Two Minutes of Torah: Parashat Emor (Leviticus 21:1-15) - Family Comes First

At the beginning of the Jewish Ethics GCSE course there is a question about the relevance of laws and texts which are over 2,000 years old. In the class there is always a fascinating discussion about how significant these laws are. There is an attachment to our Jewish tradition and heritage, but they are also aware of the fact that some laws no longer feel relevant. We can all recognise that elements of Judaism remain applicable, while there are others laws and obligations which we would seek to discard. The laws of shiva and mourning appear to be some of the most relevant, pertinent and important guidelines we have.

The Jewish mourning cycle is arranged around distinct periods of time: from death to burial, the seven days of shiva, the first 30 days of shloshim and then the regulations of the initial year. The demarcated periods of time allow for the mourners to gradually adjust to life without their loved ones and slowly return to everyday life.

In this week's Torah portion the Priests are instructed not to defile themselves by a dead body (Leviticus 21:1). This is in many ways a contribution of the purity laws, as a dead body makes a Priest impure and therefore unfit to serve in the Temple. However family comes first, and the Priests are told "But for his family [he may be defiled] for his mother, his father, his son, his daughter, and his brother, also for a virgin sister, close to him because she has not married, for her he may defile himself" (Leviticus 2:2-3).

To be a Priest and work in God's holy Temple means to come into the presence of God, and be close to the Divine; for the Biblical Israelites it is the most important task possible, and yet even for this the priest should prioritise family.

In the midst of all of these laws and obligations for serving God we are reminded that family takes precedence. From this list the Rabbis developed the mourning obligations for all Jews. The people for whom the Priests become impure are the family members we mourn for.

Earlier in the Book of Leviticus, during the Holiness Code, two of the Ten Commandments were restated. In Exodus, when we stood at Mount Sinai, Shabbat was Commandment Four (Exodus 20:8-11) and honouring parents was number Five (Exodus 20:12). In the Holiness Code we are instructed: "a person should respect their mother and father and keep my Shabbatot" (Leviticus 19:3). When commanded at Sinai we must keep Shabbat and honour our parents, when we are attempting to be holy, family comes first.

Religion, especially the priestly sacrificial system, can often be characterised as cold and austere. Here, with the laws of mourning, we are reminded of the humanity and compassion which is present within Judaism. Laws and commandments are important, but family comes first.

Two Minutes of Torah: Acharei Mot-Kedoshim (Leviticus 19:23-37) - After death speak holiness

For all of the sacrifices and uncomfortable reading which we have in the Book of Leviticus (last week was all about menstrual blood and leprosy), in the middle of this Book we find the Torah portion of Kedoshim. And there we find the holiness code; one of those sections of Torah which we Reform Jews love to read. It is here that we read of our obligation to be holy as an emulation of God (Leviticus 19:2). Here too we have the instructions to leave the corner of the vineyard for the poor (Leviticus 19:10), the obligation not to curse the deaf or place a stumbling block before the blind (Leviticus 19:14), and most famously we have the law: ‘Love your neighbour as yourself’ (Leviticus 19:18). Kedoshim is a glorious Torah portion.

The Torah itself is divided 54 portions, and the Jewish year regularly includes anything from 50 Shabbatot up to 55 Shabbatot,[1] which means that in weeks like this one (and last week) we have a double Torah portion.

While we will be reading a section at WLS for the portion of Kedoshim, it is also the Torah portion of Acharei Mot. This first Torah portion begins: ‘And Adonai spoke to Moses after the death of Aaron’s two sons’ (Leviticus 16:1) and it contains more sacrificial laws and a list of sexual offences. The name of the Torah portion comes from the link which we have with the death of Aaron’s sons Nadav and Avihu, which took place a few chapters earlier (Leviticus 10:1-3).

It means that this Shabbat is Acharei Mot, which means ‘after death’ and Kedoshim, which means ‘holiness’. It is strange to read this two Torah portions side by side as they contain very different subject matter. And yet when their names are placed together we read: ‘After death, holiness’. When this is added with next week’s Torah portion we have ‘Acharei Mot Kedoshim Emor’, which as a sentence can be translated as ‘after death speak holiness’. The names of these three Torah portions provide us with an important lesson when dealing with death.

