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During last year’s General Election, many of us watched as the leaders of the three main political parties participated in three live television debates for the first time. I found it to be compulsive viewing, as we watched the three men vying for the keys to Number 10 Downing Street, debating and disagreeing on the key political questions. The divisions between the parties were clear on almost every issue, except for one. It seemed that on the subject of immigration there was a general agreement that there were too many immigrants coming into Britain, and the only disagreement appeared over whose policy would most effectively stem the flow. I was disheartened by the tone of the debate as this important issue was discussed.
Whenever immigration is discussed I cannot help but remember the fact that the British Jewish community was only readmitted just over 350 years ago. Most of us are the descendants of immigrants who arrived here from Eastern Europe sometime towards the end of the nineteenth century. We were the immigrants people were complaining about just over four generations ago.
The tendency to pursue a policy which oppresses the immigrant, or the stranger, may be one of the reasons why throughout the Torah we are reminded that we were strangers in Egypt, so that it will influence our behaviour. In this week’s Torah portion we read: ‘You shall not wrong a stranger, nor oppress him; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt’ (Ex. 22:20), and then twenty verses later we are told: ‘Also you shall not oppress a stranger; for you know the heart of a stranger, seeing you were strangers in the land of Egypt’ (Ex. 23:9). None of the other commandments are restated in such a clear way, so close together.
In Torah there is a belief that not a single word is superfluous, and so it is striking to us that in such close proximity this commandment is repeated, with virtually the same words and language.
The repetition of the commandment suggests two things to us. First of all it makes it clear that this is an important instruction, one that requires reiteration to make sure that it is not ignored. God was unwilling to take the chance that this commandment would be lost in a Torah portion, which contains fifty-three separate commandments. But on a secondary level, the need to repeat this commandment might reveal something about the way we are often inclined to treat the stranger. Maybe our ‘natural’ reaction is to oppress the stranger or to wrong him, and so we need to be told twice that this is inappropriate and against God’s will.
The way in which immigration was treated in the British General Election is not unique, similar debates have raged across the world, most notably this past year in both America and France. It seems that there is a strand of anti-immigrant feeling, which permeates through many societies. It was probably also present in the Israelite community, which is why the commandment had to be restated.
We are commanded not to oppress the stranger and not to wrong him, not just because it is the right way to behave, but because we ‘were strangers in the land of Egypt’. One of the formative experiences of the Israelite community is the experience of having been strangers in a strange land. And it is not just our ancestors who were strangers. Every year at the Seder we imagine that we too were in Egypt, we too were slaves - we were the strangers.
In our recent history and in our ancient history we have experienced the life of an immigrant. We have moved from land to land seeking a place where we could settle and call home. We must never forget the formative experience of our direct, and more distant, ancestors. We ‘know the heart of the stranger’, we remember what it was like to be an immigrant, and we must act in a way which honours these memories and experiences.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
My Sermon - 15th January: Preparing for Holocaust Memorial Day
On the 6th March 2008, Leon Greenman died in a hospital in North London.
I am not sure how many people here will have heard of this man.
Leon was a regular visitor to the Jewish Museum in London. It was there that I would see him, a very elderly man, walking slowly across the courtyard of the Sternberg Centre in Finchley to the museum entrance.
Once in the museum, Leon would meet with groups of British children to tell them of his experiences in the Holocaust. He would sit quietly at the end of the gallery, patiently answering their questions.
So who was this man?
Leon Greenman, was the only Englishman to have been held at Auschwitz-Birkenau.
His wife Else, and son Barney did not survive.
After he was liberated from the camp he returned to London. Then, in the 1960s, he decided to dedicate his life to the fight against fascism and to telling his story. It was with this purpose that he would visit the Jewish Museum, recounting his experiences to thousands of visitors.
And now that Leon Greenman and so many of the other survivors are dead, who will tell the school children about the Nazi atrocities? Who will continue his fight against fascism? And who will continue to tell our peoples’ story?
On the 27th January across London there will be events to mark the National Holocaust Memorial Day. People will join together for services, film screenings, readings, dialogues and a variety of other events, marking the day when Auschwitz-Birkenau was liberated by the Allied forces.
Each year the number of events to mark this day increases, while the number of survivors present decreases.
With the passage of time, it is inevitable that there are fewer survivors left to tell their stories and share their experiences with the next generation. As one journalist wrote of Leon Greenman: “Looking through the eyes of a single victim is an immensely powerful way to learn about the Holocaust.” Now that Leon is gone, how will the story be told?
When I was growing up, I remember meeting survivors at almost every Holocaust education program I was involved in. On visits to my grandparents in Tel Aviv, seeing numbers tattooed on people’s arms was a regular occurrence. (pause) I cannot remember the last time I saw a person with numbers tattooed on their forearm. (pause)
Remembering is an important activity for us Jews. The verb for remember, zachor, appears 169 times in the Hebrew Bible. We are constantly being commanded by God to remember. We are told to: ‘Remember that you were strangers in Egypt.’ ‘Remember the days of old.’ ‘Remember the seventh day to keep it holy.’ Judaism, put simply, is a religion of memory.
This week in our Torah portion we remember the Exodus from Egypt and the crossing of the See of Reeds. This was such an important event for us to remember that the Rabbis inserted a line from the song into our daily liturgy. After the Shema, both in the morning and the evening, we recite mi chamocha baelim Adonai, mi kamocha nedar bakodesh, norah tehilot oseh feleh – God who is like You among the gods people worship. Who, like You is majestic in holiness, awesome in praise, working wonders! They placed the line there so that every day, twice a day, we would remember when our ancestors crossed the Sea of Reeds journeying from slavery to freedom.
