in locating the miners, and discovering that they were still alive, said yesterday that the rescue was 75% engineering and 25% miracle. None of us who watched the rescue could fail to acknowledge the miraculous dimension to the proceedings in Chile. The miners were in isolation, without confirmation of life or death for 17 days, and they survived underground for 69 days. It was a miracle they survived, it was a miracle they were found, and it was a miracle that all 33 were rescued alive. Human ingenuity and engineering played its part, but we should have our eyes open to the miracle which we have witnessed.

This is a miracle in which humanity and God played their part together, as the perfect partners. The miners prayed together. Out of the depths they called out to God, and God answered. Ricardo Villaroel, described how the experience of being in the mine renewed his faith in God, he said: ‘I never used to pray, here I learned to pray. I got closer to God.’ Another miner, Jimmy Sanchez, wrote in a letter prior to his rescue: ‘There are actually 34 of us, because God has never left us down here.’ We should see God’s face in the background of this miraculous story, but we should also see the shining beacon which can be humanity.

This was a moment which united the world, across the globe people gathered together to watch and listen to news of the miraculous rescue of the Chilean miners. All too often our news is a depressing drumbeat of negative stories and gloomy incidents. We read about the rise in unemployment and a shaky economy, we see pictures of wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, we watch as floods and tsunamis rob people of their homes, and we witness the destructive force of man.

But this time we got to watch a good news story, we got to watch a story about rescue and relief, rather than death and destruction.

And we watched it along with the rest of the world. On Thursday morning there was really only one story. Here in Britain, the Daily Telegraph ran with the headline: ‘The Miracle of San Jose’, according to the Dutch newspaper Volkskrant: ‘Hardly anyone had ever heard of the San Jose mine beforehand but now it's the centre of the world’. The South China Morning Post proclaimed: ‘Prayers, Tears and Jubilation’, and according to Germany’s Die Welt, ‘Nearly a billion people followed the rescue by internet, on the radio or the television’.

In a way that was worthy of the worldwide attention, the meticulously planned rescue was a truly international effort. A U.S. company supplied the drilling technology that broke through to the miners. NASA donated a high-calorie liquid diet. An Austrian company made the capsule's winch-and-pulley system. And there were numerous offers of help from every corner of the globe.

Why were we in London so concerned with the plight of 33 miners over 7,000 miles away on the other side of the world?

I think that all of us have grown tired and disillusioned with our regular diet of bad news and depressing storylines. The rescue of the Chilean miners allowed us to gain a glimpse of something else. It allowed us to watch a good news story, one which brought us tears of joy, and not sadness. It was a story in which we could take pride in our human achievements, rather than recoiling at human failure and frailty.

We recognised the value of each life, and in the faces of those miners we saw our own fathers, brothers, cousins, nephews, friends and relatives. We recognised the common humanity which we all share. Our eyes were opened to the spark of God present within all of us.

For a moment the world was not divided by colour, creed, race or religion, we were united by our common humanity.

Last week in our Torah we read the story of Noah, and we read about the rainbow which God placed in the sky as a sign of God’s covenant with all of humanity. After the flood and the apocalyptic destruction of virtually the entire world, God placed a rainbow in the sky as a sign that God will never destroy the world again, and as a symbol of the covenant between God and all of humanity – not just one religion or another – but with each and every one of us.

The rainbow brings together seven different colours, creating a whole, which is significantly more spectacular and beautiful than the sum of its parts. It is representative of the different elements which make up the human race. We come in all shapes, sizes, colours, creeds, religions and races. Each group possesses an individual beauty, but it is together that humanity is truly spectacular and awe inspiring.

The rainbow was the symbol for a united humanity in the Torah, and this week 33 miners became our modern sign that this dream is still possible.

This week we watched 33 miners emerge from darkness into light, and as a world we waited together, we watched together and we celebrated together. The rescue was a miracle, but so too was the way in which we gained a glimpse into the potential we have to come together, putting aside petty divisions and disagreements to share in the successes and accomplishments of the whole human race.

On this desolate patch of Chilean desert, in a place called Camp Hope, we were given a clear message: Human life is precious and we must all be united in saving and preserving it. This week as we saw the world united, we gained a glimpse of the messianic age. It is now our task to take the experiences of this past week forward and to build a world in which we are united not just in the face of adversity, but in the faces of each other.

Two Minutes of Torah: Lech Lecha (Genesis 15:1-21) - Where do babies come from?

“Where do babies come from?”

According to popular culture, parents live in perpetual fear of their children asking this question. It seems likely that the unease over giving an adequate answer was part of the reason why parents in Victorian England would tell their children: “the stork delivers them.” I guess if you’re not going to tell them the truth, it’s as believable as anything else. The image of the stork delivering babies is very prominent in popular culture; I am especially fond of the stork who delivered the baby elephant, Dumbo, to his mother in the famous Disney film.

However, despite our unease, we all know that it takes a man and a woman to make a baby. And ultimately parents need to have a frank conversation with their children, teaching them the truth about where babies come from. This knowledge makes Sarai’s absence from Genesis 15 very striking, as God and Abram discuss his lack of an heir.

