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Growing up in RSY-Netzer we would often have programmes and sessions relating to the subject of the environment, and our role in protecting and caring for it. On these occasions a text from Greenpeace became very popular as an educational trigger. Rather than thinking of the world as 4,600 million year old, we were asked to consider our planet as if it was a person of 46 years of age. We know nothing of the first seven years of this person’s life; while dinosaurs and the great reptiles only appeared one year ago, when the planet was already 45.
‘Mammals arrived only 8 months ago and in the middle of last week. Man-like apes evolved into ape-like men and at the weekend the last ice-age enveloped the earth. Modern man has been around for four hours. During the last hour man discovered agriculture, the industrial revolution began a minute ago and during those 60 seconds of biological time modern man has made a rubbish tip of paradise.’
The Greenpeace text always made for uncomfortable reading, and challenged us to consider our actions in this world, and the way in which it might impact on our environment. When we fill up our car with petrol, when we switch on the lights at home, when we turn up the heat we rarely think about the consequences to the natural world, we think about our own needs. Our behaviour is legitimate and understandable, but at the same time Greenpeace challenges us to consider the impact of our actions.
This week’s Torah portion begins in the midst of a gruesome account of what will happen to us if we disobey God’s commandments. As it states: ‘I will act against you in wrathful hostility; I, for My part, will discipline you sevenfold for your sins’ (Leviticus 26:28). As part of this punishment the land is to be laid desolate, the cities shall be ruined and the people will be scattered across the world (Leviticus 26:33).
And while we are suffering, the land will receive much needed sustenance: ‘Then shall the land make up for its Sabbath years throughout the time that it is desolate and you are in the land of your enemies; then shall the land rest and make up for its Sabbath years. Throughout the time that it is desolate, it shall observe the rest that it did not observe in the Sabbath years while you were dwelling upon it’ (Leviticus 26:34-35).
The text does not tell us that we are punished for neglecting the Sabbatical year, we are simply told the consequences if ‘you do not obey Me’ (Leviticus 26:18). However, it seems that there is an expectation that if we are breaking God’s laws, then this would include the commandment for the land to rest every seven years. While we are punished, the land will be allowed to rest and flourish, without our intervention.
It is painful to admit that our current stewardship of this planet has not been as successful and as nurturing as we might have hoped. We could argue about the extent to which we have made a ‘rubbish tip of paradise’, but the sentiment appears to be justified. The Sabbatical year was a safeguard amongst God’s commandments, a way of protecting the environment, and curtailing our abuse at least once every seven years.
While I doubt a Sabbatical year is enforceable today, it is clear that the world could do with some help. As the Greenpeace text tells us, if the world is 46 years old, then ‘a human life in this timespan lasts a mere 18 seconds. Let’s not waste anymore precious time’. With this small amount of time at our disposal, we cannot wait for a Sabbatical year, and with Hillel’s words we should be inspired to act for ‘if not now, when?’
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Two Minutes of Torah: Behar (Leviticus 25:19-38) - The 'Commoner' and the Prince
While watching the Royal wedding, both on the television and twitter, I was struck by the number of times that Kate Middleton, now the Duchess of Cambridge, was described as a ‘commoner’. In terms of coverage, one of the major features of the marriage was the fact that Prince William had chosen to marry someone who was not of noble birth. The wedding was a reminder of the fact that British society contains a landed upper class, born into status (and often wealth) as a result of family history and lineage.
However, while the media may have described Kate as ‘commoner’, she has clearly not emerged from poverty, with a family though not aristocratic, are certainly financially very secure and well off. The status of ‘commoner’ today includes a vast range of people, including some who are super-wealthy and others who are homeless on the streets of our cities. While we have a landed aristocracy in Britain, we also have a significant population who have nowhere to live and no place to sleep.
In many western societies there is a growing gap between the wealthiest and the poorest ends of society. In a report from 2010 Britain was ranked seventh in the world in terms of the gap between rich and poor. This week’s Torah portion puts in place a corrective to ensure that the gap between the extremes would never be allowed to grow too wide in the Promised Land.
God says specifically ‘The land shall not be sold for ever, for the land is mine, you are strangers and sojourners with me’ (Leviticus 25:23). While land may be bought and sold, the Torah makes clear that in reality no-one can truly own the land, and so no sale of land can ever be permanent. Alongside this the Torah makes clear the laws for redeeming land which may have been sold in the past, allowing family members to buy back property which had to be sold due to trying circumstances.
