The Liberal Jewish Synagogue
Rabbis
The Liberal Jewish Synagogue is probably unique among the world's leading congregations in that, since its establishment over 90 years ago, it has been served by only five Senior Rabbis.
The Late Rabbi Dr John D Rayner CBE
Rabbi Dr John D Rayner CBE was not only the LJS' Rabbi Emeritus but was also the country's foremost Progressive Rabbi. Born in Berlin in 1924, he came to England with one of the kindertransporte, served for four years in the British Army and studied for six years at Cambridge University, before being ordained by Rabbi Mattuck. Subsequently he spent two years as a Graduate Fellow at the Hebrew Union College, Cincinnati, which awarded him an honorary D.D. in 1980. A vice president of Leo Baeck College and former chairman of the Council of Reform and Liberal Rabbis, his many publications included The Practices of Liberal Judaism, Service of the Heart, Siddur Lev Chadash, and Gate of Repentance (co-edited with Rabbi Chaim Stern), Guide to Jewish Marriage, Judaism for Today (co-authored with Rabbi Bernard Hooker), the ULPS Passover Haggadah and The Jewish People (with Rabbi Goldberg). Recent publications included: An Understanding of Judaism, Jewish Religious Law and A Jewish Understanding of the World.
Some Tributes to Rabbi Rayner:
Rabbi Charles Middleburgh
About a year or so ago Professor Eric Friedland and I decided to write a tribute to John as a liturgist, saluting the groundbreaking work that he had done, with Chaim Stern, and acknowledging the breadth of his liturgical scholarship.
As part of the process we drew up an extended list of questions, which I then had the pleasure of asking John: the answers that he gave - which went far further than the mere liturgical - cast a fascinating insight into the work that produced Service of the Heart, Gate of Repentance, Haggadot, Funeral, Shiv'a and Selichot books and, the apotheosis of his endeavours, Siddur Lev Chadash.
How did it all start, I asked, where did this encyclopaedic knowledge come from? The answer was simple: I wanted to lead a course in liturgy at the LJS and decided I needed to learn more about the subject. His original students cannot have known where that was going to lead!
No tribute - let alone a 4 minute one - can do adequate justice to John's role as a liturgist, his sensitivity as a linguist, and his deep and prayerful spirituality, but in Siddur Lev Chadash they all come together, and if one single prayerbook has to be his monument then let that be it.
Working with him on that text, and having him as a consultant, with Eric, on its machzor sibling, as Andrew Goldstein and I did, was an unforgettable experience.
John set the highest standards for himself, and expected others to rise to the challenge accordingly. When we failed he was gentle, and set about rectifying our shortcomings himself. He also evinced huge modesty as an editor, as in many other things, so that in Siddur Lev Chadash for example, he insisted that almost all the passages that he alone had written were labelled New or Editors in the notes; so when you read those notes in future after a prayer moves or inspires you, substitute the initials JDR for those entries.
Another major recipient of his scholarship, his humanity and his integrity, was the Leo Baeck College - which he served with the greatest distinction for over 40 years as a senior lecturer, as Vice President and as one time Director of Rabbinic Studies - and the generations of rabbis that he taught. He cared passionately about his students and made every effort to put them at their ease in his presence; he was relaxed with all of us and instantly on first name terms, and in his text courses he was gentle with our faltering and flawed reading. As a dissertation supervisor he was encouraging and meticulous, quickly reading chapters and commenting on them in minute detail; and though he was often constructively critical, always there was a preface that acknowledged the good things and sweetened the pill that followed.
To receive John's semichah, as Alex Wright and I did in 1986, was to be blessed beyond words, and to be aware that you had been initiated into a shalshelet haKabbalah, a chain of rabbinic ordination, that included David Einhorn, Kaufman Köhler, Israel Mattuck and above all John himself. It meant so much at the time, but it means even more today.
There is a text in Pirke Avot in the name of Joshua bar Perachyah which states: Asey lecha rav, u-keney lecha chaver...find yourself a rabbi and get yourself a friend. It was John's greatness as a rabbi, and as a man, that he could fulfil BOTH roles: he did it for so many of us, and in abundant measure, and for those to whom this applies it makes his loss irreparable but the gain from his love and friendship immeasurable.