When the Torah first introduced us to Abram and Sarai we were told ‘Sarai was barren, she had no children’ (Genesis 11:30). This fact has therefore been in the background throughout Abram’s story. When God said to Abram: ‘unto your seed will I give this land’ (Genesis 12:7) we were that there was no child to inherit the promise. Similarly, when God promised ‘and I will make your seed as the dust of the earth’ (Genesis 13:16) we know there is no seed. Only in Genesis 15 does Abram finally raise the issue of childlessness with God; ‘”My Lord Adonai, what will you give me, seeing I am childless and the steward of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?” And Abram said: “behold to me you have given no seed”’ (Genesis 15:2-3).

There is no mention of Sarai or her barrenness in this discussion. Abram specifically does not say: “we are childless” or “to us you have given no seed.” He ignores the fact that Sarai also had no children to love, care for and nurture. It is as though God, not the stork, will deliver a baby to Abram, with no need for Sarai to be involved.

The promise which Abram receives therefore speaks only to him. When God declares: ‘none but your very own issue shall be your heir’ (Genesis 15:4) Sarai is not mentioned; she is given no similar pledge that she will become a mother. It is little surprise that following this deal, struck between God and Abram, Sarai comes and offers Abram her maidservant Hagar (Genesis 16:1-3), so that there will be the chance for Abram to have an heir.

One cannot begin to imagine how Sarai must have felt; unable to provide Abram with a son, she invites another woman to share her husband’s bed so that he may have an heir. After the encounter between God and Abram it is little surprise that our Patriarch voices no opposition and simply ‘listened to the voice of Sarai’ (Genesis 16:2). The stork will not bring them a child, instead Hagar will provide Abram with the heir he has yearned for, his firstborn son Ishmael.

Abram neglected to consider the feelings of his wife Sarai, as he pursued his dream of having a son. The repercussions of this act come later in the narrative, when Sarah (by this time her name has changed) gives birth to her son Isaac, and very soon after demands that Abraham (his name was also changed) expel his firstborn son Ishmael and Hagar, the mother of his firstborn (Genesis 21). Sarah does not worry about Abraham’s feelings, and the relationship between father and son is irreparably broken – the next time they are mentioned together is when Ishmael, together with Isaac, bury their father (Genesis 25:9).

My Sermon - 9th October - Be Fruitful and Multiply

“Coincidence is the word we use when we can’t see the levers and pulleys.” These are the words of the author Emma Bull, and I am really keen on this idea. As a person of faith I agree with Albert Einstein that coincidence is Gods way of remaining anonymous. We may see the connection of events as accidental, but really there is something behind the apparent random occurrences. I am not sure if it was God or the editors of various news media, but Monday threw up a wonderful coincidence, which was just too good to ignore.

Those of us who were watching, or listening, to the news on Monday could not have missed the lead story across the networks, as cuts to child benefit became the day’s major headline. On the second day of the Conservative Party conference, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, George Osborne, announced that families with one parent who is a high rate tax payer, would no longer receive child benefit. The press grew very animated as they reported and discussed the rights and wrongs of this new policy. I am not about to offer a political perspective, I was just fascinated by the story which followed, and as I’ve been married for less than 2 years, there is time before I need to offer my personal opinion.

On the same day, the second item on most news broadcasts involved Professor Robert Edwards and his receipt of the Nobel Prize for Medicine. Professor Edwards was honoured for his work researching and developing IVF treatment to help people who have struggled with fertility to have a child. According to the reports there are over four million people in the world today, born as a result of his pioneering work and the successes achieved by Professor Robert Edwards.

If this was not coincidence enough, our Torah reading today began with the verse: “And God blessed Noah and his sons and said to them “Be fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth.”’ This command was first given to the animals, then to Adam and Eve, and now it is shared with Noah and his family. The creator of In Vitro Fertilisation, who has helped millions to be fruitful and multiply, has been honoured as we read about this command in the Torah, while raising those children has become more expensive for some. A coincidence indeed!

In the Torah, at no place when we are told to be fruitful and multiply are we told what to do with the children once we have given birth to them. In the context of the story of Noah it seems that simply having lots of children will fulfil the obligation – the earth will be replenished. We may have hoped for more guidance about what to do once a baby is born. What are our responsibilities once we have children? How should we raise our children? And what responsibilities do we have to other people’s children?

In the Talmud, which unfortunately only concerns itself with the man and his son, we are told: ‘Our Rabbis taught: The father is obligated in respect of his son, to circumcise him, to redeem him (if he is a firstborn), to teach him Torah, to take a wife for him, and to teach him a craft. Some add to this list that he must teach him to swim too.’ The list is indicative of the Rabbinic understanding of what a child requires from their parents, and about how they must be raised.

It is first of all clear that a religious identity is crucial, and while the text only mentions circumcision, one can assume that this is symbolic of parents sharing their religious heritage with their children. The next parental responsibility is education, specifically in this context the education of Torah. I like to think that the Torah provides us with a moral and ethical code by which we should live our lives, and so in this way, the Rabbinic instruction is about raising children to be responsible, positive, valuable members of society.

