Shabbat Shof'tim
6 September 2024
Dear Members and Friends,
The new Hebrew month of Elul began on Wednesday 4 September. This is the last month before Rosh Hashanah – the New Year.
Torah or other Biblical literature does not give the month of Elul any role or significance. Only many centuries after the Torah was completed did Rabbinic scholars use this month to prepare for the High Holy Days and introduced the idea of self-reflection and repentance lasting for the whole month before Rosh Hashanah. Early Rabbis said that Elul is not just the name of a month but an acronym, and some verses hint at it.
For example, the Song of Songs has this famous verse: Ani l’dodi v’dodi li - I am for my beloved, and my beloved is for me. This verse, as indeed the entire book, is a love song between two partners. Talmudic scholars interpreted this book and said it is not just a romantic poem but a description of love and the desired relationship between God and the people. The first letters of words on this phrase form the name of the Hebrew month Elul. Therefore, Rabbis connected the wisdom of the Song of Songs with the month of Elul. They said that the deep meaning of the month is about restoring the balance in the relationship between people and God. In other words, Elul is about reflecting on the balance between people and their inner voice of conscience – the ability to feel love, shame, compassion, and guilt. These are important feelings, but only when they are balanced and come at the right time do they make a person complete.
In the book of Esther, there is another phrase that Torah scholars found to form the word Elul - Ish l’reyehu umatanot l’evyonim - “[Jews] were to observe [Purim] as days of celebration and joy, sending gifts to one another and presents to the poor.”(Esther 9:22). This verse brings
an ethical dimension to the month of Elul. Looking inward and reflecting on our behaviour inevitably should be reflected in our actions. Do I do enough for the poor and needy around me? Am I in denial about issues in my neighbourhood, borough, city, and country? Our tradition teaches that we must start with ourselves, but we should not stop there. Acts of kindness, supporting one another, and thinking about the most vulnerable are at the core of Judaism, and the month of Elul is a reminder of this.
‘Life is a circular motion - Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik wrote in On Teshuvah, his classic work on the Days of Awe - If you are moving along the circumference of a circle, it might initially seem as if the starting point is getting farther and farther away, but it is also getting closer and closer. The calendar year is such a circle. On Rosh Hashanah, a new year begins, and every day is one day farther from the starting point; every day is also a return, a drawing closer to the completion of the cycle.’
This year, as the month of Elul begins, we start our familiar journey and prepare ourselves for the new year, new reflections, new beginnings, and new hopes. The month of Elul is the final part of a year-long circular motion from the last time of reflection to this one, the time for us to take a step back and look at ourselves from the outside so that we can return to ourselves and see life renewed.
Shabbat shalom.
Shabbat Ki Tetzé
13 September 2024
Dear Members and Friends,
Last week I visited the London Central Mosque, barely ten minutes’ walk from the LJS, on the edge of Regent’s Park. The invitation had come from the Muslim Council of Britain as part of a national programme called ‘Visit My Mosque’, with the aim of opening the doors of hundreds of mosques throughout the UK to welcome neighbours, friends and people from the wider community. Zara Mohammed, the General Secretary of MCB, was the guest speaker a few years ago at our multi-faith Chanukkah celebration. She greeted me warmly and spoke enthusiastically about the need for community cohesion and openness which she hoped the programme would achieve nationally.
Dr Ahmad Al Dubyan, the scholarly Director General of the Mosque, was also present and reminded us that the Mosque, with its distinct golden dome and sacred geometry in the Islamic tradition decorating the interior, was completed in 1977. But the land for the Mosque and the Islamic Cultural Centre which adjoins the Mosque was donated as early as 1944, by George VI to the Muslim community of Britain.
This year has seen an unprecedented rise in unbridled Islamophobia and antisemitism – on the streets, on university campuses, on social media, in places of work, on public transport and even in the political arena, a place which should know better.
Two images come to mind from this past year: I cannot forget the CCTV footage of a twenty- year-old orthodox Jewish woman beaten and kicked in Stamford Hill until she was unconscious – a hate crime that took place on a dark December afternoon as children were making their way home from school, barely two months after October 7th.
And the second image that comes to mind is of a leader of a mosque in Liverpool who, in the midst of the summer riots a month ago, offered to hand out food and invited the rioters into the mosque to discuss the issues affecting communities and how people can work together.
These two images offer a choice in how we see difference: whether through expressions of prejudice and hatred, or by attempting to let go of contempt and allowing ourselves to be open and willing to learn about others.
