Shabbat Mattot-Mass'ei
Dear Members and Friends,
Time gives commentary to every text we read. Every generation brings new perspectives. We live in a particular moment, shaped by our values, our reality, and the moral frameworks of our time. When we read the weekly Torah portion, we don’t just read its stories. We bring ourselves to the text, and the passage of time becomes its commentary on the passage of text. The job of a Rabbi is to try to define the key and timeless message of the text and then apply it to today’s reality.
This week’s Torah portion, Mattot-Mass'ei, contains one of the most disturbing episodes in the entire Torah: the war against Midian. God commands Moses to ‘exact vengeance’ on the Midianites (Numbers 31:2), and the Israelites follow the order with devastating precision. Every male is killed. The women and children are taken captive. Even Balaam, the prophet who had earlier blessed Israel, is executed. When Moses learns that the women have been spared, he becomes angry, insisting that they, too, had played a role in leading Israel to the sin of driving people away from God. The result is a command to kill most women (Numbers 31:16-18).
How do we engage with such texts? This is not the Judaism most of us know and love today. Our Judaism is the one that celebrates peace, compassion, and the infinite value of human life. Our Judaism emphasises the importance of repentance and, therefore, gives a second chance to everyone. How do we respond to texts that seem so brutal and genocidal? Do we cancel or censor them? Do we ignore them and pretend they are not a part of our heritage? Or do we study them, face them honestly, and interpret them?
Rabbis traditionally choose the path of study and reinterpretation. They never denied these texts, but they also refused to leave them unaddressed. There are two main strategies that Torah scholars employ to interpret texts: placing them within a historical context and applying exegetical techniques. Let’s use both to gain a deeper understanding of this passage.
We must acknowledge the historical context of this text. The ancient Middle East was not a world of Geneva Conventions or human rights. Warfare in biblical times was often unacceptable by today’s standards, practised by all ancient cultures, not just ancient Israelites. Therefore, it is important not to impose modern ethics on ancient societies. Sometimes we read texts not to teach what to do, but to learn what not to do.
Throughout the ages, rabbis imposed many restrictions on biblical commandments associated with violence. For example, Sefer HaChinuch, a 13th-century work that explains the 613 commandments and their reasons, has a relevant passage. On the commandment to destroy the Seven Canaanite Nations (Mitzvah 425), the book states that although the commandment still exists in theory, it no longer applies in practice because these nations have been historically wiped out and can no longer be identified. Therefore, the command remains part of the Torah's law, but it is not actionable in our time. In other words, one cannot extend this violent commandment to any other nation. According to the same book, self-defence is permissible and indeed required, but it comes with a warning against harming innocent people and using excessive and disproportionate force.
Over time, Rabbis introduced a nuanced moral framework for war, centuries before such concepts became common in Western law. These are just a few examples:
✦ Always try to achieve peace first. This principle is based on the verse ‘When you approach a town to attack it, you shall offer it terms of peace.’ (Deuteronomy 20:10 Maimonides codifies in his Mishneh Torah that any war must only follow a sincere attempt at peaceful resolution.
✦ Prohibition against baseless destruction. This principle is called Bal Tashchit. Rooted in Deuteronomy 20:19–20, it forbids the destruction of fruit trees during war. The Rabbis expanded this to include all forms of unnecessary damage to civilian life and infrastructure.
✦ Show compassion to the enemy. In his Laws of War, Rambam stipulates two conditions of conducting a siege (6.7-8): ‘When you attack a city in order to defeat it, you cannot encircle it on all sides – rather, an avenue has to remain open to allow anyone who wishes to flee and save themselves.’
Nachmanides writes in his commentary on this text: ‘God commanded us that when we lay siege to a city, we leave one of the sides open to give the population a place to flee to. It is from this commandment that we learn to deal with compassion, even with our enemies, and even at the time of war.’ Other commentators also mention that the opening allows access to food and water, further emphasising the humane conduct expected of Israel even in warfare.
We live in a world of many wars. All wars cause immense suffering to innocent people, and this must stop. Naturally, I have my attention directed to Israel and Gaza, and what I see is a direct contradiction to Jewish law and Jewish morality. Too many Palestinians have died. Too many have been denied basic needs and dignity. Too many Palestinians suffer from the violence in the West Bank. Too many innocent Gazans died, sometimes in queues for food. All of this goes directly against Judaism and must be stopped. The world is rightly shocked and outraged by what we see.