As Jews we do not simply remember as individuals, we remember as a community, and we all bear the responsibility of that communal memory. Their story is our story.
At the beginning of this week’s Torah portion, in a section which we did not hear this morning, we read: ‘the people of Israel went up armed out of the land of Egypt, and Moses took the bones of Joseph with him.’ As the Israelites were rushing to leave Egypt, and escape before Pharaoh changed his mind, Moses remembered the promise which was made in a previous generation. He remembered that Joseph had made the Israelites swear that they would carry his bones with them, when they left Egypt.
And so, throughout the entire Israelite journey in the wilderness, alongside their possessions, and the Ark of the Covenant, they carried with them the bones of Joseph. The bones provided a physical link to a generation which had long since disappeared, but lived on in the memory of the people. And when they finally settled in the land of Israel, they buried the bones in land which had been bought by Jacob.
We do not carry any literal bones with us today, but we carry the memories of the generation which have gone before us.
What is our relationship to the generation of survivors? It was not until the 1960s that most survivors felt able to tell their stories, and now, forty short years later, we are running out of time to hear them. Leon Greenman is but one example of a frightening reality: the generation of survivors is slowly but surely disappearing.
We are at a turning point in the way that we relate to the Holocaust. Eventually it will be the story and experiences of a generation that is no longer with us. How can we engage with the Holocaust in our 21st century context? How will we teach about the Holocaust without the survivors to guide us? How can we ensure that the lessons of the Holocaust are not lost?
If we are to honor the memory of the Holocaust, it is in two areas that we must begin to build relationships.
We must recognize that now, more than ever, time is of the essence. The recording of survivor testimonies for future generations is clearly important. But everyone in this room knows that hearing from a survivor in person is far more powerful than any video screen. We can hear from these people now, while we have the chance, or we can watch them as ghosts on a video screen. We should ensure that everyone in our communities, in youth movements, Jewish societies, schools and synagogues, is given the opportunity to hear personally from a survivor, before it really is too late.
We should also develop a new form of Holocaust testimony. We should write down our experiences of meeting with Holocaust survivors, so that in the future, when all we have are images on a screen, we can accompany them with our own personal experiences. We can tell our students, how we heard the survivor speak candidly about the hardship of life in the camps, how tears welled in their eyes as they remembered loved ones who were lost, and how there was quiet resolve in their voices as they told us to fight intolerance of all kinds. We can, and we must, safeguard the stories of the survivors, so that through us future generations will also feel a direct connection to the events of our peoples’ past. So that through us, the voice of the survivor lives on. So that through us, the survivors will never truly disappear.
But there is also another lesson which we must take from National Holocaust Memorial Day. We must remember the Holocaust, but we must also learn the lessons from other genocides in Armenia, Bosnia-Herzegovena, Rwanda and Darfur. In the future, when we are unable to hear from survivors of the Holocaust, we should be building relationships with survivors from Rwanda, Bosnia and now Darfur, inviting them to speak to us, so that we can hear their stories. We must be clear to educate that no two genocides are the same, but the lessons of the survivors’ pain, of the perpetrators’ wickedness and of the ability of people to survive are instructive. Through these experiences, we must join the fight against contemporary genocides, so that the lessons we learn lead us to action on behalf of those who are suffering and oppressed today.
At West London Synagogue on the evening of the 26th January we will mark National Holocaust Memorial Day, with a conversation between Rabbi Debbie and Fiyaz Mughal from Faith Matters. It will explore the untold story of the Holocaust, exploring the role of Muslims who saved Jews
In Israel, the National Holocaust Museum is called Yad Vashem, with a name taken from Isaiah 56:5, which says: ‘And to them will I give in my house and within my walls a memorial and a name better than sons or daughters; I will give them a yad vashem, an everlasting name, that shall not be cut off.’ Isaiah is describing more than a memorial; he is talking about a yad vashem, a hand and a name. We must remember the names of those who suffered at the hands of the Nazis, and we must continue to tell their stories. But at the same time, with our yadaim, with our hands, we must now take responsibility for fighting to prevent future genocides and to make sure that the Holocaust is remembered in a way that brings meaning to the next generation. What better memorial can we build for the countless victims whom we never knew, for the survivors who will be no more and for Leon Greenman, a man who dedicated his life to help others remember?
I am not sure how many people here will have heard of this man.
Leon was a regular visitor to the Jewish Museum in London. It was there that I would see him, a very elderly man, walking slowly across the courtyard of the Sternberg Centre in Finchley to the museum entrance.
Once in the museum, Leon would meet with groups of British children to tell them of his experiences in the Holocaust. He would sit quietly at the end of the gallery, patiently answering their questions.
So who was this man?
Leon Greenman, was the only Englishman to have been held at Auschwitz-Birkenau.
His wife Else, and son Barney did not survive.
After he was liberated from the camp he returned to London. Then, in the 1960s, he decided to dedicate his life to the fight against fascism and to telling his story. It was with this purpose that he would visit the Jewish Museum, recounting his experiences to thousands of visitors.
And now that Leon Greenman and so many of the other survivors are dead, who will tell the school children about the Nazi atrocities? Who will continue his fight against fascism? And who will continue to tell our peoples’ story?
On the 27th January across London there will be events to mark the National Holocaust Memorial Day. People will join together for services, film screenings, readings, dialogues and a variety of other events, marking the day when Auschwitz-Birkenau was liberated by the Allied forces.