Zecher tzaddik livrachah.
Amen
Rabbi Jeffrey Newman
There is a comment in Talmud Berachot (18b) that seems appropriate as we gather together in John's memory.
It is based upon a phrase in Ecclesiastes (9:5) For the living know that they shall die. That seems obvious but Rabbi Hiyya once explained its deeper meaning to R. Jonathan when they were walking together around a cemetery: the phrase applies to those righteous who, in their death, are called living.
Many centuries later, at the funeral of a noted rabbinic scholar, Leon of Modena (1571-1648) gave an extraordinary eulogy basing it, he said, on a story he had read in a non-Jewish book - in itself a characteristically daring admission. Rabbi Leon says he will show how this Christian story agrees with the rabbinic statement.2
The story Leon tells goes like this.
A young man does not know whether he is alive or dead and decides to travel from country to country to find the answer. Wherever he goes, people laugh at him.
In Egypt the sages tell him that since death is the cessation of activity, he is alive by day and dead by night.
In Persia, they explain that he is alive when active, but dead when idle.
According to Leon, the wise men in Greece could not agree amongst themselves and in Italy they said that whatever the young man proposed they would be able to demonstrate the opposite!
The young man then met a warrior who said, If you like, I will kill you and then you will know the difference.
Finally a monk explained, 'I am alive because I consider myself dead.'
The young man did not understand these words, so when he came across a cemetery he decided to stay the night. He has asked the living; now he will enquire of the dead. So he opened a coffin and removed a corpse and eventually heard a spirit speaking who asked him what he thought; did he believe he was alive or dead?
Alive, said the young man.
How do you know?
Because I see, hear, eat, walk.
Ah, said the spirit - that is proof that you are dead.
How is that?
Because the living do not need senses or movement...
The youth asked: If that is so - who is alive?
The spirit answered: the one who does not see, or hear, or speak or walk....'
Then, asked the youth, how can I live?
By dying said the spirit.
And you, asked the young man - are you alive or dead?
Dead, said the spirit, as long as I am talking to you.
The young man answered, If so, go to life, and closed the coffin. He now understood what the monk had said.
The next morning he returned to his home, and his reply to all who asked him was: I am dead so that I may live.3
John, I think, would have enjoyed Leon of Modena's ingenious distortion of the original Christian story so that the monk's emphasis on the renunciation of the world is used to illustrate the Talmudic aphorism, The righteous are called alive in their death.
What makes us sad is that he is not here with us, to comment, to correct but most of all, to challenge with his own daring.
But what does it actually mean, that the righteous are called alive in their death?
It means that we continue to measure the world by their standards.
This is not memory, as we usually understand it, but PRESENCE.
John's writings, his words and deeds remain present with us. We hear that punctilious, crisp, slightly accented voice, hiding the passion and dry humour in intellectual rigour.
We are still tested by the ever present ethical honesty as, for example, we hear again John's compelling voice and argument
* in the debate as to whether it was right for the Leo Baeck College to allow gay and lesbian students to study for the rabbinate.
* His unwavering dedication to the bringing together of the two movements, Liberal and Reform remains alive.
* Most of all his passionate, fearless and righteous commitment to prophetic Judaism
* to the necessity that we should recognise both the suffering of the Palestinians and their rights in the Land of Israel continues to challenge us now
* His intellectual genius shines out in his booklet the Principles of Progressive Jewish Ethics, a guide for generations to come which he wrote in two weeks.
Truly, the righteous are called living in their death.
Most of all, I appreciate the absolute honesty he called for in these past two years of his illness.
John constantly sets challenging and loving standards for us all as rabbi, teacher, friend and companion, and, no doubt, also as father and husband.
It was initially because of John, and Jane, whose hospitable Sunday lunches in Streatham affected my whole life, that I became a rabbi.