Having raised a good Jewish boy, it is then in Jewish parents eyes, or dare I say Jewish mothers eyes, the time to find him a partner, a Jewish partner of course. And according to the Talmud it is clear that this is the parents responsibility as well. I am not sure how keen children are on their parents acting as match maker, but it is almost inbuilt into our Jewish DNA, we try to match-make the whole time, be it for family members, friends, or even people we hardly know. As a community we take this responsibility very seriously – in our modern context, I wonder how many parents pay for their children’s J-Date registration, so that they can surf the internet looking for a Jewish partner.

The education does not stop there, and the child must be taught a craft, or a trade, so that in turn they can become self-sufficient and ultimately financially independent of their parents. All of these obligations would appear to be very logical and important for helping children to grow up. And then the text adds an additional opinion, which supplements the list with the need to teach a child to swim. Maybe this is about giving children the tools to protect themselves from potentially dangerous situations. Or maybe it reminds us that we must also have fun with our children, and not everything needs to be serious with a specific purpose.

But what if there are no parents to fulfil these obligations? At this point according to the Talmud the responsibility falls upon the entire community. When there are no parents we all share a responsibility in raising the children, and I would suggest even when there are parents we still share that responsibility as members of the same community and society.

Whatever a person might think about the rights or wrongs of the recently announced policy, which will cut child benefit; the existence of child benefit makes a statement about society and the way we relate to other people’s children. Child benefit is a statement by the government that we are all invested in the raising of children. We all have a responsibility to contribute to help families raise their children. And one can assume that ultimately we, society, will all benefit from raising the next generation in an appropriate way.

The famous African quote suggests that it takes a village to raise a child.

Child benefit is one way that the village can help to raise a child, but I would suggest we need to be much more hands on in helping each other to raise the next generation. Our society has become individualised and privatised in almost every sphere, and parenting is no exception. While I am not denying that parents bear the primary responsibility for raising their own children, each one of us also has a responsibility and obligation. As a community we have a responsibility not just for our own children, but for the children of this community.

Eleven hours after Moses Goodrich was born in January 2009, his mother died. His grieving father Robbie did not know how he would raise his son, and he was especially concerned that he would be unable to fulfil his wife’s wish of having her son breastfed. He ordered $500 of frozen breast milk as he prepared to care for his newborn son. The next day a friend called and offered to breastfeed Moses, within weeks there were 25 women who had taken responsibility for raising and feeding Moses. He did not have a mother to raise him, but he had a community.

People come together in times of need to help with the responsibilities of raising children. We need to come together at all times to help each other to be the most accomplished parents we can be, and to raise children who are caring, educated, know right from wrong, and who will, themselves, make a contribution to community and to society.

One way that we, as a community, already do this is by investing in our Religion School to provide our children with a good Jewish education. The Synagogue has prioritised our children’s education and has invested to make sure that they are taught Torah by wonderful teachers in a great environment.

But Torah education is just one of the responsibilities the Talmud lays out for parents and their children. We also need to provide them with a connection to their religious heritage – we need to bring them into the synagogue and encourage them to be a part of our prayer community. We have reintroduced the monthly Birthday Kiddush to celebrate the children, but we actually need to welcome them every week. Occasionally this might mean accepting a little bit of noise from our youngest children, but this seems like a small price to pay for fulfilling our religious responsibility towards them.

In this week’s Torah portion we are told to be fruitful and multiply. The important work of Professor Robert Edwards, which was honoured this week, helped to make this a possibility for millions of people. And in the same week the financial support for raising children was reduced. We need to fill that financial gap with our hard work, our involvement and our action. We all share the responsibility of raising our children – we don’t have villages to raise a child, but we have synagogues, and in this community we don’t need to just bless our children with our words, we can also bless them with our actions. And the impact of our actions will be heard further and louder than our words ever could be.

Two Minutes of Torah: Noach (Genesis 9:1-17) - The Many Colours of the Rainbow

I do not remember many specific lessons from my primary school experience, but the mnemonic devices we were taught have stuck with me. For the four directions of the compass I always recall ‘Never Eat Soggy Wheetabix’ and ‘Naughty Elephants Squirt Water’. And for the colours of the rainbow I have never forgotten: ‘Richard Of York Gained Battles In Vain’, or my teacher Mrs Rose’s own creation: ‘Run Over Your Grandma Because It’s Violent’ (it’s a little peculiar, but it clearly worked as a memory tool).

The mnemonic device is useful for learning the order of the colours of the rainbow, but knowing the colours and actually seeing a rainbow is something completely different. Over the weekend while listening to the Ryder Cup coverage on the Radio, the golf reporting was temporarily interrupted as the presenter tried to describe the beautiful rainbow he was witnessing at Celtic Manor. He was so moved by this vision of nature that he actually suggested a poet would be best equipped to describe it.