Each year the number of events to mark this day increases, while the number of survivors present decreases.
With the passage of time, it is inevitable that there are fewer survivors left to tell their stories and share their experiences with the next generation. As one journalist wrote of Leon Greenman: “Looking through the eyes of a single victim is an immensely powerful way to learn about the Holocaust.” Now that Leon is gone, how will the story be told?
When I was growing up, I remember meeting survivors at almost every Holocaust education program I was involved in. On visits to my grandparents in Tel Aviv, seeing numbers tattooed on people’s arms was a regular occurrence. (pause) I cannot remember the last time I saw a person with numbers tattooed on their forearm. (pause)
Remembering is an important activity for us Jews. The verb for remember, zachor, appears 169 times in the Hebrew Bible. We are constantly being commanded by God to remember. We are told to: ‘Remember that you were strangers in Egypt.’ ‘Remember the days of old.’ ‘Remember the seventh day to keep it holy.’ Judaism, put simply, is a religion of memory.
This week in our Torah portion we remember the Exodus from Egypt and the crossing of the See of Reeds. This was such an important event for us to remember that the Rabbis inserted a line from the song into our daily liturgy. After the Shema, both in the morning and the evening, we recite mi chamocha baelim Adonai, mi kamocha nedar bakodesh, norah tehilot oseh feleh – God who is like You among the gods people worship. Who, like You is majestic in holiness, awesome in praise, working wonders! They placed the line there so that every day, twice a day, we would remember when our ancestors crossed the Sea of Reeds journeying from slavery to freedom.
As Jews we do not simply remember as individuals, we remember as a community, and we all bear the responsibility of that communal memory. Their story is our story.
At the beginning of this week’s Torah portion, in a section which we did not hear this morning, we read: ‘the people of Israel went up armed out of the land of Egypt, and Moses took the bones of Joseph with him.’ As the Israelites were rushing to leave Egypt, and escape before Pharaoh changed his mind, Moses remembered the promise which was made in a previous generation. He remembered that Joseph had made the Israelites swear that they would carry his bones with them, when they left Egypt.
And so, throughout the entire Israelite journey in the wilderness, alongside their possessions, and the Ark of the Covenant, they carried with them the bones of Joseph. The bones provided a physical link to a generation which had long since disappeared, but lived on in the memory of the people. And when they finally settled in the land of Israel, they buried the bones in land which had been bought by Jacob.
We do not carry any literal bones with us today, but we carry the memories of the generation which have gone before us.
What is our relationship to the generation of survivors? It was not until the 1960s that most survivors felt able to tell their stories, and now, forty short years later, we are running out of time to hear them. Leon Greenman is but one example of a frightening reality: the generation of survivors is slowly but surely disappearing.
We are at a turning point in the way that we relate to the Holocaust. Eventually it will be the story and experiences of a generation that is no longer with us. How can we engage with the Holocaust in our 21st century context? How will we teach about the Holocaust without the survivors to guide us? How can we ensure that the lessons of the Holocaust are not lost?
If we are to honor the memory of the Holocaust, it is in two areas that we must begin to build relationships.
We must recognize that now, more than ever, time is of the essence. The recording of survivor testimonies for future generations is clearly important. But everyone in this room knows that hearing from a survivor in person is far more powerful than any video screen. We can hear from these people now, while we have the chance, or we can watch them as ghosts on a video screen. We should ensure that everyone in our communities, in youth movements, Jewish societies, schools and synagogues, is given the opportunity to hear personally from a survivor, before it really is too late.
We should also develop a new form of Holocaust testimony. We should write down our experiences of meeting with Holocaust survivors, so that in the future, when all we have are images on a screen, we can accompany them with our own personal experiences. We can tell our students, how we heard the survivor speak candidly about the hardship of life in the camps, how tears welled in their eyes as they remembered loved ones who were lost, and how there was quiet resolve in their voices as they told us to fight intolerance of all kinds. We can, and we must, safeguard the stories of the survivors, so that through us future generations will also feel a direct connection to the events of our peoples’ past. So that through us, the voice of the survivor lives on. So that through us, the survivors will never truly disappear.
But there is also another lesson which we must take from National Holocaust Memorial Day. We must remember the Holocaust, but we must also learn the lessons from other genocides in Armenia, Bosnia-Herzegovena, Rwanda and Darfur. In the future, when we are unable to hear from survivors of the Holocaust, we should be building relationships with survivors from Rwanda, Bosnia and now Darfur, inviting them to speak to us, so that we can hear their stories. We must be clear to educate that no two genocides are the same, but the lessons of the survivors’ pain, of the perpetrators’ wickedness and of the ability of people to survive are instructive. Through these experiences, we must join the fight against contemporary genocides, so that the lessons we learn lead us to action on behalf of those who are suffering and oppressed today.
At West London Synagogue on the evening of the 26th January we will mark National Holocaust Memorial Day, with a conversation between Rabbi Debbie and Fiyaz Mughal from Faith Matters. It will explore the untold story of the Holocaust, exploring the role of Muslims who saved Jews
In Israel, the National Holocaust Museum is called Yad Vashem, with a name taken from Isaiah 56:5, which says: ‘And to them will I give in my house and within my walls a memorial and a name better than sons or daughters; I will give them a yad vashem, an everlasting name, that shall not be cut off.’ Isaiah is describing more than a memorial; he is talking about a yad vashem, a hand and a name. We must remember the names of those who suffered at the hands of the Nazis, and we must continue to tell their stories. But at the same time, with our yadaim, with our hands, we must now take responsibility for fighting to prevent future genocides and to make sure that the Holocaust is remembered in a way that brings meaning to the next generation. What better memorial can we build for the countless victims whom we never knew, for the survivors who will be no more and for Leon Greenman, a man who dedicated his life to help others remember?
