TFTW Archive 2024 November

Dear Members and Friends,

Do you recognise this story?
 
God tells the main character a secret plan to bring about a great flood. The man is commanded to tear down his house, build a boat, and preserve life. The boat must have proportional dimensions, equal width and length, and be completely sealed. Best carpenters and craftsmen gather early one morning, and within five days, the men construct the boat’s walls, measuring 120 cubits. The vessel is built with six decks, divided into multiple compartments. He loads “all the living beings that [he] had” onto the boat, seals it, and the flood begins.
 
You probably thought of Noah and the Flood. But this is not the Biblical Flood story—it’s the flood myth from the Epic of Gilgamesh.
 
On December 3, 1872, a British scholar, George Smith stood before the Society for Biblical Archaeology in London to deliver the most important lecture of his life titled, “Discovering the Ancient Source of the Biblical Flood.” He revealed that the Epic of Gilgamesh, a Mesopotamian story written on twelve clay tablets, contained a flood account remarkably similar to the one in the Torah, predating the Book of Genesis by centuries.
 
Dr. Barzilai, a scholar of ancient texts, has examined this myth closely, noting that while there are undeniable similarities, there are even more important differences between the Biblical and Mesopotamian Flood stories. 
 
In the Gilgamesh text, the Flood is a caprice of the gods.  In the Torah, it is a punishment for human sins. In Myth of Gilgamesh, the survivor is a king who had connections. In the Torah, the survivor is a righteous and blameless man. In the ancient narrative about Gilgamesh, the gods lose control over the tremendous power they have unleashed. In the Torah, God is in complete control all along.
 
Dr. Barzilai offers a theory that the Torah deliberately used a well-known and famous story, perhaps the most famous in the world at that time, to highlight and sharpen the important differences between the worldviews of the ancient Near East and the new spirit of biblical monotheism. In the face of the power struggles and cynicism of polytheism, the Torah expresses clear values - righteousness and justice, equality, and people’s responsibility for their actions. 
 
Ancient polytheistic stories often reflect power struggles and competitive deities. The Torah narrative introduces different values—justice, righteousness, equality, and accountability.
 
The juxtaposition of these flood narratives offers more than a look into ancient storytelling; it illustrates a profound shift in values. While Gilgamesh’s tale tells us about a world driven by powerful people, the Torah’s narrative emphasises moral integrity and justice and gives people more power. 
The comparison between these two flood stories reveals a shift in values. Where Gilgamesh shows a world ruled by powerful people and unpredictable gods, the Torah’s story emphasises people’s potential to live with justice, integrity, and compassion. It values each person, not only powerful elites. 
 
In our world, where power imbalances and social hierarchies are the norm, the Torah’s story of Noah challenges us to focus on equality. All people are equally responsible for their actions and, therefore, have equal rights and duties. Yes, the Torah’s Flood causes much destruction. However, I know that it was avoidable. God would not have sent the Flood if only people had listened and worked for a better society. 
 
According to the Rabbinic interpretation of the Flood story, it took Noah 120 years to get enough wood for the Ark. Why did it take so long? To allow people a chance to repent. When he learned about the end of the world, Noah urged his neighbours to change their behaviour. He warned them that a flood would destroy the earth because of their wickedness.  However, the people ignored and mocked him. (Sanhedrin 108a-b)
 
The Torah seems to have a clear set of values: caring for others, especially the most vulnerable, and building a more equal society. It teaches us that justice isn’t just a high theoretical ideal but a real-life goal. When we remember the needs of the vulnerable, we bring the Torah’s vision to life—a world where everyone’s humanity is honoured, and we share responsibility for each other.
 
Shabbat Shalom,
Igor

Dear Members and Friends,

Ever since I was ordained a Rabbi, I have had an unanswered question: Are Rabbis expected to have higher standards of behaviour and more responsibility than ‘Jews in the pews’? On the one hand, Jewish tradition emphasises that a Rabbi does not have a privileged or higher place in terms of holiness or relationships with God. A rabbi is, first of all, a teacher and occasionally a judge. On the other hand, a position of leadership and trust must come with responsibility.
 
Last year, this question became less ambiguous as I became a part of the newly formed​ Joint Ethics Committee of the Assembly of Reform Rabbis and Cantors and the Conference of Liberal Rabbis and Cantors. According to the committee’s website, its existence means that Rabbis and cantors are expected to abide by the highest moral values of the Jewish tradition: personal conscience and professional integrity, honourable social relationships, and the virtues of family life, however, experienced. As teachers and role models, Rabbis and Cantors are called upon to exemplify the ideals they proclaim. On the Ethics Committee’s website, anyone can report a Progressive Rabbi or a Cantor for violating the Code of Ethics, which all Liberal and Reform Jewish clergy in this country are expected to abide by. After a complaint is made, a group of colleagues and, in some cases, independent experts conduct an investigation and issue their judgement. I am glad this process exists, and I hope it provides a sense of security and means to all Progressive Jews to make sure their Rabbis and Cantors are the best they can be.
 
In his 1953 book ‘Insecurity of Freedom’, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote:
 
‘It is customary to blame secular science and antireligious philosophy for the eclipse of religion in modern society. It would be more honest to blame religion for its own defeats. Religion declined not because it was refuted, but because it became irrelevant, dull, oppressive, insipid. When faith is completely replaced by creed, worship by discipline, love by habit; when the crisis of today is ignored because of the splendor of the past; when faith becomes an heirloom rather than a living fountain; when religion speaks only in the name of authority rather than with the voice of compassion, its message becomes meaningless.’(Heschel, Abraham Joshua. Insecurity of Freedom: Essays on Human Existence (pp. 3-4). Farrar, Straus and Giroux.)
 