The first recorded rainbow is the one shown to Noach by God as a symbol of their covenant: ‘I set my rainbow in the cloud, and it shall be for a sign of a covenant between me and the earth’ (Genesis 9:13). There was something redemptive about that first rainbow and all it represented. The flood, which Noach experienced, was a cataclysmic event, which brought the earth to the brink of destruction. Noach, his family, and the animals from the ark, were the surviving remnant of a destroyed planet.

Having saved Noach and his family, God enters into a new covenant with humanity. This includes the prohibition against eating live flesh (Genesis 9:4), the law against shedding another person’s blood (Genesis 9:6) and the instruction to be fruitful and multiply (Genesis 9:7). The rainbow is a reminder of the covenant which god entered into with Noach, not just for us, but also for God, who will see the rainbow: ‘And I will remember my covenant, which is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh’ (Genesis 9:15).

We often focus on the covenant between God and Abraham (mentioned from Genesis 15:18), as this is our particular birthright as Jews. We often forget that there was first a covenant with all of humanity, and no particular group or religion. In Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5 we are told that the entire world was created from Adam so that no person would say my father was greater than yours. Just in case there was any doubt, the story of Noach provides the same function, so that we are all descended from Adam and Eve, through the line of Noach.

The Torah makes a wonderful statement about God’s relationship with all of humanity by asserting a universal covenant before focussing on a specific one. God is in a relationship with all human beings, not one or other specific religious or ethnic group. And the rainbow is the perfect symbol to represent that covenant.

The rainbow brings together seven different colours, creating a whole, which is significantly more spectacular and beautiful than the sum of its parts. It is representative of the different elements which make up the human race. We come in all shapes, sizes, colours, creeds, religions and races. Each group possesses an individual beauty, but it is together that humanity is truly spectacular and awe inspiring.

I know that whenever I see a rainbow I am frozen in my tracks, stopping to admire the beauty of God’s creation. We don’t get to see them everyday, and the weather conditions have to be just right to create one; but there are few things in nature as beautiful as the rainbow, and there are few things in the world as beautiful as humanity coming together in love and unity.

Two Minutes of Torah: Bereishit (Genesis 3:1-21) - Don't Get Your Fingers Burnt

In one episode of the television comedy ‘Samantha Who’, the title character says: ‘You know that thing about touching the plate after the waiter tells you its hot, the most exciting time is that moment right before you touch it; after that, you're just an idiot sitting in a restaurant with a burnt finger.’ I am that idiot! If the waiter or waitress tells me the plate is hot, then I feel like I have to touch it, just to check. When the plate is sizzling I can usually resist, but at all other times, without thinking, I extend my finger just to confirm exactly how hot the plate really is.

God is a little bit like the waiter when God places Adam in the Garden of Eden and offers him an extensive menu of food, which he is able to enjoy ‘Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat’ (Genesis 2:16). There is one exception; in the midst of the garden was the forbidden tree: ‘of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, you shall not eat of it; for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die’ (Genesis 2:17). It is not clear if death is a direct, inescapable consequence of eating from the tree, or a punishment which will be delivered by God. However, one can imagine that this ‘special’ tree in the midst of the garden was a subject of fascination and temptation.

It is into this context that the serpent began to cause trouble. We should remember that God spoke to Adam, and not to Eve, so rather deviously it is Eve that the serpent approaches to tempt with the tree in the midst of the garden. Eve does at least know of a commandment relating to the tree: ‘It is only about fruit of the tree in the middle of the garden that God said: “You shall not eat of it or touch it, lest you die”’ (Genesis 3:3). In Eve’s mind the fruit of the tree cannot be eaten, but it also must not be touched – an addition to God’s original prohibition. The fascination with the tree had grown from what was originally intended.

The serpent seizes the opening and challenges Eve: ‘You are not going to die, but God knows that as soon as you eat of it your eyes will be opened and you will be like divine beings who know good and bad’ (Genesis 3:4). We all know the rest of the story as Eve ate from the tree, and then offered it to Adam. Together they both realised that they were naked – as the serpent had said the tree opened their eyes, giving them newfound insights and awareness.

However, the relationship between God and Adam and Eve was irreparably changed. There is a sense of outrage in the words which God spoke; God appears shocked that the humans would disregard the commandment he had given them. And among the consequences Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden, but not before ‘God made garments of skins for Adam and his wife’ (Genesis 3:20). The relationship was changed, but it was not broken.

In many ways this foundational story in our text is a story of maturation and growth. Adam and Eve begin as children in the Garden of Eden with everything provided for them; this is not the life which was intended for them. By eating the fruit they make a choice; they choose to disregard an instruction from God and act independently. The action is their own and the consequences are their responsibility, but so too is the independence. In eating the fruit Adam and Eve assert their independence in the same way that a teenager does in relationship to his or her parents.