Rachel Polin-Goldberg, whose son Hersh was kidnapped from the Nova Festival on October 7th, kept hostage in Gaza for nearly eleven months before he was shot at the end of August, spoke these words just eighteen days after her son was kidnapped. Not knowing whether he was alive or dead, she said:
‘When you only get outraged when one side’s babies are killed, then your moral compass is broken, and your humanity is broken. And therefore, in your quiet moments alone, all of us everywhere on planet earth need to really ask ourselves, do I aspire to be human, or am I swept up in the enticing and delicious world of hatred?.... I understand that hatred of the other, whoever we decide that other is, is seductive, sensuous and most importantly it’s easy… But hatred is not actually helpful, nor is it constructive…’
Watching her speak at her son’s funeral, expressing profound love for her son, having to face the unimaginable along with the families of the five other murdered hostages, she spoke not only of the affection, wonder and gratitude in which she held Hersh, but also of her hope that his death would be ‘a turning point in this horrible situation in which we are all entangled.’
The Torah, in this week’s parashah, teaches us not to hate those who are different from us – ‘You shall not abhor an Edomite, for such is your kin. You shall not abhor an Egyptian, for you were a stranger in that land’ (Deuteronomy 23:8).
In this extraordinary verse, that refers to nations who clashed in war and oppressed the Israelites, the Torah teaches that Judaism has no place for prejudice and hatred. ‘To be free, you have to let go of hate,’ wrote Rabbi Dr Jonathan Sacks. ‘That is a difficult truth, but a necessary one.’
Shabbat Shalom.
Alexandra Wright
The Art of Living a Meaningful Life
20 September 2024
Dear Members and Friends,
In the teachings of Lawrence A. Hoffman, a contemporary expert in ritual, prayer is an art form that allows individuals to infuse their lives with order, integrity, hope, and vision. He writes: “When worship works, we are artists in the finest sense of affirming wholeness through the power of our traditional images of time, space, and history” (The Art of Public Prayer, Pastoral Press, Washington, D.C., 1988, pp. 148–151).
Most prayers we know come from Rabbinic sources; many quote biblical texts, but almost none come directly from the Torah and are used unchanged. This week’s Torah portion contains one of the rare examples of a fixed prayer in the biblical text. Moses speaks about the future when the people have conquered the Land of Israel and are enjoying its harvests. At that time, he instructs them to take the first fruits of the soil, put them in a basket, and go to the Temple. As they present the fruits to the priest, they are commanded to recite this prayer:
“My father was a fugitive Aramean. He went down to Egypt with meagre numbers and sojourned there, but there he became a great and very populous nation. The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us; they imposed heavy labour upon us. We cried to Adonai, the God of our ancestors, and Adonai heard our plea and saw our plight, our misery, and our oppression. Adonai freed us from Egypt by a mighty hand, by an outstretched arm and awesome power, and by signs and portents. God brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. Therefore, I now bring the first fruits of the soil that You, O Adonai, have given me.”
On the day we celebrate the harvest, we recite words about oppression and past liberation. This might seem contradictory. Why recall suffering during a time of abundance? What is the connection?
Moses Maimonides addresses these questions in his Guide for the Perplexed. He says that offering the first fruits of the harvest is a way for people to “accustom themselves to being generous … limiting the human appetite for more consumption, not only of food but of property.” Maimonides views this ritual as an antidote to materialism: “People who amass fortunes and live in comfort… often fall victim to self-centred excesses and arrogance. They tend to abandon ethical considerations because of increasingly selfish concerns” (3:39).
On the surface, it may seem contradictory to remember past oppression during a time of harvest celebration. Yet, this juxtaposition is intentional—it grounds us in humility and gratitude, reminding us that prosperity is not solely the result of our efforts but also a gift intertwined with our collective history.
Mahatma Gandhi once said, "Earth provides enough to satisfy every man's needs, but not every man's greed." Perhaps one way to view prayer is as a tool for reframing reality. This reframing is important not only in times of need but also in times of prosperity and abundance. Tradition teaches us the importance of expressing gratitude for what we have, regardless of the size of our share.
Enjoying life is important and often necessary, but it is not enough. The meaningful act of prayer transforms such enjoyment into a mindful experience. It makes us aware of those less fortunate than ourselves and of the previous generations on whose shoulders we stand. By doing so, we affirm wholeness through the power of our traditional images of time, space, and history. The art of prayer transforms our actions into expressions of integrity, hope, and vision. It weaves our lives into the broader tapestry of community and tradition, guiding us toward a life of purpose and ethical fulfilment.