As a religion, we require that the mourners recite Kaddish with a minyan present, to prevent them from slipping into silence in the face of personal loss and tragedy. We do not allow the mourner to withdraw physically or verbally. Instead, tradition requires that three times a day, the mourner appears in public and speaks. We recognize that in the face of suffering and loss, it is often very hard to say anything. One can view the entire Jewish ritual connected with death and loss as a way of supporting the mourner and giving them time to grieve, while simultaneously ensuring that they do not, and cannot, slip into silence and solitude.

The challenge is that it can sometimes be difficult to approach someone who is mourning. We, as the friends and family, don’t know what to say, and we fear that our words will never suffice. But with very few words we can show a person that we do care. We might find it hard to speak to someone after they have suffered a bereavement; but if we keep in our mind this instruction: ‘after death speak holiness’, we will find words which will provide comfort. The words themselves are not as important, as the fact that we are speaking them. There is sacredness in our words when they are used to comfort and console, this is the holiness which we are instructed to speak after death.

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[1] The Hebrew calendar follows a lunar cycle, and 7 times every 19 years an extra month is added so that festivals remain at the correct seasons, this is why people will often say ‘Rosh Hashannah is early this year’ because it can be anywhere from the beginning of September into October.

My Yom HaZikaron-Yom HaAtzmaut Sermon - Remember it's been 62 years

Al Gore, Billy Crystal, Donna Karan, Elaine Page, Ian McEwan, James Taylor, Olivia Newton John, Ozzy Osbourne, Samuel L. Jackson, and Trevor Brooking.

This varied list of celebrities share one thing in common, and they share it with the State of Israel: all of them were born in 1948.

It is strange to compare the age of a country with that of a person; most countries are far too old.

None of the people in this list appear particularly old. The men in the group have not yet even reached the age for retirement. And Israel shares her year of birth with them.

I always find it amazing to think that when my grandparents were born Israel as a State did not exist. They were born at a time when maps included no Jewish State, when there was just a British Mandate in Palestine, when a State of Israel remained an unlikely dream.

Sometimes we forget how young a country Israel really is. In a land steeped in history we forget that that this State has existed for just over sixty years. We forget that it was only on the 29^th November 1947, that Jews across the world gathered around their radios to listen to the results of the UN Partition Plan for Palestine.

And in 62 short years, while surrounded by enemies, facing unparalleled threats; Israel has established herself as a shining beacon for the Middle East and the entire world. I could fill several sermons listing Israel’s successes and achievements. In the fields of medicine, computing, the environment and science, Israel is a world leader. In 62 years Israel has established herself as a country of museums, universities, technology, publishing, and industry. And she has done this while facing continuous real and existential threats from the countries that surround her.

This week we will mark Israel 62^nd birthday. But the calendar does not allow us to leap straight into celebration. Before we can rejoice, we must remember. This Sunday evening Yom HaZikaron will begin; the Day of Remembrance for Israel’s Fallen Soldiers and Victims of Terror. People will light Yahrzeit candles in memory of friends and family who have died. In Israel the cemeteries will be full as people visit loved ones. And at 11:00am on Monday there will be two minutes of silence as the country is united in memory and grief.

During the two years in which I lived in Israel Yom HaZikaron was one of those peak experiences. I remember watching as the entire country came to a halt. A siren sounded, and all of a sudden the hustle and bustle of daily life stopped; people got out of their cars, and stood, heads bowed in silence. For two minutes there was complete and utter silence; for two minutes the people were united in memory, prayer and grief.

One of the amazing things about Israel is the way in which life continues despite tragedy, trial and tribulation. And on the evening of Yom HaZikaron the mood is transformed. After a day of solemnity, spent remembering the fallen, the country transitions from sadness to joy, from loss to celebration, and from the past into the future. The Day of Independence – Yom HaAtzmaut sweeps across Israel, as the country is united in celebration of Israel’s birth. There is an intensity to the celebration, as though the people are still uncertain about Israel’s existence, they are still unsure as to whether it has all been a dream.