For me the ‘hot’ plate set before me is an irresistible temptation. I wonder if when God was placing the tree in the midst of the garden God knew that it would be an almost irresistible temptation. Perhaps God knew that at some point Adam and Eve would challenge God’s authority and eat from that tree. Maybe that was all God’s plan, for at that moment God would know that Adam and Eve were ready to be freed from Eden, and given the independence to look after themselves, and be sent out into the big wide world. God was still saddened that his creations had ‘grown up’ and were ready for a new, different relationship; but God also knew that the time had come for them to stand on their own two feet and leave the nest.

Two Minutes of Torah: VeZot HaBracha (Deuteronomy 34:1-12) - Passing on the Baton

Parashat VeZot HaBracha
Passing on the Baton
(Deuteronomy 34:1-12)

Throughout my teenage years I was involved with RSY-Netzer (the Reform Jewish youth movement), and while at university I assumed various leadership roles in the movement. It was somewhat inevitable that when I completed my studies I went to work for RSY. The position was for one year. There were four of us, and we had just 365 days in which to run the movement. Following that we would hand over to the next cohort of office workers and our time in the youth movement would be at an end.

I had a great year. But as we reached the summer and my departure grew imminent there was a sense of frustration about what I had yet to achieve. I was not entirely ready to hand over and break my connection. It was not easy to say goodbye.

This week, in the final portion of our Torah, we have the ultimate goodbye as Moses bids farewell to the Israelites. Moses has known for sometime that he will not enter the Promised Land, and it is now that his separation from the Israelites, the people he has led for the last forty years is completed. The solitary walk up Mount Nebo marks his physical separation from the people – his community, with just God beside him. 'Moses went up from the steppes of Moab to Mount Nebo, to the summit of Pisgah, opposite Jericho, and the Lord showed him the whole land' (Deuteronomy 34:1).

It is hard to even imagine what Moses thought as he looked out upon the Promised Land, the land he had been journeying towards, the land he would not enter. What regrets did he have? What business was still unfinished? What dreams were yet to be fulfilled?

I like to think that from the top of Mount Nebo Moses looked forwards but also backwards. He looked down at the Israelite camp and the people he had led from slavery to freedom. He gazed upon the dwelling places of Israel and admired the progress they had made since leaving Egypt. He admired the community he had helped to build.

We may feel sympathy for Moses, but we know that the journey did not end with his death. As the Torah makes clear; 'now Joshua son of Nun was filled with the spirit of wisdom' (Deuteronomy 34:9). Moses had to pass the baton on to the next generation to continue the journey to the Promised Land. It is the same for all of us, eventually the baton is passed and the next generation assumes the mantle of leadership. It is not easy stepping back or stepping aside, but it is part of the cycle of life.

Two Minutes of Torah: Nitzavim-Vayelech (Deuteronomy 29:9-28) - Responsibility for the Future

There is a famous native American proverb: ‘We do not inherit the world from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children.’ I have always been taken by this proverb and the idea within it. We are currently the guardians of the world, but we are also links in a chain which stretches backwards and forwards. Often this is stated in connection to the environment and the way in which we use and abuse the natural world. But it extends beyond that; with the massive government borrowing, which has taken place to combat the global economic downturn, we have debts which will be paid off by our children, and many commentators have talked about mortgaging our futures.

At my age I find myself in an interesting transitional stage. I used to relate to this proverb as one of the children from whom the world is borrowed. But as my friends begin having children, I am increasingly aware that I am part of the group currently possessing the world and borrowing it from our children. And as such I am beginning to relate differently to the world and my role in it.

In this week’s Torah portion we have a Jewish version of the proverb, as God reaffirms the covenant with the people, on the eve of entering the Promised Land. The text stresses that everyone was present, standing before God: “your tribal heads, your elders and your officials, all the men of Israel, your children, your wives, even the stranger within your camp, from woodchopper to waterdrawer” (Deuteronomy 29:9-10). However, it also includes: “I make this covenant, with its sanctions, not with you alone, 14 but both with those who are standing here with us this day before the Lord our God and with those who are not with us here this day” (Deuteronomy 29:13-14). The covenant reaches back to Abraham, but also includes future generations who will ultimately uphold the covenant and join it.

These future generations were not present at the agreeing of the covenant, they were unable to suggest any amendments or changes, their parents and their parent’s parents made the commitment for them – and essentially for us.

Today, while we may not be entering into covenants with God, we are the guardians of the Jewish tradition, and we will eventually pass our Judaism on to future generations. As inheritors of a Reform Jewish tradition we have the ability to engage and challenge what it means to be Jewish. My parents were born into a Judaism which lacked female Rabbis and was not fully egalitarian, by the time I was born there were women Rabbis, and increasing openness to all members of society regardless of gender or sexual orientation. What will the Reform Judaism that we pass on to our children look like?

We will never forget where we have come from, and we will respect and honour our traditions. But at the same time we must be true to our name Re-forming Judaism when it is necessary and important. This is not a covenant which we only make with God, it is a covenant which we must make with each other as members of our community, ensuring that we will protect our heritage so that we can be proud of what we pass on to our children.

The decisions we make will have implications for generations not yet born, and will determine what type of a Jewish community our children are born into. If we consider our Judaism as something we simultaneously inherit from our ancestors, while also borrowing it from our children we will be able to fashion a dynamic and engaging Reform Judaism.

