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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two Minutes of Torah: Parashat Re'eh (Deuteronomy 11:26-12:10) - The Price of Freewill

In our Jewish tradition, one of the things which is always said to distinguish us from the angels is the fact that we have freewill. We have a choice. We can choose to obey God’s laws and commandments, or we can choose to ignore and reject them. Humanity’s possession of freewill is therefore one of the key things which defines us, distinguishing us from angels and also the other animals, who act without the same autonomy.

In this week’s Torah portion God offers us an incentive related to the way in which we behave. The choice appears simple enough; blessing on one side and curse on the other. ‘Blessing, if you obey the commandments of the Eternal your God that I enjoin upon you this day; and curse, if you do not obey the commandments of the Eternal your God’ (Deuteronomy 11:27-28). God sets up a clear system of reward and punishment. If we obey God’s commands we will be blessed, and if we disobey we will be cursed.

It would be a simple world if this system actually worked. The Torah portion appears to suggest that good people will prosper and bad people will suffer as a result of God’s intervention. Unfortunately we rarely see a thunderbolt from the heavens striking down those who are evil, and we often see good people suffering. Rabbi Harold Kushner considered this problem in his celebrated book: ‘When bad things happen to good people’ - the evidence from the world around us challenges God’s system.

There is something appealing about a world in which evil is punished and good is rewarded. The problem is that all too often our world feels unjust, and God’s system appears to be broken.

God gave us the gift of free will so that we have the choice. As God will say later in Deuteronomy: ‘I have put before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life’ (Deuteronomy 30:19). Each one of us can choose, and we may choose life; but unfortunately we have no power over what any other person may do. As John Donne famously wrote: ‘No man is an island’. Our worlds are interconnected, and we prosper and suffer not just as a result of our own actions, but also due to the actions of others.

A world with God rewarding and punishing us based on our actions cannot function simultaneously in a world where we all have free will. There is a choice: reward and punishment or free will.

Free will defines us as humans, created in the image of God with an ability to make choices, and choose to do the right thing, or do the wrong thing. I want to live in a world where people have free will. It is a world in which there will unfortunately be injustice, hurt and suffering. But at the same time it is a world in which people choose to do the right thing, in which people help each other, and help to make the world a better place.

We do not follow God’s laws as automatons, we make a choice. We may not always feel the blessing in this world. We may hope that in the world to come there will be a settling of scores. But at the same time when we follow God’s commands; when we pursue justice, help others and make the world a better place, we may not receive a blessing, but we become a blessing. And in becoming a blessing we fulfil Abraham’s legacy ‘through you all the families of the earth shall be blessed’ (Genesis 12:3).