Equally, Israelis are deeply traumatised by this war. They have suffered from attacks on numerous fronts. Most Israelis had to take their children and elderly parents to bomb shelters. Even one hostage kept by terrorists is too many, but there are over 50 hostages still held in Gaza without any access to humanitarian support. The world must remember them too.
There is an underlying question we must ask ourselves. In what world do we want to be - in the world of the Torah or the world of the Rabbis? I choose the Rabbinic tradition, which interprets, limits, and redefines those brutal biblical texts in ways that reflect evolving moral conduct. I want to live in a world that treats its enemies with dignity and respect, even if they do not extend the same courtesy to us. I want to live in a world that chooses life over death, universalism over tribalism, and humanity over indifference.
The Book of Proverbs offers its quiet wisdom:
“If your enemy is hungry, give them bread to eat.
If they are thirsty, provide them with water.
For if you do, you shall rake coals over their head,
and God will reward you accordingly” (25.21-22)
May this be God’s will. May we have the courage and humanity to build such a world.
Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Igor
Dear Members and Friends,
Rabbi Igor and I are in the middle of a visit from university students in London here to to get to know the city and visit a variety of places of worship. They are visiting a mosque, a gurdwara, a Hindu temple and our synagogue. Many have never been inside a synagogue before and we show them the Ark, the Ner Tamid with is everlasting light burning in oil, the scroll which is still set to last week’s parashah of Balak – the story of Balaam and his she-ass. I roll the scroll forward to the story of the daughters of Zelophehad and this week’s parashah and am encouraged to tell the story of how God instructs Moses to change the law so that daughters can inherit their father’s property if there are no male offspring. It is a good example of the way halakhah – Jewish law – evolves in time, meeting the real needs of the people.
A young woman raises her hand to ask a question. It strikes me, she says, that Jews are so successful in whatever they do and over-represented in many kinds of professions, that they do very well for themselves, financially, that many are in the media, and in other areas of life. What are the values, she asked, that underlie this success? I can see that this young student is trying to express herself tactfully, representing her perception of Jewish people, but somehow I hear the age-old assumption that all Jews are wealthy, occupying powerful positions in society, that over-represent their numbers in society.
I look towards Rabbi Igor as I think of sections of our community here in the UK, in places like Stamford Hill, where the men spend all day in a Kollel, studying Talmud, while the women may work and raising up to ten or eleven children. I once listened to a talk by the CEO of a charity working with these families who described how mothers diluted milk with water to feed their children, they had so little money.
I think of others in our wider community, unable to work because of illness, or elderly people eking out their means on a small pension, worried how they will support themselves as they grow frail and dependent on care.
Is there a truth in the question – the assumption – that this young woman makes about Jews and wealth and over-representation in certain professions? Is it true that whatever we do we are successful? Or is this some kind of myth that invests the Jewish people with an inflated difference from their neighbours? A perception that can so easily lead to discrimination and resentment.
Peter Beinart’s book Being Jewish After the Destruction of Gaza (Atlantic Books, 2025) charts the trajectory of the American Jewish community’s traditional view of antisemitism from its emanation mostly from the political right to the perceived danger coming from the global left.
‘Employing age-old stereotypes about Jews’ omnipotence and financial acumen, leftists sometimes make Jews – or Zionism – a stand-in for all the evils of global capitalism or imperialism.’
This ‘new antisemitism’ was generated, he writes, according to some research, by an ‘alleged surge of left-wing Jew-hatred’ and coincided with growing support for Palestinian rights.
But Beinart refutes the seriousness of this problem, stating that academic research doesn’t support the view that antisemitic views are as common on the left as on the right. The vast majority of progressives, he says, basing himself on the research of political scientists Eitan Hersh and Laura Royden, can distinguish their feelings about Israel from their feelings about American Jews.
The question from the young student challenged us and made us think about our own society and those who reach the top of their professions – whether in the arts, in politics, in finance, in medicine, or any other area of life.
Are there not universal values that are shared across society and perhaps particularly among those groups who have come to live in the UK from other countries and whose children are encouraged to work hard, to value education and who are eager to demonstrate their loyalty to the UK?