Friday, January 21, 2011
Two Minutes of Torah: Yitro (Exodus 18:24-19:13) - Uniting the Jewish Community
The often retold Jewish joke suggests that a Jewish man was stranded on a desert island. He was alone there for twenty years until he was finally found and rescued. As he showed his rescuers around the island he came to a building made of palm fronds, coconut shells and woven grass, which he introduced as his synagogue. A little later on his tour they came to a similar looking building made of palm fronds, coconut shells and woven grass. The rescuers asked him why he had built a second synagogue; he smiled at them and said, “This synagogue, I wouldn’t set foot in it if you paid me.”
We Jews are often portrayed as a fractious community, which we can be; and we are caricatured (often by ourselves) as always having ‘two Jews and three opinions’. With so much division in the wider Jewish world, it can sometimes be hard to keep sight of all those things which unite us and bring us close together as a single people.
In this week’s Torah portion we have one of those moments; as we stood together as a community at Mount Sinai and received the Ten Commandments from God. Before we stood together at the mountain listening to God’s words, we were asked by God through Moses, if we would faithfully keep the covenant; and that in return we would be God’s treasured people, a kingdom of priests and a holy nation (Ex 19:3-6). Our response was unconditional: ‘All of the people answered together, saying: “All that Adonai has said, we will do”’ (Ex 19:8).
At that moment the entire Israelite community was united in word, deed and purpose. Together we all pledged to enter into a covenantal relationship with God, and to accept the laws of the covenant which God would subsequently place before us.
However, we did not arrive at Sinai immediately after leaving Egypt. We had to journey together as a community both physically and spiritually. Before we could stand together as a united people, ready to enter into a covenant with God, we required the intervention of Yitro, Moses’ father-in-law. Yitro observed the way that Moses was running the camp and judging all of the cases, and told his son-in-law, ‘the thing that you do is not good’ (Ex 18:17). He advised him to set judges over smaller groups amongst the people, so that they could assume responsibility for the smaller cases, and Moses could focus on the more significant ones.
We read: ‘And Moses chose able men from all Israel, and made them chiefs over the people, rulers of thousands, rulers of hundreds, rulers of fifties, and rulers of tens’ (Ex 18:25). We can often overlook this moment as a precursor for standing together at Sinai; but by following Yitro’s advice, Moses changed the nature of the Israelite community. Moses ensured that the people began to feel an investment in their future, not just as members of the community, but also as leaders of the community. Together the people assumed these leadership roles and recognised that they too were responsible for the future of the Israelites.
With this added investment in the people’s shared future, only then could we stand together at Sinai, and only then could we have a moment when: ‘All of the people answered together’ (Ex 19:8).
In our fractious Jewish community it would be good if we could all remember that we share a responsibility for the future and fate of the entire Jewish people. With this mindset, perhaps we could find a way to work together, understanding our shared destiny, and finding a way to once again stand together at Sinai, and once again answer together with one voice.
We Jews are often portrayed as a fractious community, which we can be; and we are caricatured (often by ourselves) as always having ‘two Jews and three opinions’. With so much division in the wider Jewish world, it can sometimes be hard to keep sight of all those things which unite us and bring us close together as a single people.
In this week’s Torah portion we have one of those moments; as we stood together as a community at Mount Sinai and received the Ten Commandments from God. Before we stood together at the mountain listening to God’s words, we were asked by God through Moses, if we would faithfully keep the covenant; and that in return we would be God’s treasured people, a kingdom of priests and a holy nation (Ex 19:3-6). Our response was unconditional: ‘All of the people answered together, saying: “All that Adonai has said, we will do”’ (Ex 19:8).
At that moment the entire Israelite community was united in word, deed and purpose. Together we all pledged to enter into a covenantal relationship with God, and to accept the laws of the covenant which God would subsequently place before us.
However, we did not arrive at Sinai immediately after leaving Egypt. We had to journey together as a community both physically and spiritually. Before we could stand together as a united people, ready to enter into a covenant with God, we required the intervention of Yitro, Moses’ father-in-law. Yitro observed the way that Moses was running the camp and judging all of the cases, and told his son-in-law, ‘the thing that you do is not good’ (Ex 18:17). He advised him to set judges over smaller groups amongst the people, so that they could assume responsibility for the smaller cases, and Moses could focus on the more significant ones.
We read: ‘And Moses chose able men from all Israel, and made them chiefs over the people, rulers of thousands, rulers of hundreds, rulers of fifties, and rulers of tens’ (Ex 18:25). We can often overlook this moment as a precursor for standing together at Sinai; but by following Yitro’s advice, Moses changed the nature of the Israelite community. Moses ensured that the people began to feel an investment in their future, not just as members of the community, but also as leaders of the community. Together the people assumed these leadership roles and recognised that they too were responsible for the future of the Israelites.
With this added investment in the people’s shared future, only then could we stand together at Sinai, and only then could we have a moment when: ‘All of the people answered together’ (Ex 19:8).