My Sermon - 28th August - My father was a wandering Aramean

We currently have a Prime Minister who appears very British. David Cameron went to Eaton, he was educated at Oxford University, and he can even claim to have Royal blood as he is a direct descendant of King William IV and his mistress. He would pass any test of Britishness.

But Prime Minister Cameron also has Jewish immigrants in his family tree. His great great grandfather, on his father’s side was Emile Levita, a German Jew, who arrived in England in the 1850s, gaining citizenship in 1871. As the Government seek to tighten immigration controls, I cannot help but wonder whether David Cameron’s great great grandfather would have been allowed in.

And in the interests of political impartiality; our Liberal, Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg is married to a Spaniard, and his mother is from Holland. And the leading candidate in the Labour leadership election, David Milliband, has a Belgian born father, and Polish born mother, as does the candidate currently in second place, his brother Ed.

In the lead up to the General Election, my wife and I took great pleasure in watching the leadership debates, and hearing about the various policies of our three main political parties. They disagreed on many issues, and there appeared to be a lack of common ground on most things, except when the subject of immigration came up. As they discussed this topic, they seemed united in their calls for tighter limits and stricter checks. The main disagreement centred on whose policies would best achieve caps on the total number of immigrants entering the UK, yet they all seemed to be in agreement that there were too many people wanting to, and entering, our country. Both my wife and I were disappointed as we listened to all three men, one of whom would become Prime Minister.

Just over a year ago we went through the process of obtaining a visa, so that my wife, could come and live here. Despite the fact that we were married, had jobs waiting for us, and could prove our income, the process still took over three months, and definitely served to raise my blood pressure on more than one occasion. And just last week, a close friend who has been living here for 4 years, received her Masters here, has a job, and pays taxes, was told that she would not be able to stay because she does not have enough points according to the system introduced since the election. It appears that she simply does not make enough money to satisfy the requirements. It seems that the borders are open, but only if your bank balance is big enough.

Although I was born in England, my mother was an immigrant to this country from Israel, and my grandmother was an immigrant, coming here from Germany after Kristallnacht, and initially staying in one of the West London Synagogue hostels. I am sure that virtually every one in this room fits into one of the following categories: a) you emigrated here, b) you have a parent who emigrated here, or c) you have at least one grandparent who emigrated here. We are members of the West London Synagogue of British Jews, but we weren’t always British; we have all been immigrants since Jews were readmitted to Britain.

‘My father was a wandering Aramean, he went down to Egypt with meagre numbers, and settled there, and there he became a great and very populous nation.’ This verse in this week’s Torah portion, is a reference not just to one person, but to our ancestors; Abraham was a wandering Aramean, and Jacob went down to Egypt. We are all, as the Jewish people, collectively, the descendants of wanderers and immigrants, both in our ancient past, and in our more recent history.

This week’s Torah portion instructs us that as we enter the land of Israel, and bring the first fruits – a symbol of the fact that we have not just arrived there, but settled there – we should recite the line: ‘My father was a wandering Aramean…’ Just as we became settled, we reminded ourselves of our immigrant past, and the experiences of our ancestors.

With no Temple and no state in the land of Israel, this line was nonetheless preserved, by its use in the Passover Seder, so that every year we remember ‘My father was a wandering Aramean’ at one of the central festivals within our calendar. The entire Passover Seder is an interactive, educational event designed to instil in us the sense that we were slaves in the land of Egypt, and that we fled from there to the Promised Land.

Remembering our history is not just about knowing where we come from, but it is also about knowing where we are going, and how we will behave in light of our experiences.

One of the most often quoted verses in our Torah is taken from Leviticus: ‘Love you neighbour as yourself, I am Adonai your God’. This is known as the Golden Rule, for it stretches across the religious divide, and each tradition has its own version. Yes this verse is unquestionably important, but we rarely quote the verse a few lines down in the passage which states: ‘But the foreigner, who dwells with you shall be to you as one born among you, and you shall love him as yourself; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt; I am Adonai your God’. We are not just told to love our neighbours as ourselves, we are told to love the foreigner, the stranger, the immigrant as ourselves.

This commandment was necessary because often the “other” is an easy scapegoat for the majority within society. We Jews have often been on the receiving end; we have been persecuted as foreigners and strangers – suspected and mistrusted by the host societies in which we have settled.

Immigrants are an easy scapegoat for a society because they are different. They may look different, they might sound distinctive, and they may behave in a foreign way. In this way, the immigrants are a noticeable other, and as such, an easy target to blame for many of the problems in society.

Different societies may target different foreign groups, but the fear and the suspicion is the same. In Arizona, legislation has been introduced to allow the stopping and searching of people who look like they might be an illegal immigrant. This law will indiscriminately target all Latinos, whether they have arrived lawfully or illegally. In France, President Sarkozy has turned his attention to gypsy travellers as a group which must be targeted and expelled. And in Britain, as the Labour leadership contest heats up, once again the candidates are seeking to be the toughest standing against immigration; with the two Eds, Milliband and Balls, both claiming that Labour lost the last election, in part because they were not tougher on immigration.