Perhaps when individuals uproot themselves from the places of their birth or are forced to come as refugees as many Jewish people did before the Second World War, there is a drive to contribute to the well-being of our nation, to overcome subjugation and discrimination. I think of one of our guests at the Drop-In, still an asylum seeker after more than ten years and the way he is driven by determination to give back something to this country from what he has received through his education. Are the values that he espouses different from our own values as Jews? Is this not something we can all share – a love of learning and a desire to contribute the fruits of our learning to the welfare of our society?
Shabbat Shalom,
Alexandra Wright
Shabbat Balak/The Power of Words
Dear Members and Friends,
In Jewish tradition, there is one foundational principle: a profound respect for words. Language does not only describe reality, but it also has the power to shape it.
In this week's Torah portion, we read the story of King Balak and the prophet Balaam. Balak instructed Balaam to curse the Jewish people, hoping that harsh words could lead to their downfall. To king’s surprise, after consulting with God, Balaam refused. Despite intense pressure from the king and repeated attempts to change God's mind, Balaam ended up blessing the Jewish people instead. Why does this matter? Because in Judaism, words carry immense weight. They can build or destroy, bless or curse, heal or harm.
Today, I want to address something particularly significant and sensitive for many of us - the complexity of the language we use when we speak about Zionism today. Words such as Israel and Zionism can provoke different emotional reactions. For some, these words evoke feelings of pride, belonging, and solidarity. For others, they are linked to concepts such as 'occupation' or 'apartheid.'
How do you navigate this complexity without losing sight of your identity, sense of belonging, and ethical values? Is it possible to have a civilised conversation about Zionism today?
Zionism, at its core, is the belief that Jewish people have a connection with the Land of Israel. The political Zionist movement has successfully fought for the right of the Jewish state to exist. However, long before political ideology, Zionism started as a powerful theological Jewish idea, deeply rooted in our texts, tradition, and culture. There are countless references to geographical locations in the Jewish canon, liturgy and thought. Many of the festivals we celebrate reflect the agricultural cycles of the Middle East, rather than those of the UK, Morocco, or Poland. Jewish people have a profound attachment to the Land, whatever we think of its current political leadership. From this perspective, Judaism is Zionist at its core.
Yet, when some words enter this conversation, many Jewish people feel deeply uncomfortable. The term 'occupation' is used by some to describe Israeli control over the territories historically owned and internationally recognised as Palestinian. The word 'apartheid' carries a very heavy weight, comparing Israeli policies toward Palestinians with the institutional segregation and discrimination once prevalent in South Africa. Another profoundly challenging term is 'nakba,' the Arabic word meaning "catastrophe.' It is used to describe the displacement and expulsion of thousands of Palestinians during the 1948 war. What Israelis celebrate as Independence Day is remembered by Palestinians as a day of profound loss and tragedy.
These words are complex precisely because they embody different narratives and lived experiences of the Israeli and Palestinian, Jewish and Arab stories. It hurts to hear that your struggle for liberation and connection can cause oppression to many other people who also have a connection to the same land. Such words trigger deep emotions and intense reactions. I once witnessed a service where the word ‘nakba’ was used in a sermon. The moment it was spoken from the bimah, a congregant stood up and walked out, visibly upset.
Discussing such words within our Jewish community can be challenging and risky. They can spark fierce debates, disagreements, or even hostility among friends, family members, or community groups. This is why it is essential to approach these topics with sensitivity, respect, and careful consideration of their nuances. It is important not to slip into extreme positions and speak in slogans. It is essential to listen to each other and believe that each side ultimately wants peace and prosperity.
But nuance does not mean silence. Avoiding difficult conversations will not resolve the underlying issues. It often makes them worse. As a Jewish community committed to justice, ethical responsibility, and truth, we must engage with complex topics. Judaism is not only about prayer and Torah study. Judaism guides us morally and ethically in every area of our lives. Yes, words can hurt, but they also have the power to heal.
Today, unfortunately, the religious approach to Zionism is frequently associated with extremist right-wing ideologies. People who call themselves religious Zionists make exclusive Jewish claims to the West Bank, often portray all non-Jews as enemies, and explicitly speak about plans to displace all Palestinians from Israel, Gaza and the West Bank. This is not our vision for Judaism. This is not our vision for Zionism.
Progressive Judaism has the responsibility to reclaim a moderate, nuanced religious approach to Zionism. It is indeed true that the Torah refers to the Land of Israel as the Jewish people's inheritance. At the same time, the Torah also explicitly commands us to care for refugees, to love our neighbours, and to treat both the Land and all its inhabitants ethically. Moreover, our texts make clear that our right to the Land is conditional and requires us to uphold ethical obligations, justice, and compassion towards all who live there and our neighbours.