In our fractious Jewish community it would be good if we could all remember that we share a responsibility for the future and fate of the entire Jewish people. With this mindset, perhaps we could find a way to work together, understanding our shared destiny, and finding a way to once again stand together at Sinai, and once again answer together with one voice.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Two Minutes of Torah: Beshallach (Exodus 14:26-15:27) - From Miriam to Debbie
Music has a tremendous power to move us emotionally and to bring memories and feelings flooding back. Debbie Friedman (z”l)’s Shema has that power over me. No matter where I hear it, and in what context, if I close my eyes, I am sitting in a field, somewhere in Britain, on an RSY-Netzer (Shemesh) summer camp. I’ve sung this prayer all over the world, but it always transports me back to Shemesh, and the wonderful weeks of summer spent with friends.
The music that accompanies our prayers has a special power both for us, and according to Hasidism, for God. According to Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady; ‘There are gates in heaven that cannot be opened except by melody and song’. When we sing our prayers, we don’t just elevate our own souls, but we reach up to God in a way which words on their own cannot.
In this week’s Torah portion we journey back to our people’s original song; when the entire Israelite community united in song with Moses and Miriam after the crossing of the Reed Sea. One can imagine the joy which gripped the Israelites as they realised that they were truly free from their Egyptian taskmasters. As the waters settled, the Israelites could believe that the land of their oppression was finally behind them.
This was the moment of redemption from Egyptian slavery and it was a moment to be remembered, and experienced, throughout the generations. ‘We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt, and Adonai freed us from Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm’.
After reciting the Shema, both in the morning and evening, we recite a prayer which asserts the truth of God’s sovereignty and power. And in the midst of this prayer, as we remember our redemption and delivery from Egypt we recite: Mi chamocha baelim Adonai, mi kamocha nedar bakodesh, nora tehilot oseh feleh - ‘God, who is like You among the gods people worship! Who, like You, is majestic in holiness, awesome in praise, working wonders!’ (Exodus 15:11).
When the Rabbis were developing our liturgy, they wanted to make sure that twice a day we would transport ourselves in song to that time when we first sang together the line of Mi Chamocha in praise of God. Although this prayer is generally read, when we come to this line, in almost every community with whom I’ve prayed, the congregation joins together in song, just as we did the first time it was recited.
When we consider the communal power of song, I have always been struck by the contrast between the song of Moses and the song of Miriam. When Moses and the Israelites began their song, they started: ‘I will sing to Adonai, for God has triumphed gloriously’ (Exodus 15:1). Despite the communal nature of the entire community singing, each person sang as an individual, ashira – I will sing. In contrast when Miriam began her song with the women she responded: ‘Sing to Adonai, for God has triumphed gloriously’ (Exodus 15:21). She called on all the women to join together, with the Hebrew word for ‘sing’, shiru, the plural imperative form. This was not an individual prayer; this was a communal prayer to be sung as a community. This was Miriam’s moment. It was at this point that Miriam assumed her position as a leader of the Israelite community. She became our first song leader, the person who guided us and supported us to give voice to the song of our hearts and the words of praise for God.
This week, we lost our generation’s foremost song leader, Debbie Friedman. She led a generation to sing, and through her music brought people closer to Judaism and to God. She was a worthy heir to the legacy of Miriam as she too helped us join together in song. They both helped people find their voices so that they could join together in song and in prayer. And they provided us with words and melodies to elevate our prayers and reach ever closer to God. Debbie and Miriam both called us to shiru l’Adonai – to sing unto God.
This Shabbat as we read Parashat Beshallach, when we come to the Song at the Sea we will be asked to stand. As we stand in our synagogues across the world, it will be as though we are once again standing on the banks of the Sea of Reeds. The special melody for the Song at the Sea will further help to transport us out of the synagogue to that moment of redemption. The music will elevate us in that special way which only song can.
While the tradition asserts that we all experienced the Exodus firsthand, none of us actually have personal memories from which to draw. But on this Shabbat, we can remember our movement’s own spiritual leader, our prophetess of song, Debbie Friedman, who helped us find our voices, to find our melodies and to sing unto God; she helped lead us from silence to song. The Song at the Sea teaches us that music has a power which survives long after the words and tunes were originally recited. Music is a special gift that we receive, and on this Shabbat, we can celebrate the gift received from Moses, from Miriam and from Debbie.
The music that accompanies our prayers has a special power both for us, and according to Hasidism, for God. According to Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady; ‘There are gates in heaven that cannot be opened except by melody and song’. When we sing our prayers, we don’t just elevate our own souls, but we reach up to God in a way which words on their own cannot.
In this week’s Torah portion we journey back to our people’s original song; when the entire Israelite community united in song with Moses and Miriam after the crossing of the Reed Sea. One can imagine the joy which gripped the Israelites as they realised that they were truly free from their Egyptian taskmasters. As the waters settled, the Israelites could believe that the land of their oppression was finally behind them.
This was the moment of redemption from Egyptian slavery and it was a moment to be remembered, and experienced, throughout the generations. ‘We were slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt, and Adonai freed us from Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm’.
After reciting the Shema, both in the morning and evening, we recite a prayer which asserts the truth of God’s sovereignty and power. And in the midst of this prayer, as we remember our redemption and delivery from Egypt we recite: Mi chamocha baelim Adonai, mi kamocha nedar bakodesh, nora tehilot oseh feleh - ‘God, who is like You among the gods people worship! Who, like You, is majestic in holiness, awesome in praise, working wonders!’ (Exodus 15:11).
When the Rabbis were developing our liturgy, they wanted to make sure that twice a day we would transport ourselves in song to that time when we first sang together the line of Mi Chamocha in praise of God. Although this prayer is generally read, when we come to this line, in almost every community with whom I’ve prayed, the congregation joins together in song, just as we did the first time it was recited.