As Jews living in Britain we share a complicated connection with Israel. I would hope that we all feel a bond with the Jewish State in our ancestral homeland. I hope that we share in both the sadness of Yom HaZikaron and the celebration of Yom HaAtzmaut, but it can sometimes be difficult.

We may sometimes be uneasy with the policies which the Government of Israel pursue. We may feel alienated when we see the way in which Reform Jews are treated. And we may feel demoralised as the British press attack, condemn and challenge the Jewish State.

When I think of our relationship with Israel, I think that the model of friendship may be the best way in which we can characterise it. As friends, we share in the sorrow and sadness of Yom HaZikaron, and we join in the celebration of Yom HaAtzmaut. But there is a responsibility which comes with real friendship. A friend is a person who challenges us to be the best that we can be, who picks us up when we have fallen, who is there for us through the good times and the bad.

As a true friend to Israel we have to be prepared to challenge her to be the best she can be. We must stand up to her when she seeks to further erode the rights of Reform Jews in the Jewish homeland, cautioning her about the message it sends. We must be willing to shine a light on her actions so that she can see how they are perceived in the cold light of day. Recently when US Vice-President Joe Biden was in Israel, he was embarrassed as an announcement was made about the continued building of Jewish homes in East Jerusalem. Thomas Friedman, an American journalist and friend of Israel, wrote in the New York Times, there should be a ‘message from America to the Israeli government: Friends don’t let friends drive drunk. And right now, you’re driving drunk.’ There is a critical responsibility to friendship.

And simultaneously we have to be there to help pick Israel up when she has fallen. We have to be there to support her as she continues to strive for peace with her neighbours. We must be the loudest voices shouting about Ahmadinejad and others who threaten to wipe her off the map. We know that what may sound like rhetoric can quickly become reality. And as friends we must be her first line of defence in British public opinion and in the wider European community.

But most importantly a friendship means being there in good times and in bad. It was easy to be Israel’s friend when she was the underdog surrounded by hostile neighbours, it was easy when Begin made peace with Egypt and Rabin made peace with Jordan. Today it may be a little more difficult. But as friends we must remain firmly by her side when times are hard, when she is challenged, and when she is faltering. We are friends not just for the good times; we are friends for all times.

It is easy to forget that Israel is just 62 years old. In comparison with most other countries she is still a child, still feeling her way in a world which is all too often cold and hostile.

I think back, once again, to my grandparents’ generation. Go back to the late 1930s or early 1940s, and imagine if we could tell the Jews of that period that in 2010 there will be a Jewish State in the land of Israel celebrating her 62^nd birthday. Imagine if we could tell them about Israel.

Share with them how this State has provided a haven for persecuted Jews from Europe, from Arab countries and from across the Globe. Tell them about how the Israel Defenece Force has protected Jews and Israelis, and brought relief to countless others around the world. And tell them about the ways in which Jewish culture, identity, language and pride has been reborn in this new State.

Imagine what that generation would say if they could see just a fraction of Israel’s successes and achievements?

We are the lucky ones. We are the ones who live at a time when there is a Jewish State in the Land of Israel. Our reality is something which our people prayed and yearned for over almost two thousand years.

Israel is still only 62 years old and she has already achieved so much. This week we will join her in mourning on Yom HaZikaron, and celebration on Yom HaAtzmaut. As friends we celebrate her achievements, take pride in her successes, and look forward to a future full of endless possibilities for this very special country.

Two Minutes of Torah: Tazria-Metzora - Under the water (Leviticus 12:1-13:8)

As a child I used to love swimming. I wasn’t a particularly fast swimmer, I wasn’t a particularly strong swimmer, but I loved being in the water. I struggle to put it into words, but there was something special about the feeling and sensation of being surrounded by water. And I always used to enjoy diving under the surface, so that I was completely immersed; everything sounded different, it looked different and it felt great.