We live in a very challenging era – the era of extreme divisions and polarisations. This time demands new terms, new approaches and new ways of speaking. Let us be mindful of the immense power of words. Let us use this power to clarify, to heal, and to achieve peace.
Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Igor
Dear Members and Friends,
For some Glastonbury is a rite of passage, for others a tradition revisited year after year. It is an opportunity to be part of a community of 200,000 people who come together for contemporary music, dance, comedy, theatre, and other arts. All on 1,500 acres of farmland and this year in dangerously hot weather and, one presumes, without the mud. I am not sure if it is the music, the performing personalities, the intimacy of thousands of revellers, which attracts people, or its counter culture that harks back to the 1960s and its close association with the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, the activism and shared solidarity it inspires, or simply being outside in the beauty of the Somerset countryside.
I would have found the throngs a challenge at the best of times. The closest I have ever come to the music of Kneecap or Bob Vylan, whose real name is Pascal Robinson-Foster, is following a blog by academic Dr Keith Kahn-Harris on the intersection between Jewishness and heavy metal music (these bands are not heavy metal), as research for the sermon of a Bar Mitzvah who was into Motörhead and similar bands, and attempting to create a connection with the hammered metal firepans that belonged to Korach and his followers and their repurposing in the Tent of Meeting (last week’s parashah).
How would I have felt standing in the blazing heat, up close to thousands of people I didn’t know, many waving Palestinian flags, and confronted with a large screen with the words ‘Free Palestine’, and then out of nowhere: ‘Have you heard this one: Death, Death to the IDF’?
How do you distinguish between genuine concern and activism on behalf of civilians and their children, caught in the violent crossfire of war, and the politicisation of a cultural/arts event thousands of miles from what is happening elsewhere in the world? The singer presented his chant in an insouciant, comedic way – ‘Have you heard this one…?’ Did he think about the young-conscripted soldiers who are sent into Gaza, barely out of their teens? Did he think about their parents or siblings, their wives and children? Did he think of the families of the hostages still campaigning for their release week after week?
The people of Gaza desperately need the world’s support – they, and Israelis, need the war to come to an end, the hostages – living and dead – to be released. Gazans need humanitarian aid to be distributed liberally, without militant gangs looting it and using it for their own purposes; rebuilding needs to take place in a land that has been utterly devastated. Both Israelis and Palestinians will reap the terrible consequences of this war for years to come – penalties of trauma and hatred.
Bob Vylan’s protest was shallow and performative. What benefit did it offer a people who are victims of their own leaders in Gaza, and victims of an atrocious war prosecuted by Israel’s right-wing government? It only served to stir up more hatred and more resentment among people, many of whom have little understanding of the history of the conflict in the Middle East. I was moved this week by an email from Standing Together , https://www.standing-together.org/en/about-en an organisation of Israelis and Palestinians who are creating a mass movement building peace, equality, and social and climate justice. Following these last few days in Gaza which, they said, ‘have been devastating with constant bombardment and hundreds of people killed’, including at the seaside Al Baqa Cafeteria, a gathering spot for students and journalists, Ramez, a protest organiser in Gaza, sent images of peaceful protesters holding photographs of Israeli children who had been murdered on October 7th and afterwards.
The initiative was part of a campaign by the Gazan Youth Committee called ‘Live Together, Die Together’, which calls to end the war, release the hostages, and stop the killing of all civilians. It was inspired by the solidarity action of holding images of Palestinian children killed in the war, which many activists, as well as Standing Together have done for months.
The activists shared this message:
‘Even though we live under siege, hunger, death, and displacement, we do not turn our backs on peace. Even when the world turns its back on us, we do not give up on our responsibility to speak in the name of peace. We don’t want anyone to be the next victim. We want all of us to be the next hope.’
What if Pascal Robinson-Foster had encouraged the audience to pray for a cessation of all hostilities? What if he had sung of dialogue and peace, instead of jumping on a bandwagon to stir up more hostility, more incitement to violence and inappropriate speech?
We could live in a very different world – if only we were not so exhausted by walking this tightrope between our love and loyalty for Israel and our families and friends who live there and witnessing this war of annihilation in Gaza. Both are breaking our hearts.
Shabbat Shalom,
Alexandra Wright
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