We grieve with his family, who had to share him with all of us and with so many others. We hope that the pain of parting will recede and that John's constant and refreshing appreciation of every moment of life, the savouring of every breath, his absolute trust in God, the life of the Universe will remain with us to support and nourish and challenge us all.
– the righteous are called living in their death -.
Keyn yehi ratzon - so may it be.
Rabbi Julia Neuberger
John Rayner was my most beloved teacher, and the greatest influence on me both as student
and congregational rabbi. Without John's affectionate and critical support, I doubt whether I
would ever have finished at Leo Baeck College. Without his unflinching integrity and painful
honesty, I would never have learned to say difficult things in tough circumstances- a model he
set for us all, which we cannot forget.
But the most powerful memories come as vignettes. John officiating at the baby blessings of both my children and Harriet throwing up down the back of his jacket. John, to his eternal credit, swiftly followed by Jane, described it as an "occupational hazard", a line have have used frequently since!. John, with David and me at Kabbalat Torah conferences, singing Christmas carols
and turning them into songs for the last night cabaret, when we rabbis had to produce an item
about each participant - in song. John was by far the most tuneful of that tuneless bunch. Or
John policing the stairs late at night, at the same conference, keeping the boys and girls apart,
and-quite unexpectedly- using a German phrase that was part of my childhood, from an
operetta popular in my grandparents' day, 'Schmeiss den koffer wieder auf, schmeiss den
koffer wieder unter'- 'take the luggage upstairs, take it downstairs', as we ran up and
down the stairs on patrol duty. Or, a few years earlier, at Yad Vashem on a World Union
conference, John talking about his parents and hoping, amidst the horror, to find signs of
kindness towards them from neighbours in Berlin. And John talking to those same young
conference participants about his experiences, bringing home to them the enormity of the
shoah, and of coming as a refugee, in a way no-one else could.
And that is without mentioning the pastiche Shakespeare sonnets John, David, and I wrote to
each other about rabbinic conference matters- with John's by far the most accomplished, in
exquisite verse. Or the endless neat notes I received, as we all did, every time we had
something published, with a little list of errors attached.
John was a chassid, a pious rabbi, the rabbis' rabbi, a remarkable teacher, and loyal friend.
We were all touched by his integrity, kindness and honesty- and his legacy is the obligation he
has left us to live up to those impeccably high standards he set himself- and us.
Michael Stannard
I first met John 66 years ago, on llth August 1939, when he came to join our family in
Sunderland, having come out of Germany on one of the last Kindertransport trains from
Berlin. Most of the children on that train were younger than John and many were crying. He
was a confused frightened 15 year old. He recalled that the morning sun shone as the train
crossed into Holland and freedom, the air seemed fresher and the grass greener than he had
ever seen. Freedom, he said was tangible and tasted sweet.
To understand John's feelings, we must remember that John's father was a patriotic
German who had fought for his country in the First World War and been severely wounded
and later become a respected member of staff of the Deutche Bank in Berlin. In 1938, he had
been arrested by the SS and when released seven weeks later, he had been so badly beaten up
that John did not recognise the dishevelled and dirty skeletal figure whose clothes hung off
him, standing outside the house, asking to come in.
When my mother went to say 'goodnight' to John that first night he was with us, she kissed
him and said "You must be very proud to be Jewish". Since my father was a Church of
England priest, I think she felt it important that John should know that we welcomed both him
and his Faith into our family. He called my parents Uncle Will and Aunt Muriel, and my elder
brother and I treated John as another brother. Even after 60 years, John vividly remembered
his first breakfast with us in England. Cornflakes, a boiled egg, and toast, butter and
marmalade. Delicious and unfamiliar luxuries for him. And it was not long before we
discovered his happy sense of humour, often used at his own expense. Such as the then current
German joke, "If only we had some eggs we could have eggs and bacon, if we had some
bacon". Surely particularly appropriate from one of his Faith!