For us Jews, the Torah is unambiguous: We were strangers in the land of Egypt, and we know what it is like to be an immigrant – oppressed, scapegoated and presecuted.

We can list the differences between the contemporary situation and the historical situation of our ancestors. And we should distinguish between legal and illegal immigrants. But it is almost universal that people migrate in search of a better life for themselves and their families. And it is clear that the overwhelming majority of immigrants are positive contributors to the societies in which they settle. Just yesterday, the Business Secretary Vince Cable commented on the need to recognise that immigrants are an important factor in business recovery and economic growth.

As a Jewish community, we have settled and established ourselves as an important part of British society. But we must always remember that one need not look too far back into our history to find common experiences with the immigrants of today.

There is a building in the East End of London which symbolises the repetitious nature of the immigrant story. This building on the corner of Brick Lane and Fournier Street was built in 1742, as a Huguenot chapel, called La Neuve Eglise, by French Hugenots who had come to England fleeing persecution. In 1898, the building was consecrated as the Machzikei HaDath, or Spitalfields Great Synagogue by Jews who had come to London from Eastern Europe. And in 1976, it became the London Jamme Masjid, serving the local Bangladeshi Muslim community.

First a Chapel, then a Synagogue, now a Mosque. If that isn’t telling of the composition of British society, then I don’t know what is.

We must never forget where we have come from as a community. Our father was a wandering Aramean, and virtually all of us can find an immigrant experience in our more recent histories. We were the immigrants of yesteryear, and we need to remember our experiences when we enter into the debate about immigration today. The multicultural nature of British society is one of the things which we should embrace and celebrate. We are beneficiaries of that society, as was the great great grandfather of our Prime Minister. We must never forget where we came from, and as such we must treat others as we would want to be treated.

Bayom hahu – on that day, when we can all treat each other with compassion and acceptance, regardless of race, religion or nationality.

Bayom hahu – on that day, when we can embrace one another as brothers and sisters, each of us members of one human family.

Maybe, just maybe, that will be our ultimate Exodus from Egypt, and entry into the Promised Land.

Two Minutes of Torah: Ki Tavo (Deuteronomy 26:1-19) - Knowing where we come from

I was born in England, the same country as only one of my grandparents. All four of my grandparents were born in different countries with different experiences. My mother’s mother was born in Romania, to a very Zionist family, who moved to Israel while she was still a very young baby. My mother’s father was born in Israel, after his family had made aliyah from Austria. My father’s mother was born in Germany, leaving there after Kristallnacht and moving to England, to stay in one of the WLS hostels. My father’s father was born in England – just like me.

The geography of the Jewish community has changed significantly in the last 150 years. Our centres have shifted from Europe to America and Israel. I am sure that I am not unique amongst my generation in having four grandparents born in four different countries. We Jews have always been travellers, moving cities and countries at regular intervals.

‘My father was a wandering Aramean, who went down to Egypt’ (Deuteronomy 26:5). In this week’s Torah portion, as we stand on the brink of settling the land of Israel, we are given instructions about what to do when we enter the land. We are instructed to bring our first fruits to the Priests (Deuteronomy 26:2-3), and then we are told to recite the line about our Aramean ancestry.

We say this line for ourselves, to remember where we came from, but we are also instructed: ‘you shall recite if before Adonai your God’ (Deuteronomy 26:5). God, who has witnessed our story, also stands as a witness to our remembrance of our history. It is important that we know our own story, but it is also important that we share it.

‘My father was a wandering Aramean…’ may sound familiar because we recite it annually at our Passover Seder. This passage, originally intended to be recited when entering the Land of Israel, was moved into the liturgy of Passover. It was considered so important that it was included and recited on an annual basis.

Passover is an annual opportunity to remember our people’s story. One of the main elements of the Seder is the education of our children; it is structured as an interactive lesson about our experiences in Egypt and beyond. Through the Seder we all learn about our people’s story, how we were slaves in Egypt and how God freed us; leading us towards the Promised Land.

Through the Seder we learn our collective Jewish story. Perhaps we should also introduce a separate family Seder for grandparents and others, to share our family stories and history. Ideally it will be interactive and engaging; but most importantly it will be personal and real, providing a tangible connection to our own family histories. We know that our father was a wandering Aramean, but we also need to know about our grandparents and where our individual families come from.

I would like to be able to share stories with my children, about their great grandmother who was born in Romania and moved to Israel, about their great grandfather born in the pre-State land of Israel, about a great grandmother who fled from Germany, and about a great grandfather born in England, just like me. I will have a responsibility to educate my children through the Passover Seder about our people’s history. But through a family Seder I will also have a responsibility to educate them about their great grandparents, and our family.

Two Minutes of Torah: Ki Tetze (Deuteronomy 21:20-22:7) - Finding your fellow's ox

I grew up in a house with cats. From the time I was 6 or 7 there has always been a cat in my parent’s house; first Sally, then Tiger, then Lucky, and currently Simba and Nala (I was in a Lion King phase when we got them). The cats have always been free to come and go as they pleased; generally coming for food or to be stroked, and then going soon after.