It is therefore hardly surprising that I have always been fascinated by the mikveh, the ritual bath used to fulfil various Jewish purification laws and ceremonies. Traditionally a mikveh would be used for conversion, prior to marriage, and in accordance with the fulfilment of various Jewish purification laws (menstruation, childbirth, etc.).

In this week’s Torah portion we read about the purification rituals associated with childbirth and leprosy. Moses informs the people that ‘When a woman at childbirth bears a male, she shall be impure seven days’ (Leviticus 12:2). And later in the portion, if leprosy is found on a person ‘when the priest sees it, he shall pronounce the person impure’ (Leviticus 13:3). In this context the focus is on the sacrifices which were brought, but in the rabbinic period the mikveh developed as the means for purification.

We modern Jews often feel alienated by this idea of ritual purity. Why should a woman’s natural biological processes cause impurity? Why does a person need to be, not just cured, but also, cleansed from leprosy?

We can reject the purity laws as outdated and irrelevant, especially for Judaism without a sacred Temple. But I do still believe that the mikveh, as a source of purification, has a lot to offer us.

I have personally been to a mikveh on four occasions. Most recently I went to a mikveh in Los Angeles twice last year; once before my wedding, and once before my rabbinic ordination. In both cases I was looking for a significant way to mark an important transition in my life. The mikveh allowed me to mark the move from man to husband and from student to Rabbi. I did not feel impure before entering and pure when I emerged, but I did feel something new.

On both occasions there was a sense of complete isolation and aloneness as I immersed myself in the water. It gave me an opportunity to prepare to become a husband and a Rabbi as an individual – embracing the choices in my life which had brought me to that point. We can spend our lives surrounded by people, and community is positive, but there are decisions and choices which we make as individuals, and which we bear individual responsibility for. The mikveh allowed me some time alone, some time in isolation, some time for self-reflection.

In ancient times the mikveh may have been used to mark the transition from impurity to purity, but for me it was a way of embracing other transitions and changes. To use a most appropriate phrase, there is no need to throw the baby out with the bathwater. We can reject the impurity laws, while at the same time embracing the mikveh. We can find ways to use immersion which are relevant for our lives. And we can reclaim a traditional experience in a way which is relevant and meaningful for us as modern Jews.

Two Minutes of Torah: Shemini - We all make mistakes

As a child (and adult) I am a big fan of the Star Wars films, at one point I could quote whole passages from Episode IV – A New Hope. And all through my childhood I wanted to be Han Solo. Luke was the Jedi knight able to use the force, but I wanted to be Han. The captain of the Millennium Falcon was my favourite Star Wars character, and I thought he was ever so cool. One of the things which I like the most about Han Solo is the fact that there is something real about him; he is a fallible character.

After our heroes (Luke, Han and Leah) return R2-D2 and C-3PO to the Rebel Alliance, so that an attack might be planned on the Death Star, we watch in horror as Han Solo declares he has no interest in fighting the good fight and attacking the Empire. Han wanted a reward for rescuing Leah, and having received it he is ready to move on. My hero lets Luke, Leah and the Rebel fleet down, but he also lets us down, the viewers who put our hope in him. It is only later that Han is able to redeem himself (I am sure everyone has seen it, but I don’t want to spoil it just in case).

Han Solo, just like every one of us, is flawed. Just like us he makes mistakes and bad decisions. And as an example to us he manages to find the right path again. He is my hero for all of his positive features, but also for his flaws.

Similarly all of the characters in the Bible have their flaws and their weaknesses. To take three examples: Abraham is willing to send away one son and almost sacrifice the other. Rebecca chooses a favourite and deceives her husband. And Aaron gossips with Miriam about their brother Moses. None of our ancestors were perfect, and that is one of their best qualities.

