Parashat Vayishlach

This sermon was delivered at Leo Baeck College, London, on 18th November 2010.[1]

Apologies for looking tired; I must admit, I’ve had a sleepless night. I’m sure you can all appreciate what it’s like when you hear some shocking news during the day, something that you can’t stop thinking about. It truly steals your sleep.

I received a message from my brother[2] who I hadn’t heard from in over twenty years.[3] Can you believe it? Twenty years! Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised – it’s not like we parted peacefully – but who hides from their sibling for twenty years?

I wonder what he looks like these days?

My brother was never an easy person. He always wanted to be the one who stood out. It wasn’t even enough for him that our mother clearly preferred him.[4] You know, I didn’t blame him – it wasn’t his fault that our parents had favourites and that our mother bonded with him. And to be honest, I was more of a daddy’s boy anyway.[5]

But, as I said, he always wanted to be the special one. No matter how much love my mother poured over him, he was always filled with jealousy. I mean sibling rivalry is a normal thing and we probably all felt at one point that it might be better to have been born first or to be the younger one but we learn to live with those feelings because there isn’t much you can do about it, right?

Not my brother!

He’s always been hot on my heels.[6]

I know it’s an ugly word but really, he’s always been a sneaky trickster.

He learned at a young age how to exploit people’s weaknesses. Well, one of my big weaknesses is that my stomach overrides my brain – when I am hungry I just can’t think!

One day, when we were still teenagers, I came back home after having been hunting. Don’t forget, hunting 25 years ago was not an easy task – back then, I didn’t have sons or servants who could help, so it took a few days at a time, trekking through the wilderness, to make the kill. And, of course, it was more important to carry water than rations. My brother knew that I would be starving once I returned. Patiently, he sat at the entrance to the camp and – right there – cooked my favourite meal. I could smell the food before I even saw the camp and my steps accelerated. And that little voice in my stomach grew louder: “if you do not eat this sweet-smelling food, you will surely die.”[7] My eyes caught sight of my brother stirring his red stew. But when I approached him he covered the pot with his hands and said: “First sell me your birthright![8] ... Swear to me first!”[9] So, I sold him my birthright because I was hungry – and tired.

As soon as my stomach was silent, I realised how stupid I had been. But I am not one to go back on my word. In any case, I couldn’t help thinking that what would have been good enough for my brother, his inheritance as the second-in-line, was probably good enough for me, too. After all, I’m the one who can take care of himself.

Maybe I shouldn’t even be telling you this story; I don’t want to sound like I still bear a grudge. It’s just hearing that he wants to meet me brings up these old feelings.

And unfortunately, that story from our youth wasn’t the worst thing my brother ever did to me. With the help of my mother, God rest her soul, my brother tricked our poor, blind father so that he would bless him instead of blessing me.[10]

I won’t lie; I was really distressed and furious that I was deprived of my father’s blessing. I don’t think I have ever been as upset in my life – missing out on the blessing from my beloved father, whom I had cared and provided for my whole life as if he were a king.[11]

At that moment, I wanted to kill my brother.[12]

My father, who always knew me best, was right to send my brother away because I am not sure if I could have controlled my anger.[13]

You can probably hear, I still feel some of that pain today! But I stopped being angry a long time ago. I’m not resentful – you can see I’ve had a successful life: I’m the master of more than 400 men and while there is occasional unrest in the area where we live, my family and I have flourished and made a decent life for ourselves. In fact, we are no longer just a small family – we have grown into a clan. My father’s final blessing, the one he thought he didn’t have left;[14] this blessing – it came true for me.

Did my little brother’s blessing also come true?[15]

I’ve often wondered what became of him.

Sometimes, when I look at my children and grandchildren, my thoughts turn to my twin and I hope that he too experiences the joy of fatherhood.

I’ve always wondered when he would stop running away from me!

Perhaps, he’s not the perfect brother, just like my mother was not the perfect mother, but, after all, we are family. And, despite his shortcomings, I look forward to being reunited with my brother.

When my father gave me his final blessing I was filled with anger and stricken by grief. I misunderstood his words: “You shall break his yoke from your neck”[16] – I thought I had to fight my brother. But many years ago, I came to realise that dad didn’t speak about my brother’s physical yoke around my neck. The yoke was a metaphor for the anger that had seized me.

Over the years, I’ve succeeded in freeing myself – letting go of my anger. Life is too short to waste time being angry.

Last night – during that long, sleepless night – I rephrased over and over what I would say when I finally see my younger twin again.

Don’t worry, I’m not angry any more...

I love you, even though you hurt me...

I missed you...