However, when the land cannot be bought back there is still an added safeguard: ‘that which is sold shall remain in the hand of the person who bought it until the Jubilee Year, and in the Jubilee it shall go out and return to original owner’ (Leviticus 25:38). The Jubilee Year provided a safety net within the society so that no-one could be indefinitely impoverished; everyone was protected so that once every 50 years their property would be returned. Israelite society was constructed in such a way as to ensure that no-one could be left languishing forever; everyone would eventually be caught and supported.
In our society while there is today some social mobility, the situation one is born into is still the greatest predictor on where they will find themselves fifty years later. As the Government’s own report from 2010 stated: ‘the evidence we have looked at shows the long arm of people’s origins in shaping their life chances, stretching through life stages, literally from cradle to grave.’ People can rise up while others fall down, but for the overwhelming majority their situation at birth will largely define their place at death.
Kate Middleton proves what the fairytales always knew; the regular girl can become a Princess. But she is still the exception, not the rule. We need to embrace and adapt the idea of the Jubilee Year to ensure that the poorest members of our society are protected. Not in terms of the specific return of land, but the assurance that no-one will be left to languish with no support or sustenance from society. The Jubilee Year was not a law for a Promised Land, but a law which enabled us to build the Promised Land; we must aspire to build such a land wherever we live today.
However, while the media may have described Kate as ‘commoner’, she has clearly not emerged from poverty, with a family though not aristocratic, are certainly financially very secure and well off. The status of ‘commoner’ today includes a vast range of people, including some who are super-wealthy and others who are homeless on the streets of our cities. While we have a landed aristocracy in Britain, we also have a significant population who have nowhere to live and no place to sleep.
In many western societies there is a growing gap between the wealthiest and the poorest ends of society. In a report from 2010 Britain was ranked seventh in the world in terms of the gap between rich and poor. This week’s Torah portion puts in place a corrective to ensure that the gap between the extremes would never be allowed to grow too wide in the Promised Land.
God says specifically ‘The land shall not be sold for ever, for the land is mine, you are strangers and sojourners with me’ (Leviticus 25:23). While land may be bought and sold, the Torah makes clear that in reality no-one can truly own the land, and so no sale of land can ever be permanent. Alongside this the Torah makes clear the laws for redeeming land which may have been sold in the past, allowing family members to buy back property which had to be sold due to trying circumstances.
However, when the land cannot be bought back there is still an added safeguard: ‘that which is sold shall remain in the hand of the person who bought it until the Jubilee Year, and in the Jubilee it shall go out and return to original owner’ (Leviticus 25:38). The Jubilee Year provided a safety net within the society so that no-one could be indefinitely impoverished; everyone was protected so that once every 50 years their property would be returned. Israelite society was constructed in such a way as to ensure that no-one could be left languishing forever; everyone would eventually be caught and supported.
In our society while there is today some social mobility, the situation one is born into is still the greatest predictor on where they will find themselves fifty years later. As the Government’s own report from 2010 stated: ‘the evidence we have looked at shows the long arm of people’s origins in shaping their life chances, stretching through life stages, literally from cradle to grave.’ People can rise up while others fall down, but for the overwhelming majority their situation at birth will largely define their place at death.
Kate Middleton proves what the fairytales always knew; the regular girl can become a Princess. But she is still the exception, not the rule. We need to embrace and adapt the idea of the Jubilee Year to ensure that the poorest members of our society are protected. Not in terms of the specific return of land, but the assurance that no-one will be left to languish with no support or sustenance from society. The Jubilee Year was not a law for a Promised Land, but a law which enabled us to build the Promised Land; we must aspire to build such a land wherever we live today.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Two Minutes of Torah: Emor (Leviticus 22:26-23:16) - The Importance of Time Off
For the people of Britain it’s been a good couple of weeks. First we had the Easter Bank Holiday weekend, which allowed us four days out of the office, a fitting end for the festival of Pesach. And then thanks to William and Kates’ decision to get married on a Friday, we received another holiday bonus, with Friday for the wedding (and I might add it was a wonderful ceremony) and Monday as the May Day Bank Holiday. I don’t think it is any coincidence that over that period of time, everyone appeared to be in an good mood. Now I realise that the unseasonal excellent weather also contributed to the rising happiness index, but I am in no doubt that the long weekends had a lot to do with the smiles on everyone’s faces.
Quite often we fall into the Monday-Friday routine, which sees us lurching from weekend to weekend, essentially ‘surviving’ the working week, so that we may have two days of respite, before beginning the cycle all over again. I don’t know about you, but I was very ready to accept three-day working weeks and four-day weekends as the model for life from now on.