Even Aaron, as the High Priest, together with the other Priests, was expected to bring a sin offering. At the beginning of the Torah portion Aaron is given instructions about the sacrifices which he is required to bring to the Tabernacle. We read that: ‘Aaron came forward to the altar and slaughtered his calf of sin offering’ (Leviticus 9:8). He would then offer his burnt offering. And only then ‘He took the goat for the people’s sin offering, and slaughtered it, and presented it as a sin offering like the previous one’ (Leviticus 9:15).

The sacrificial ritual required that the High Priest would atone for his transgressions, with a sin offering, before he was spiritually prepared to offer a sin offering on behalf of the people. And on another level the ritual also recognised that the High Priest would require a sin offering. The entire ritual framework was built around the fact that the High Priest, and the other Priests, were all imperfect, would all transgress, and would all require a sin offering before they could offer one on behalf of the people.

The Priestly class and the regular people both required a sin offering and both required a burnt offering. No distinction was made between the leadership class and the rest of the community. All of them were flawed, just as all of us are flawed.

The sacrificial order, alongside the stories of our Biblical ancestors, reminds us that our leaders are just human; they are prone to errors and mistakes just as we are. Although we may want to hold them up to a higher stand, placing them on a pedestal and expecting flawless behaviour from them; at the end of the day, just like us, they will require a sin offering.

Han Solo was flawed, but he remains my hero. Our Biblical ancestors were flawed but they remain shining examples of what is possible in relationship with God. And the Priests provide a model for flawed leaders atoning in the same way as the rest of the community. We all make mistakes, and we will all sometimes need a ‘sin offering’.

Two Minutes of Torah: Pesach (Exodus 13:3-10) - Teach it to your children

Growing up as a child I loved the festivals, I am sure that the celebration of the festivals was one of the main ways in which my attachment to Judaism blossomed and developed. The highlights of the year were always Chanukah and Pesach. These were the two festivals when my parents’ house would appear to expand and welcome friends and family to celebrate with us; we were always full to bursting.

As a child I loved lighting the Chanukiah and looking for the Afikoman. As an adult I now love the fact that our festivals encourage connections for children and adults; all across the generations there are things to enjoy and celebrate.

In the Torah portion which we read on the Shabbat during Pesach we are given some of the instruction for the festival itself. Moses instructs the Israelites: ‘For seven days you shall eat unleavened bread’ (Exodus 13:6). The length of the festival and its primary observance are introduced and then he continues: ‘And you shall explain to your child: “It is because of what Adonai did for me when I went free from Egypt”’ (Exodus 13:8).

Explaining the festival to our children is the second element which is introduced, immediately after the prohibition of eating leaven.

Most of us obsess about the food which we eat during the week of Pesach, and forget the importance of this second instruction. In many ways the entire Seder is a subconscious fulfilment of this instruction. As we spend time telling our people’s story so that everyone, and especially the children, will understand that we were all slaves in Egypt, and we all emerged to freedom. But how do we observe it otherwise?

The teaching of children is an important tenant of Judaism. In the Shema we recite: ‘These words that I command you today shall be upon your heart. Repeat them to your children’ (Forms of Prayer 2008). In the very act of reciting the Shema, we are once again subconsciously teaching our children. They learn the declaration that ‘Adonai is our God and Adonai is One.’ But how else do we focus on actually teaching them?

Both through the Seder and through the Shema we teach our children, and explain to them about their Judaism. And in both cases we do this without really focussing on the teaching moment.

Traditionally in the lead up to Pesach we tidy our entire house and remove all of the leaven from within it; just to be on the safe side we then search, with a candle and feather, for any last crumbs. Focussing so intently on fulfilling the first command of the festival, we sometimes ignore the second instruction which we were given.

Pesach is not just about the move from slavery to freedom, it is also about the move from generation to generation. We are all instructed ‘explain to your child’. And as such, the children who heard the story this year will be the ones telling the story in future years. The Seder does some of the work for us, but it is our responsibility as Jewish adults to share this story, and others, with our children, so that they in turn will own them, and share them with generations not yet born. It is because my parents shared, and celebrated, Chanukah and Pesach with me, that I now share them with the young people of West London Synagogue, and one day hopefully my own children. We are all another link in the very long chain of Jewish tradition.