When we consider the communal power of song, I have always been struck by the contrast between the song of Moses and the song of Miriam. When Moses and the Israelites began their song, they started: ‘I will sing to Adonai, for God has triumphed gloriously’ (Exodus 15:1). Despite the communal nature of the entire community singing, each person sang as an individual, ashira – I will sing. In contrast when Miriam began her song with the women she responded: ‘Sing to Adonai, for God has triumphed gloriously’ (Exodus 15:21). She called on all the women to join together, with the Hebrew word for ‘sing’, shiru, the plural imperative form. This was not an individual prayer; this was a communal prayer to be sung as a community. This was Miriam’s moment. It was at this point that Miriam assumed her position as a leader of the Israelite community. She became our first song leader, the person who guided us and supported us to give voice to the song of our hearts and the words of praise for God.
This week, we lost our generation’s foremost song leader, Debbie Friedman. She led a generation to sing, and through her music brought people closer to Judaism and to God. She was a worthy heir to the legacy of Miriam as she too helped us join together in song. They both helped people find their voices so that they could join together in song and in prayer. And they provided us with words and melodies to elevate our prayers and reach ever closer to God. Debbie and Miriam both called us to shiru l’Adonai – to sing unto God.
This Shabbat as we read Parashat Beshallach, when we come to the Song at the Sea we will be asked to stand. As we stand in our synagogues across the world, it will be as though we are once again standing on the banks of the Sea of Reeds. The special melody for the Song at the Sea will further help to transport us out of the synagogue to that moment of redemption. The music will elevate us in that special way which only song can.
While the tradition asserts that we all experienced the Exodus firsthand, none of us actually have personal memories from which to draw. But on this Shabbat, we can remember our movement’s own spiritual leader, our prophetess of song, Debbie Friedman, who helped us find our voices, to find our melodies and to sing unto God; she helped lead us from silence to song. The Song at the Sea teaches us that music has a power which survives long after the words and tunes were originally recited. Music is a special gift that we receive, and on this Shabbat, we can celebrate the gift received from Moses, from Miriam and from Debbie.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Two Minutes of Torah: Bo (Exodus 11:1-21:10) - Let's start at the very beginning
I imagine that most of us have never questioned why the Torah begins with the Book of Bereishit (Genesis) and why the Book of Bereishit begins with the story of creation. After all this book of Torah begins with a very powerful opening line: ‘In the beginning, God created the Heaven and the earth’ (Gen 1:1), setting the scene for all that will follow. With stories which will take place on the earth, it is good to know from the very beginning that it was created by God. God as the creator of the Heaven and earth is the context for everything else which will follow.
And yet, there are those who have questioned why the Torah chose to begin with the creation of the world. Rashi, arguably the leading Torah commentator of all time, began his commentary on Bereishit by writing: ‘Said Rabbi Isaac, the Torah did not need to start there, rather it could have started with “this month shall be to you”’. If we were to follow this advice we would have skipped the story of creation, the flood, the stories of our Patriarchs and Matriarchs, and the first nine plagues in Egypt. And we would have begun midway through this week’s Torah portion.
This week, as we stand on the brink of the tenth plague and our Exodus from Egypt, ‘And Adonai spoke to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt, saying “This month shall be to you the beginning of months; it shall be the first month of the year to you”’ (Ex 12:1-2). It as at this moment that we begin the counting of time and the definition of a calendar; this month (which will later be known as Nissan) is the first month of the year.
But the significance is not just in creating a calendar, it is also the moment of the first communal command: ‘Speak to all the congregation of Israel, saying, In the tenth day of this month they shall take every man a lamb, according to the house of their fathers, a lamb for a house’ (Ex 12:3). This is the moment when God commands the Israelites to mark the doorposts of their homes with lamb’s blood so that they will be passed over, when the Egyptian firstborn are killed.
We can re-read Rashi’s question as asking why we do not begin with commandments and why we need all of the preceding stories? Rashi eventually answers the question by saying that we begin with creation because it proves that God created the world, and therefore means that God is permitted to give land to whichever people God chooses, and so Israel are the rightful possessors of the Promised Land. Rashi fails to consider what happens when a person does not accept the divinity of the Torah, and the proof it therefore offers.
However, we might also argue that without the preceding stories and narratives, the statement: ‘This month shall be to you…’ would be meaningless as we would have no context for the trials and tribulations which brought the Israelites down to Egypt.
The power of this moment should not be lost. As the Israelites stand on the brink of the Exodus, when they will emerge out of slavery into freedom, before they can become free people they begin to mark time. We should not underestimate the significance of counting, and recording, time. As slaves their time was not their own, the Egyptians defined every area of their existence, and the passage of time therefore lost all meaning, as days merged together, united by hardship and suffering.
As free people they would be able to define their own time. It was therefore not just the first month of the year, but also the first month of their new existence as free people. This might not be the moment at which Torah should begin, but it is a significant moment on our people’s journey. And as we look through the pages of our diaries and calendars, we should remember that the ability to mark time is a gift we receive as former slaves who are today free.
And yet, there are those who have questioned why the Torah chose to begin with the creation of the world. Rashi, arguably the leading Torah commentator of all time, began his commentary on Bereishit by writing: ‘Said Rabbi Isaac, the Torah did not need to start there, rather it could have started with “this month shall be to you”’. If we were to follow this advice we would have skipped the story of creation, the flood, the stories of our Patriarchs and Matriarchs, and the first nine plagues in Egypt. And we would have begun midway through this week’s Torah portion.