Shabbat Shalom.
Igor Zinkov
Shabbat Nizavim-Vayelech
27 September 2024
Dear Members and Friends,
It is difficult to know what to write as we anticipate Rosh Hashanah in just under a week. To begin with, I want to wish you and your dear ones a healthy and peaceful New Year. That comes from my heart and from all my colleagues with whom I am privileged to work.
This past year has been unprecedented. I cannot remember a full year that has caused so much heartache. I imagine none of us can forget where we were when the news broke, at first in fragmented word of mouth messages, that terrorists had stormed the villages and communities in the south of Israel and massacred over one thousand people, including young children, had burnt homes, taken people hostage and performed unspeakable and brutal violations.
At the time, these actions evoked disbelief. How could this be possible in a land that was well-defended and against a people who knew how to look after their citizens? But in the hours that followed, the days and weeks, it became all too apparent that these unimaginable atrocities exceeded our worst nightmares, and evoked collective memories of pogroms and massacres at the worst of times for our people.
Visiting Israel in March of this year, seeing at first hand the burnt-out homes of kibbutzniks, learning from survivors what happened during the hours after the assault, meeting with Elad Or, the brother of Dror, one of the hostages, brought me face to face with the trauma that Israelis are still reliving every day.
I cannot imagine the daily and hourly pain of families, whose loved ones remain in captivity in Gaza, not knowing if they are alive or dead, holding on to threads of hope, pouring their anger and grief into weekly and often daily protests.
And then there was the outbreak of the war that followed, and the images of people leaving their homes with their bedding on their backs, heading south to places they were told would be safe areas of refuge. The world’s eyes are on Gaza day in and day out and the depredations of Hamas – in Israel and towards their own people – are all but forgotten by the world as Israel’s military attempts to bring Hamas, and now Hezbollah to their knees. But how do you eradicate an ideology, how do you fight against a terrorist organisation that has built hundreds of miles of tunnels underground, so many of them accessed through homes, schools, hospitals and other public buildings?
Gaza is devastated, its people – those who survived – constantly on the move, finding refuge, begging for humanitarian aid to reach them. This is a war fought not only in Gaza and in the north of the country and Lebanon, but here on our streets and on our campuses, on social media, in work places and around dinner tables, even within families.
In his study of Rabbi Leo Baeck, who was imprisoned in Theresienstadt from January 1943 until July 1945, the scholar Michael A. Meyer writes:
When the victorious Soviets occupied the ghetto, they urged the rescued victims to take vengeance on their oppressors. Some survivors of the Holocaust were doing just that. But Baeck would have no part of such actions against the perpetrators. Eric Warburg, who participated in efforts to evacuate Theresienstadt, reported his words at the time: “Don’t touch them; ignore them. It’s not our task to repay one injustice with another” (Rabbi Leo Baeck: Living a Religious Imperative in Troubled Times, Michael A. Meyer (University of Pennsylvania Press, 2021).
Is it, in truth, for us in the diaspora to judge the events of the past year? How can we gauge the truth of a war that is reported in wildly different ways – whether a just war, a war of self-defence, a war to preserve Israel’s existence, or a war of aggression and revenge?
Rosh Hashanah’s overriding message is about life – ‘Remember us for life, for you, O Sovereign, delight in life, inscribe us in the Book of Life, for Your sake, O God of life. This season of repentance is about our own journeys of return. It isn’t about history or politics or international relations. When, in a few days, we gather with our families and communities to celebrate the New Year, our prayers and thoughts will focus on our own wrongdoing, where we have harmed others and failed to live up to the conduct that our Judaism demands of us.
It is true that our hearts are heavy and we are fearful of the conflagrations that are taking place in the world today. But we have to begin with ourselves, to be patient, to cherish hope and not lose the message of Rosh Hashanah – a message of life and return.
If, in times of hardship and oppression, our ancestors of the past were able to celebrate this festival of life, then surely, as we hear the sound of the shofar calling us to repentance, it is possible for us to find the goodness and beauty in life, to lift our voices and sing a new song to the Source of all Life and Hope.
May the old year and its sadness end and the New Year bring in a time of healing, restoration and peace.
Shabbat Shalom and L’Shanah Tovah,
Alexandra Wright