Maybe I won’t say anything: rather than speak words, which can mean everything and nothing, I shall run up to him, hold him and kiss him.[17]

Esau

[1] Thanks to Rabbi David Mitchell for his help with this sermon. The sermon has also been published as the weekly D'var Torah by Leo Baeck College.

[2] Genesis 32:4-5

[3] According to Genesis 31:38, Jacob spends 20 years working for Laban.

[4] Genesis 25:28

[5] Genesis 25:28

[6] Genesis 25:26

[7] Genesis 25:32

[8] Genesis 25:31

[9] Genesis 25:33

[10] Genesis 27:5-29

[11] Reference to the midrash in Genesis Rabbah 65:16 (Soncino translation): “R. Simeon b. Gamaliel said: All my lifetime I attended upon my father, yet I did not do for him a hundredth part of the service, which Esau did for his father. I used to attend upon my father in soiled garments and go out in the street in clean ones; but when Esau attended on his father, he attended upon him in royal robes, for said he, nought but royal robes befits my father's honour.”

[12] Genesis 27:41

[13] Genesis 28:5

[14] Genesis 27:38-40

[15] Genesis 27:28-29

[16] Genesis 27:40

[17] Genesis 33:4

Sermon Parashat Lech Lecha

This sermon was delivered at Edgware and District Reform Synagogue and at Beth Shalom Cambridge on 15th/16th October 2010.

It’s a grey place – even when the sun is shining. There are no more butterflies [1] – in this place where so many were taken on their journey away from their country, from their birth-place and their parents’ house. [2] Too few who were buried at a ripe old age. [3] Experiencing the curse rather than the blessing [4] of being God’s chosen people.

It was in this grey place – Theresienstadt – where Rabbi Leo Baeck’s light shone out into the darkness. His teachings and his care for others bringing colour to the lives of all who he encountered.

Studying at a college named after the “Teacher of Theresienstadt” as Rabbi Albert Friedlander titled Leo Baeck I often wonder if my grandparents had the privilege to study with this great rabbi during this God-forsaken time when they too where prisoners in Theresienstadt. Unfortunately, this question occurred to me only now and so it is too late for me to ask, zichronam livracha - may their memory be for a blessing. But I believe that in addition to the luck, which my grandparents always quoted as the reason for their own survival, it was the presence of people like Leo Baeck who enabled the prisoners to remember their own humanity and strengthened their will to survive. And I am certain that it was the encounter with people like Leo Baeck that allowed my grandparents’ faith in Judaism and in God to survive the years of enslavement and oppression [5] and gave them the courage to raise Jewish children who spoke the language of their former oppressors.

So, I feel connected to Leo Baeck on several levels – through the inspiration that he or others like him gave to my grandparents and through my studies at the rabbinical college that carries his name.

It is a college custom that on Shabbat Lech Lecha, in honour of Leo Baeck’s Yahrzeit, which falls in the month of Cheshvan, students are called upon to go forth [6] – and to visit congregations and share some of their rabbinic journey.

There are many different reasons why people choose to become rabbis and it is often not a smooth path. My personal journey originally took me in quite a different direction and rather than studying philosophy, theology or any other subject that might be useful as a basis for rabbinic training I studied Natural Sciences at the University of Cambridge and tried to understand a little more how the world works. Well, it probably won’t be a surprise to you but, ultimately, chemistry and even physics, Prof. Hawking please forgive me, cannot give a real answer to that question. Science can give us a glimpse of momentary truth but it cannot provide a response that goes beyond an exploration of the mechanics of creation and our world. It cannot give meaning to our lives.

And so my search for an answer continues without rejection of what I learned before, in fact, embracing my passion for science, but looking beyond that which we can observe with our minds to explore the meditations of our hearts. [7]

I believe that the most precious gift given to rabbis and student rabbis is the opportunity to bring colour to the lives of our congregants. Luckily most rabbis, do not have to encounter the deep darkness that Rabbi Leo Baeck and his fellow prisoners were facing in Theresienstadt.

Nonetheless, rabbis are given the privilege to accompany their congregants through light and darkness. And I truly mean it, when I speak about a privilege. I believe that in the moments, when the pieces [8] of our life suddenly fall into place or when, on the other hand, all seems to be in pieces, in those moments, we yearn for the colour that Judaism can add to our lives.