This week, as we stand on the brink of the tenth plague and our Exodus from Egypt, ‘And Adonai spoke to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt, saying “This month shall be to you the beginning of months; it shall be the first month of the year to you”’ (Ex 12:1-2). It as at this moment that we begin the counting of time and the definition of a calendar; this month (which will later be known as Nissan) is the first month of the year.
But the significance is not just in creating a calendar, it is also the moment of the first communal command: ‘Speak to all the congregation of Israel, saying, In the tenth day of this month they shall take every man a lamb, according to the house of their fathers, a lamb for a house’ (Ex 12:3). This is the moment when God commands the Israelites to mark the doorposts of their homes with lamb’s blood so that they will be passed over, when the Egyptian firstborn are killed.
We can re-read Rashi’s question as asking why we do not begin with commandments and why we need all of the preceding stories? Rashi eventually answers the question by saying that we begin with creation because it proves that God created the world, and therefore means that God is permitted to give land to whichever people God chooses, and so Israel are the rightful possessors of the Promised Land. Rashi fails to consider what happens when a person does not accept the divinity of the Torah, and the proof it therefore offers.
However, we might also argue that without the preceding stories and narratives, the statement: ‘This month shall be to you…’ would be meaningless as we would have no context for the trials and tribulations which brought the Israelites down to Egypt.
The power of this moment should not be lost. As the Israelites stand on the brink of the Exodus, when they will emerge out of slavery into freedom, before they can become free people they begin to mark time. We should not underestimate the significance of counting, and recording, time. As slaves their time was not their own, the Egyptians defined every area of their existence, and the passage of time therefore lost all meaning, as days merged together, united by hardship and suffering.
As free people they would be able to define their own time. It was therefore not just the first month of the year, but also the first month of their new existence as free people. This might not be the moment at which Torah should begin, but it is a significant moment on our people’s journey. And as we look through the pages of our diaries and calendars, we should remember that the ability to mark time is a gift we receive as former slaves who are today free.
Monday, January 3, 2011
My Sermon - 31st December - 2010 in Review
2011 starts tomorrow with all of the exciting promise that a new year brings. When a new year begins I always think back to the feeling I had at school when I would begin a new exercise book. All of the pages were empty, waiting to be filled, and the potential of what would go on those pages filled me with excitement and anticipation. I was known on occasion to write in especially large letters, or draw particularly big pictures just so that I could get to that new book a little bit quicker.
Today, I no longer have a school exercise book, but I do carry around a small notebook with me, and I still get excited when one notebook is filled and a brand new notebook begins. However, before I can begin the new notebook, I have to review the old notebook for information that I need to carry forward, and cannot be left on the pages of a book, in a drawer in my office.
Before we can truly begin 2011, we need to review 2010 and consider what lessons and experiences we will be taking with us into the new year.
Personally, there are a number of images and stories, that I will carry with me from 2010 into the new year.
I feel that we have to start in the Gulf of Mexico. In previous years, we had witnessed oil spills, such as the Piper Alpha oil rig disaster of 1988 and the Exxon Valdez spill of 1989. But the Deepwater Horizon oil spill of 2010 was of a markedly different scale. We saw pictures and films as millions of barrels of black liquid leaked out into the Atlantic ocean. And we watched as BP and the U.S. appeared powerless to stem the flow. It was over twelve weeks until they were able to finally plug the leak.
The American news highlighted the fact that a British company was to blame, some in Britain blamed the American made oil rig – and the world agreed that it was an American and BP problem. Many were shocked, and numerous people feared the effect it would have on them. But the problem and thus the solution, was not their problem.
In addition to the manmade disasters that characterized 2010, there were a number of devastating natural disasters as well. In January, Haiti was struck by an earthquake which left 200,000 dead and one and a half million homeless. And then in July, monsoon rains caused flooding in Pakistan, which spread across an area the same size as England, affecting over 20 million people.
What was striking was the contrast in the way that the international community, and especially the wealthier nations, responded. For Haiti there appeared to be an outpouring of support as money came in to help the country care for the victims and begin the work of rebuilding. But when Pakistan came calling, the international community was far slower to respond. In the first month the UN only received 20% of the relief funding they requested. Some people talked about disaster fatigue, while others raised questions about whether there were some latent anti-Pakistan feelings. These two tragedies demonstrated the ability of the international community to intervene positively, and also to stand idly by.
But in both of these cases, there was still an overarching feeling that it was not the world’s problem – it was not our problem. Sure we sent some money in the beginning, wrote a cheque that was out of sight, out of mind. But how many of us know the current state of those two countries now?
So much of this year, was about protecting ourselves, taking care of our own. Surely we have enough problems without having to care about somebody else’s? It’s a much easier way of life – but also so much emptier. Yet, not all is lost. There was one event that occurred this year – one that brought the world together and offered a glimpse of a more compassionate, caring and united world.
The entire international community was united on one day in October as we watched the inspiring rescue of 33 Chilean miners from an underground prison. 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. Across the world everyone was watching and listening; and the following day it was the lead story across the globe. For once there was a good news story for the entire world to celebrate.
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.
We can say with complete confidence that if the world had not united and taken responsibility for the lives of these 33 men, the outcome would have been very different. But the world came together and said: ‘These are my brothers, these people are my people.’
2010 may have seen a lot of hardship, numerous disasters, ongoing wars and potential ones, but in those two months of uncertainty, 2010 saw a global community that instead of saying ‘it’s their problem,’ firmly stood by each other and said, ‘this is our problem.’
With every advance in technology our world is becoming a smaller place and we need to adjust our priorities and our attitudes accordingly.