John was accepted as a boarder at Durham School, where he was determined to enter fully into
all the school's activities. This of course included daily chapel services. His early maturity
was clear when he discussed the problem with my father. John naturally felt that he could not
join in saying the Christian Creed. My father entirely agreed, except perhaps for the opening
words "I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and Earth". And as my
father also pointed out, Church of England services use the Psalms of David and have readings
from what we refer to as the Old Testament. And many of the prayers and some hymns are
acceptable to both Faiths.
John's life must have been particularly difficult, since only occasionally was he able to send or
receive 25-word Red Cross messages with his parents, until these ceased in December 1942
and he had to fear the worst. I doubt if I was of much help to him, largely through lack of
understanding of what he must have been going through. After Dunkirk, John was rounded up
like all Germans, whether refugees and anti-Nazi or not. He could no longer stay with us in
Sunderland, an important shipbuilding town and port, and even for a term had to change
schools to one in the depths of the country. However, the Headmaster of Durham school was
soon able to have him removed from the Enemy Alien category --surely an insult to John and
the rest of the genuine refugees - and take him back as a pupil. John thrived at Durham and it
was clear that he had a brilliant mind and was a good athlete. He won various prizes, including
the English Essay Prize - not bad for one whose native tongue was not English - and became
Captain of Athletics and a School Monitor. He went on to win an Open Exhibition to
Cambridge.
After Durham School, he was eventually able to join the Army, was commissioned and served
with distinction in Egypt, Palestine and Austria, ending up as a captain. On demobilisation, he
went up to Emanuel College, Cambridge where he gained a first class degree.
Throughout this time and while he was training to become a Rabbi and afterwards, my parents
kept in close touch with John and he would stay with them when he could. He also had many
deep and interesting theological discussions with my father who was something of an
academic too. When John was ordained, my father, who was by then a bishop, was privileged
to be present and gave him with his Tallit - probably a unique event.
It was surely particularly appropriate that it was Her Majesty the Queen, the Supreme Governor of the Church of England, who invested John with the insignia of a Commander of the Order of the British Empire, for his work in furthering understanding between our two Faiths.
Finally, I have looked for some words that may sum up at least part of John's approach to
life and his Ministry. They were written to people in Corinth almost 2000 years ago by a Jewish man named Saul who was born in Tarsus and lived in Israel. In translation they read "And now abide Faith, Hope and Charity" - in the sense of loving and caring for one's fellow mortals - "but the greatest of these is Charity". Truly John was a Righteous Man.
Rabbi Sidney Brichto
Three weeks before his death, I went to see John. He told me that the cancer in his liver was growing and that he had been advised that his death was imminent. I had to control my feelings at the news. I asked him as he reflected on his life, what he felt was his greatest achievement. He replied that he hoped that he had done his work with integrity. I told him that while this was without doubt true, I felt it was his courage in facing whatever life might bring and seeking to overcome the bad - as illustrated by the way he faced his illness and disability for the last two years; how he greeted everyone with a smiling face and looked at the bright side, taking the view that he was fortunate to be alive and things could be worse.
This attitude was part of his character. I said to John that he was possessed by an enormous will to live, and that will was based on his faith that life was good. He was an 'ay sayer' as opposed to a 'nay sayer'. I told him of the close of James Joyce's Ulysses when Molly Bloom in one unending sentence speaks of her life which is interspersed with 'yes's and ends with 'yes I said yes I will yes'. John always said yes to life and to everyone.
He said that he had been lucky in his life, to which Jane and I suggested that he had not been altogether lucky; after all he was a child of the Holocaust with all the loss that that had entailed and that he had made his own luck. With one thing I had to agree - when he said that he was lucky to have had married Jane. No human being has ever given her husband more love, devotion and support than Jane gave John through the good and bad times, as have his children Jeremy, Ben and Susan and grandchildren Lev and Max of whom he was so proud.
After I left, I thought, how in spite of the deep differences between us on certain issues which at times had led to angry exchanges, how close I felt to him. For my part, it was because he had been such a good friend when I needed him, but also because I respected him. I sometimes thought he was arrogant, but that was due to the passion he had about his convictions; he felt that they came from a higher place and that it was his duty to express them with vigour. Sometimes I thought he was naïve, but I realised that this was due to his optimism about the nature of humanity. He believed that not only life was good but also that human beings were basically good and he also believed in the power of reason to persuade others as how to live. Others who had experienced what he had became cynics. He chose not to be one. Without the optimism based on his faith in God and Man, he would not have had the courage and the will to be the messenger and teacher of truth, understanding and compassion.