So, I don’t believe that it is coincidental that the first covenant that God makes with the Jewish people is known as the covenant of pieces, ברית בין הבתרים. After the great opening of this week’s parashah, with Abram willingly following God’s command to go forth to an unknown land, we picked up the story in today’s reading at the point when Abram’ faith in God is faltering. God’s initial response to Abram’s distress is to offer words of comfort and reassurance. But words are not enough to convince Abram that God’ promise will be upheld and so God instructs Abram to perform a bizarre ritual where rather than burning sacrifices he is asked to cut the animals into two pieces facing one another. Falling asleep after the performance of the ritual, Abram is told about the years of enslavement and oppression that the Israelites will endure but at the same time he is assured that he himself will die peacefully at a ripe old age and that the Israelites will eventually be delivered from their oppressors. His dream concludes with him seeing a flaming torch passing between the pieces, בין הבתרים.

The rabbis of the midrash identify this torch to be the revelation at Sinai – the Torah, which acts as a guiding light for the Jewish people throughout time.

The history of our people is filled with suffering and destruction – repeated attempts to break us into pieces. But Jews throughout the ages have time and time again, tried to put the pieces back together. Time and time again, Jews have embraced the original covenant that God made with Abram – a covenant of pieces, ברית בין הבתרים, for an imperfect people in an imperfect world who are nonetheless chosen for a special path.

Each generation had its great rabbis, like Rabbi Leo Baeck, who were able to bring the guiding light of the Torah to the people and add colour to our broken lives and our broken world. This is what all rabbis should strive for.

Amen

[1] An allusion to the poem written in Theresienstadt “The butterfly” by Pavel Friedman (died 1944 in Auschwitz aged 23)
[2] Genesis 12:1
[3] Genesis 15:15
[4] Genesis 12:2
[5] Genesis 15:13
[6] Genesis 12:1
[7] Psalm 19:15
[8] Genesis 15:10

Sermon Parashat Noah

This sermon was delivered at Menorah Synagogue, Manchester, on 9th October 2010.

Classical rabbinic literature often employs parables, the so-called mashal, as a literary tool to illustrate a central message. Today I want to play a little with this literary technique; however, rather than telling a mashal of a king and his servants, I want to share a midrash with you, which in this sermon will take the place of the parable. I will try to recall the midrash slowly, as a parable is told, to give you time to look beyond it, to find your own meaning in it, to uncover its central message, which we should hear today in the 21st century and I encourage you to share your thoughts with us.

In today’s Torah portion we read God’s instruction to Noah to "Make yourself an ark of cedarwood" (Gen. 6:14). In Midrash Tanhuma (Noah 5), Rav Huna explores this commandment in more detail wondering why God should have chosen such a slow growing tree as the cedar for the material of the ark. And so he says in the name of Rav Yose: For one hundred and twenty years, the Holy One kept warning the generation of the flood in the hope that they would resolve to repent. When they did not repent, God said to Noah, "Make yourself an ark of cedarwood." Noah proceeded to plant cedars thereby attracting the attention of his neighbours. When they asked, "Why these cedars?" he would reply, "The Holy One is about to bring a flood upon the world, and God told me to make an ark, that I and my family might escape." But instead of listening to what Noah was saying, his neighbours mocked and ridiculed him. In the meantime, he watered the cedars, which kept growing.

When asked again, "What are you doing?" he gave them the same reply, but his neighbours just continued to ridicule him. Finally he cut the cedars down, and, as he sawed them into planks, he was again asked, "What are you doing?" He replied, "What I said I would do, build an ark to save myself and my family for God will bring a flood upon the world" thereby continuing to warn his neighbours. When they did not repent even then, the Holy One brought the flood upon them.

I believe we are the next generation of the flood – tragically and far too often, quite literally. Maybe we haven’t been given 120 years warning but since the late 1980s, for more than twenty years, we have been warned about the devastating effects that man-made greenhouse gases have on our climate. At first it was just a few scientists ringing the alarm bells, but I think we have long passed the mark of seeing Noah plant and water his cedars. Watching the news, reading newspapers, we cannot avoid to see the warning signals that nature is sending us – the floods and storms that cost thousands, even hundred thousands of lives, whether in New Orleans or Pakistan.

We can see the cedars growing and Noah’s warning is shouted out: "The Holy One is about to bring a flood upon the world, and God told me to make an ark, that I and my family might escape." But mostly, we are not listening. And sometimes, we are even ridiculing.

But just like in the midrash, in our mashal, it is not too late to change our ways. The final flood has not yet arrived. We can all, each and everyone of us, as individuals and as a community make a difference. Tomorrow will be the 10th October 2010 – 10/10/10; on that day the 10:10 campaign will be making another push to reach out to more people and I encourage you to join in. The idea of the campaign is that each individual will make a commitment to reducing his or her carbon footprint by 10% during the next year. Over 90,000 (actually 94,095) individuals and 3,500 businesses have already signed up. Be one of them! There are many ways how you can achieve reducing your carbon footprint by 10%: you can make sure that the food, which you buy, is produced locally, you can cut down on your meat consumption; maybe you can reduce the amount of car and air travel, or if you dream big you can improve the insulation of your home to avoid excessive heat loss during the winter.