However, in the last several years a new cat on the block has caused trouble, fighting with Simba and Nala; and on one occasion sending the later to the vet. We have a zero tolerance policy towards this neighbourhood bully and whenever it approaches we chase him away, occasionally using the hose, a water pistol, or whatever is to hand. I realise he is someone else’s pet; but as far as we’re concerned he’s a vicious bully and a thug.

It is easy for a person to consider their own pets wonderful and the animals of others to be a nuisance. We may invite the owner round for tea and biscuits, but we are often less excited when their four legged friend crashes the party.

The portion of Ki Tetze begins as though it cannot sit still; jumping from subject to, often tenuously related, subject every few verses. In one of those leaps it comes to the subject of another person’s animals. ‘If you see your fellow's ox or sheep gone astray, do not ignore it; you must take it back to your fellow’ (Deuteronomy 22:1). One can imagine that this instruction could play havoc with a person’s day, but it is the nice thing to do. One can liken it to responding to one of those lost dog posters stuck on the lamppost (it’s funny that it’s always a lost dog, and cats never seem to go missing).

However, the Torah portion continues: ‘If your fellow does not live near you or you do not know who he is, you shall bring it home and it shall remain with you until your fellow claims it; then you shall give it back to him’ (Deuteronomy 22:2). The Torah does not institute a lost an found centre for ox, sheep and donkeys; instead the individual who finds the animal is required to provide it with room and board until it is claimed. Suddenly that other person’s animal becomes your problem.

The Torah appears to be aspiring to a society in which no-one ever says: ‘It’s not my problem’, or stands idly by when an animal is missing. It is not just concerned with animals, and clarifies ‘do the same with his garment’ (Deuteronomy 22:3). By using the example of animals the Torah portrays an extreme case, suggesting that it is therefore a rule for all lost property. It’s much easier to keep hold of a sweater until it is claimed, rather than an ox.

For the person who finds the animal I imagine that this system may have been a little frustrating. But for the person who lost the animal it must have been a very reassuring law to have in place.

The Torah reminds us of the fact that we do not live in isolation, we live as part of a community, a neighbourhood; a society bigger than just us. Our world has become quite individual-orientated, and people inhabit their small spheres, unconcerned about the wider world beyond their boundaries.

Two Minutes of Torah: Shoftim (Deuteronomy 16:18-17:13) - The Pursuit of Justice

One of the real joys of being a Rabbi at West London Synagogue is the opportunity to teach on Jewish Preparation (our conversion course). It is wonderful to accompany people as they embark on their Jewish journey and join our community. Through this experience I have become increasingly aware of a certain ‘Jewish vocabulary’, which we use without translation. This vocabulary involves words which we all know the meaning of, but which are completely foreign to anyone from outside the community.

The most prominent word from this group is without a doubt the word ‘Tzedakkah’. In the Jewish community we don’t talk about ‘giving charity’, we talk about ‘giving Tzedakkah’. We don’t have charity boxes or collection tins, we have Tzedakkah boxes. Throughout the High Holy Days we talk about Teshuvah, Tefillah and Tzedakkah averting the evil decree; when we translate it we will talk about Repentance, Prayer and Tzedakkah.

Part of the reason for there not being a translation for Tzedakkah is the fact that there is no adequate translation for this word. It comes from the root tzedek, meaning justice, and so Tzedakkah is really about the pursuit of justice in this world. One way of achieving this is through charity, but it is not the only way.

This week’s Torah portion begins with an emphasis on the importance of tzedek – justice. Judges are to be appointed ‘and they shall govern the people with due justice’ (Deuteronomy 16:18). However, justice is something which is expected from all the people. The famous instruction in this week’s Torah portion is: ‘Justice, justice you shall pursue it, so that you may thrive and occupy the land which Adonai your God is giving to you’ (Deuteronomy 16:20). Justice is not something which exists purely in the judicial realm, it is something which all of us must engage with and aspire to.

The repetition of the word tzedek – justice, is striking; serving to emphasise the word’s importance. However, I think that the relationship to justice is more striking. It does not instruct us to be just, it does not say create a just society, instead it says that we must pursue justice. Justice is something we aspire to, something we seek to achieve, and something which we must chase. There is an urgency and immediacy to a pursuit – we run after something, seeking to capture it and possess it. The need for a pursuit also suggests that achieving justice is neither easy, nor simple; it requires work and effort from all of us.

In a Torah portion which is called Shoftim – Judges, we are all reminded that we have a role in pursuing justice and in building a just society. We cannot rely on the courts to offer a corrective for injustice in our society; we must be active in preventing injustice, before the courts are required to intervene.

Because Tzedakkah is one of those words which we never use in translation, it is one of the first words we must teach on the Jewish Preparation course. Teaching the word is important, but pursuing its meaning is a task which can, and should, define a person’s entire Jewish journey.