It seems appropriate that when Time Magazine were choosing their Person of the Year for 2010 they selected Mark Zuckerberg, the founder and creator of Facebook. According to Time Magazine, he won the award: ‘For connecting more than half a billion people and mapping the social relations among them, for creating a new system of exchanging information and for changing how we live our lives’
Facebook has many uses, but at its core it is a way for people to stay in touch, 24-7, no matter where in the world they live. Over half a billion people are now a part of the Facebook community, and it continues to grow. People can argue about the positives and negatives of this social network, but it is another thread which is holding the global community together.
Now that we are all connected through a wireless network, we need to connect through a common interest in the well being of our global family and the shared responsibility we have for one another.
As we move into 2011, with all of the opportunity and promise, which it possesses; we must learn the lesson of 2010 that we are all members of one global family. As a family we must be prepared to care for each other, help each other and celebrate with each other.
Let’s make it our resolution to turn the Jewish mandate: kol Yisrael aravim zeh bazeh – all Israel is responsible for one another, into kol haolam aravim zeh bazeh – all the world is responsible for one another. If we can begin this new year as fully committed members of the global community we will be able to make 2011 a Happy New Year for everyone.
Today, I no longer have a school exercise book, but I do carry around a small notebook with me, and I still get excited when one notebook is filled and a brand new notebook begins. However, before I can begin the new notebook, I have to review the old notebook for information that I need to carry forward, and cannot be left on the pages of a book, in a drawer in my office.
Before we can truly begin 2011, we need to review 2010 and consider what lessons and experiences we will be taking with us into the new year.
Personally, there are a number of images and stories, that I will carry with me from 2010 into the new year.
I feel that we have to start in the Gulf of Mexico. In previous years, we had witnessed oil spills, such as the Piper Alpha oil rig disaster of 1988 and the Exxon Valdez spill of 1989. But the Deepwater Horizon oil spill of 2010 was of a markedly different scale. We saw pictures and films as millions of barrels of black liquid leaked out into the Atlantic ocean. And we watched as BP and the U.S. appeared powerless to stem the flow. It was over twelve weeks until they were able to finally plug the leak.
The American news highlighted the fact that a British company was to blame, some in Britain blamed the American made oil rig – and the world agreed that it was an American and BP problem. Many were shocked, and numerous people feared the effect it would have on them. But the problem and thus the solution, was not their problem.
In addition to the manmade disasters that characterized 2010, there were a number of devastating natural disasters as well. In January, Haiti was struck by an earthquake which left 200,000 dead and one and a half million homeless. And then in July, monsoon rains caused flooding in Pakistan, which spread across an area the same size as England, affecting over 20 million people.
What was striking was the contrast in the way that the international community, and especially the wealthier nations, responded. For Haiti there appeared to be an outpouring of support as money came in to help the country care for the victims and begin the work of rebuilding. But when Pakistan came calling, the international community was far slower to respond. In the first month the UN only received 20% of the relief funding they requested. Some people talked about disaster fatigue, while others raised questions about whether there were some latent anti-Pakistan feelings. These two tragedies demonstrated the ability of the international community to intervene positively, and also to stand idly by.
But in both of these cases, there was still an overarching feeling that it was not the world’s problem – it was not our problem. Sure we sent some money in the beginning, wrote a cheque that was out of sight, out of mind. But how many of us know the current state of those two countries now?
So much of this year, was about protecting ourselves, taking care of our own. Surely we have enough problems without having to care about somebody else’s? It’s a much easier way of life – but also so much emptier. Yet, not all is lost. There was one event that occurred this year – one that brought the world together and offered a glimpse of a more compassionate, caring and united world.
The entire international community was united on one day in October as we watched the inspiring rescue of 33 Chilean miners from an underground prison. 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. Across the world everyone was watching and listening; and the following day it was the lead story across the globe. For once there was a good news story for the entire world to celebrate.
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.
We can say with complete confidence that if the world had not united and taken responsibility for the lives of these 33 men, the outcome would have been very different. But the world came together and said: ‘These are my brothers, these people are my people.’
2010 may have seen a lot of hardship, numerous disasters, ongoing wars and potential ones, but in those two months of uncertainty, 2010 saw a global community that instead of saying ‘it’s their problem,’ firmly stood by each other and said, ‘this is our problem.’
With every advance in technology our world is becoming a smaller place and we need to adjust our priorities and our attitudes accordingly.
It seems appropriate that when Time Magazine were choosing their Person of the Year for 2010 they selected Mark Zuckerberg, the founder and creator of Facebook. According to Time Magazine, he won the award: ‘For connecting more than half a billion people and mapping the social relations among them, for creating a new system of exchanging information and for changing how we live our lives’
Facebook has many uses, but at its core it is a way for people to stay in touch, 24-7, no matter where in the world they live. Over half a billion people are now a part of the Facebook community, and it continues to grow. People can argue about the positives and negatives of this social network, but it is another thread which is holding the global community together.
Now that we are all connected through a wireless network, we need to connect through a common interest in the well being of our global family and the shared responsibility we have for one another.
As we move into 2011, with all of the opportunity and promise, which it possesses; we must learn the lesson of 2010 that we are all members of one global family. As a family we must be prepared to care for each other, help each other and celebrate with each other.
Let’s make it our resolution to turn the Jewish mandate: kol Yisrael aravim zeh bazeh – all Israel is responsible for one another, into kol haolam aravim zeh bazeh – all the world is responsible for one another. If we can begin this new year as fully committed members of the global community we will be able to make 2011 a Happy New Year for everyone.
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