John was an extraordinary man. He was appreciated and praised during his life - and that is good. The qualities of his character and the integrity and courage with which he shared his beliefs will remain an inspiration for those of us who had the privilege to know him.
Rabbi David Goldberg
Already having written three obituary pieces about John, I wondered if there was anything I could usefully add to this evening's tributes. But Jane's instruction was to talk about John as a colleague. Having worked with him for fifteen years at the LJS and then keeping in constant touch after he became Rabbi Emeritus in 1989, - I suppose it could be said that I got to know John better than most people.
It was a Seventeenth century French society hostess who penned the famous remark that no man is a hero to his valet; or, she might have added, to his Associate Rabbi. But so many were John's virtues, and so few in comparison his defects, that when several years ago I came across the remark in the Talmud of the great Babylonian teacher Mar Samuel on hearing of the death of his friend and colleague Rav - 'Behold, the man is departed of whom I stood in awe' - I knew then that if it ever fell to me to deliver a eulogy about my dear friend, that would be the quotation I would use.
We all stood in awe of John. His commanding presence, his dignified bearing, his powerful intellect and the eloquence with which he expressed ideas, his insistence on ethical behaviour, set him apart and gave him a special aura. He bestrode our narrow world of Progressive Judaism like a colossus. He was always utterly fair to me as his junior partner, sharing equally the big occasions and major sermons, as well as the more mundane round of funerals, hospital visits and administrative duties.
But the ancient rabbis, using the example of Moses, whose burial place is unknown, warned us against the tendency to make a god of any human being after their death. If anything, John's qualities stand out all the more because of the common human faults he overcame in order to achieve them. I'm not talking about his scars as a child of the Holocaust. But it might surprise many here who remember John's equable temperament and calm rationality in debate to learn that he had to teach himself to control a fiery temper. Even late in life it sometimes would come to the surface when another person stubbornly failed to appreciate the logic of an argument - about the Middle East, say, or the nature of God - that to John was blindingly obvious. There was one rare blip on the otherwise impeccable moral compass of this man who would account for every last half litre of petrol and every paper clip when submitting his expenses. If embroiled in a controversy, he had a weakness for sending letters marked 'Private and Confidential' which the recipient might reasonably assume meant just that, only to discover later that John had distributed them to other colleagues, bemused newspaper editors, members of parliament, communal bigwigs and anyone else whom he wished to persuade of his rectitude. As another dear friend, Rabbi Albert Friedlander, may he be remembered for blessing, affectionately remarked in a tribute on John's eightieth birthday, 'It's not that John is always right, but he's never wrong.'
Moral courage was one of his admirable attributes. I remember occasions when he would stand up and not give in to Sir Louis Gluckstein, the silkily formidable 6' 4" tall president of the LJS, and I would marvel at his bravery. But along with that, John could also be a poor judge of character, too easily gulled by mediocrities who flattered him. He was regularly out-manoeuvred in the grubby world of communal politics, because he naively assumed that others were motivated by his rigorous principles and passion for righteousness.
But how trivial such minuses were against his plusses: his utter dedication to the needs of congregants; his meticulous preparation of every lecture, study session, Confirmation lesson, funeral oration and sermon. Week in week out, John was the best preacher in any synagogue, of any denomination, and probably of every religion, in the country.
A few years ago, on one of our pre-Kol Nidrey walks, he and I got to considering what inscription we would wish to have on our tombstones. We agreed that we would like the ambivalent and enigmatic wording: 'To the best of his abilities, he did what he could', because that conveyed our awareness, no matter what public recognition or human appreciation we might achieve, that by absolute divine standards, we all fall short.
John fell less short than anyone I have ever known. Behold the man is departed of whom I stood in awe.