However, we should not be complacent about simply having one day off each week, let alone two. One of my favourite Shabbat readings is by the author Francine Klagsbrun; she shared the experiences of her father, a Russian immigrant to America at a time when there were no labour laws (I’ve shared it here before). She recalls him saying: ‘People worked long hours, seven days a week, without rest. But imagine, more than three thousand years ago the Bible commanded that all work stop for an entire day every single week, and not only for the ancient Israelites but for all who lived among them, including slaves. And not only for people, but for animals as well. What a revolutionary practice that was.’
In this week’s Torah portion, as God introduces the Jewish calendar: ‘Speak to the Israelite people and say to them: “These are My fixed times, the fixed times of Adonai, which you shall proclaim as sacred occasions’ (Leviticus 23:2). Before moving to look at the festivals themselves God reaffirms the obligation of Shabbat: ‘On six days work may be done, but on the seventh day there shall be a Sabbath of complete rest, a sacred occasion’ (Leviticus 23:3).
While we may grow complacent of Shabbat as a day off from work and a festive occasion, we should not lose sight of the importance of the day, and the fact that it is an ordained holy day from God. It is at the beginning of the festive calendar. Shabbat in many ways forms the basis for the other festivals, which adapt the Shabbat obligations for their specific contexts.
Alongside Shabbat the other festivals (just like our British Bank Holidays) provide us with an opportunity to break the routine of the regular calendar with ‘sacred occasions, which you shall celebrate each at its appointed time’ (Leviticus 23:4). Succot and Pesach sit exactly six months apart, and between them, in both directions we have a variety of festive days to make sure that the calendar’s routine is broken up at regular intervals.
On a weekly basis Shabbat provides us with a day of rest, and at regular intervals our festivals provide us celebratory occasions. At this time of the year as we move from Pesach to Shavuot, our anticipation for this next festival can hardly be contained, and perhaps this is the reason why we count the Omer, providing a channel for our excitement to build as we prepare to celebrate.
But in case Shavuot seems too far away, or if the next Bank Holiday is not soon enough, Shabbat appears each and every week to ensure that the cycle of work is broken once every seven days. I guess it’s lucky that it didn’t take God ten days or more to create the world.
Quite often we fall into the Monday-Friday routine, which sees us lurching from weekend to weekend, essentially ‘surviving’ the working week, so that we may have two days of respite, before beginning the cycle all over again. I don’t know about you, but I was very ready to accept three-day working weeks and four-day weekends as the model for life from now on.
However, we should not be complacent about simply having one day off each week, let alone two. One of my favourite Shabbat readings is by the author Francine Klagsbrun; she shared the experiences of her father, a Russian immigrant to America at a time when there were no labour laws (I’ve shared it here before). She recalls him saying: ‘People worked long hours, seven days a week, without rest. But imagine, more than three thousand years ago the Bible commanded that all work stop for an entire day every single week, and not only for the ancient Israelites but for all who lived among them, including slaves. And not only for people, but for animals as well. What a revolutionary practice that was.’
In this week’s Torah portion, as God introduces the Jewish calendar: ‘Speak to the Israelite people and say to them: “These are My fixed times, the fixed times of Adonai, which you shall proclaim as sacred occasions’ (Leviticus 23:2). Before moving to look at the festivals themselves God reaffirms the obligation of Shabbat: ‘On six days work may be done, but on the seventh day there shall be a Sabbath of complete rest, a sacred occasion’ (Leviticus 23:3).
While we may grow complacent of Shabbat as a day off from work and a festive occasion, we should not lose sight of the importance of the day, and the fact that it is an ordained holy day from God. It is at the beginning of the festive calendar. Shabbat in many ways forms the basis for the other festivals, which adapt the Shabbat obligations for their specific contexts.
Alongside Shabbat the other festivals (just like our British Bank Holidays) provide us with an opportunity to break the routine of the regular calendar with ‘sacred occasions, which you shall celebrate each at its appointed time’ (Leviticus 23:4). Succot and Pesach sit exactly six months apart, and between them, in both directions we have a variety of festive days to make sure that the calendar’s routine is broken up at regular intervals.
On a weekly basis Shabbat provides us with a day of rest, and at regular intervals our festivals provide us celebratory occasions. At this time of the year as we move from Pesach to Shavuot, our anticipation for this next festival can hardly be contained, and perhaps this is the reason why we count the Omer, providing a channel for our excitement to build as we prepare to celebrate.
But in case Shavuot seems too far away, or if the next Bank Holiday is not soon enough, Shabbat appears each and every week to ensure that the cycle of work is broken once every seven days. I guess it’s lucky that it didn’t take God ten days or more to create the world.
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