This week’s news agenda in the UK was dominated by the child abuse scandal in the Anglican Church. An abuse of that level is very troubling and alarming on its own, let alone coming from one of the most senior bishops within the Church of England. Although it is not a Jewish scandal, I think it ultimately affects all religious leaders. This crime rightfully led to publicity on an international scale. This brought a bad name to all organised religions. It is such a shame that it took over 100 victims for the system to speak of its failures openly and promise quick and substantial changes. It is such a shame that in many other cases, there is a need for a catastrophe to become public to trigger any reaction from leaders.
 
Pirkei Avot (Ethics of the Ancestors) 2:4 says: ‘Do not say, ‘When I have free time, I will study,’ for you may never have free time.’
This teaching by Rabbi Hillel reminds us not to delay doing what is right. The opportunity might never come if you wait for a perfect moment to do anything. While this Mishnah is specifically about Torah study, the message applies to personal growth and change in general: don’t wait for ideal circumstances or a wake-up call to begin improving.
 
May we live in a world where people listen to each other and use any opportunity to improve themselves and the world around them. May we never delay justice and never ignore the voices of the vulnerable. May we live in a world where people are at the centre of all decisions.
 
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Igor

Dear Members and Friends,

We live in a time when the UK Parliament debates and votes for the proposed change in law about Assisted Dying. 

In his talk, Rabbi Dr. Jonathan Romain challenges the common assumption that most religious faiths oppose assisted dying. Citing polling data, he reveals that most religious people, including practising Christians and clergy, support assisted dying when safeguards ensure it is a voluntary choice for terminally ill and mentally competent individuals. Rabbi Romain argues that this support originates from faith, not despite it. He emphasises that the sanctity of human life includes enabling individuals to live—and die—with dignity and without unnecessary suffering. He critiques the opposition for conflating assisted dying with suicide, highlighting the fundamental difference: assisted dying involves shortening the process of inevitable death, not prematurely ending a life. He also argues that ancient religious texts cannot fully address modern dilemmas. His approach represents a compassionate application of religious principles to contemporary realities rather than adherence to religious laws written many years ago in a vastly different context.
 
Rabbi Romain also shares deeply personal encounters with terminally ill patients and critiques the limited options available for such individuals—enduring prolonged agony, failed suicide attempts, or expensive trips to Switzerland for assisted death. While he acknowledges the importance of palliative care, he thinks it cannot address every case. Ultimately, Rabbi Romain calls for "options and compassion," saying that religious morality must respond to human suffering in ways that uphold dignity and respect for individual choice.
 
Rabbi Romain edited the book Assisted Dying: Rabbinic Responses, which presents a wide variety of perspectives on the topic - from advocating for a change in UK law to extremely cautious positions on assisted dying.
 
The book opens with an article by Rabbi Warren Elf, who explores euthanasia from a Jewish Halakhic (legal) perspective.  Traditional Jewish law prohibits active measures to hasten death. However, it sometimes permits passive euthanasia—such as withholding life-prolonging treatments. Rabbi Elf advocates for recognising the realities of terminal illnesses and stresses the importance of spiritual, emotional, and physical care, with prayer serving as a means to seek merciful release for those enduring profound suffering. Drawing on sources such as the death of King Saul and the accounts of Rabbi Judah HaNasi, he highlights instances in Jewish tradition where actions or prayers to alleviate suffering near death were accepted. 
 
Rabbi Elf also acknowledges the limitations of traditional Jewish law in addressing contemporary medical and ethical dilemmas. He argues for a reassessment of halakhic precedents in light of modern realities, suggesting that exceptional cases might justify assisted dying when a terminally ill patient suffers unbearable pain and voluntarily seeks relief. Such measures would require serious safeguards to protect autonomy and prevent abuse while preserving Judaism's core value: the sanctity of life. Ultimately, Rabbi Elf calls for a compassionate, humane response that integrates traditional teachings with modern ethical considerations.

After reading the book and listening to various debates on assisted dying, I find myself without a definite position. Instead, I am left with several questions:

1. Before allowing assisted dying, have we ensured there is a functioning and compassionate palliative care system? Without it, the choice of dying might become the only option to alleviate pain. A robust palliative care system would ensure dignity of life in people’s final days or months. Offering a comfortable and pain-free life should be a prerequisite for giving individuals the choice to die with dignity.
    
2. Is the proposed law robust enough to protect the most vulnerable? The ability to end one's life might create pressure on a dying person to alleviate the emotional or financial burden on their relatives or caregivers. Safeguards must ensure that no one feels coerced into making this decision.
    
3. How do we address the psychological impact on medical professionals, caregivers, and clergy asked to assist and support people in ending a life? What support systems or ethical guidelines should be in place to help doctors, nurses, carers, Rabbis, Imams, and Priests to navigate these situations?
    

The debate around assisted dying demands both moral clarity and practical responsibility. It is not simply a legal or medical issue but a profound ethical challenge for society. Whatever path we choose, it must reflect compassion, dignity, and respect for life in all its complexity.
 
Shabbat Shalom,
Igor