Let us not watch Noah sawing the cedars into planks! Stop watching and start acting!

Shabbat Shalom.

Sermon Rosh Hashanah 5771

Time for coalition building

This sermon was delivered at Menorah Synagogue, Manchester, on 8th September 2010.

Erev Rosh Hashanah is the beginning of a journey. It is the beginning of my journey with Menorah – a journey to which I greatly look forward to. But more importantly it is the beginning of our journey through the Days of Awe into a new year.

When I was a child, probably thanks to the orthodox cheder that I was attending at the time, I truly believed in the notion that between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur my fate would be sealed for the next year. That short time period must have been the most peaceful ten days of the year for my parents because my sisters and I tried our very best not to argue with each other, we made an effort to help and to ask those we had hurt for forgiveness.

I remember my childhood faith with a certain fondness, but I just can’t believe in it anymore. In our world, far too often bad things happen to good people – good people who tried their hardest not just for ten days of the year but each day of the year. This seemingly simple theology of two heavenly books, the Book of Life and the Book of Death, just does not pass the test of real life experience. Facing reality and the mysteries of life and death, I cannot hold onto this theology for the yamim nora’im – the Days of Awe.

But while I reject the heavenly-book theology, I must acknowledge that my childhood faith motivated me to behave as a better person, to make a real effort at asking forgiveness and granting forgiveness, at least for ten days a year.

So, having successfully deconstructed my High Holy Day theology; where can I find words of inspiration? Words that can motivate me and you to make a serious effort at being better people... at least for ten days...

I have spent the last months thinking of a new theology for the yamim nora’im. A theology that employs a metaphor that does justice both to our human experience in this world and to the intensity and importance of this special time period; a metaphor that has the strength to motivate us to strive for the better.

Well, inspiration often comes when it is least expected. In this case, inspiration came from the results of this year’s general elections. Anyone want to take a guess what metaphor I might be talking about? Yes, you’re right: it is the “coalition”, or more precisely “coalition building”. And yes, I admit that it is somewhat daring of me to suggest “coalition building” as a new metaphor for the Days of Awe, seeing the word “coalition” has become nearly a dirty word in the English language. So, before you reject this new metaphor, bear with me for the next few minutes while I try to make myself clear.

What are the prerequisites for a coalition? For one, even though in politics nobody will say so, all parties have lost the elections. Two, in order to govern, at least two parties with enough votes are prepared to compromise. Three, each party planning to join the coalition must determine what is non-negotiable and where compromise is possible, so that, finally, the parties can meet to begin building a coalition.

But how does this relate to the Days of Awe, you might be wondering?

Let’s face it: both God and humanity have lost the elections. I believe in a God who stands for justice, for fairness, for compassion. I do not believe in a God who acts in history. I think, Jewish history and our life experiences teach us that God cannot save us from persecution, earthquakes, floods, illness and other evils in the world. On Her own, God cannot govern our fate on earth. But similarly, I don’t think that humanity on its own can secure our survival. Watching the news, one might think that we are investing more into trying to find new ways of destroying humanity and our planet rather than saving it. So it seems to me that the first condition for a coalition has been fulfilled.

As to the second condition: are both God and humanity prepared to compromise?

Now, it is much easier to stand here and declare that God has lost the elections but who am I to claim that God is prepared to compromise?

I think, already in the Torah, we can find evidence that God is prepared to compromise in His relationship with humanity. Probably the earliest example is Abraham arguing with God on behalf of Sodom and Gomorrah. But I think there is an even more relevant biblical story for my argument.

It is the story of the two sets of tablets. Most of you will recall that when Moses first ascended onto Mount Sinai, he received a set of stone tablets which had personally been engraved by God with the commandments. But when Moses descends from Mount Sinai, seeing the people around the golden calf, he smashes the tablets. And so he is forced to return onto the mountain for the second set of tablets. But unlike the first set, these are not engraved by God – no, the second set of tablets Moses must engrave himself, listening to the word of God.

Why is Moses not punished for destroying the first set of tablets? Could one imagine a holier object than a set of tablets personally engraved by God?

I want to suggest that Moses was not punished because God realised that the first tablets could not survive. I think the story of the two sets of tablets teaches us that if God’s word directly meets reality it shatters just like the first tablets. Let me repeat that because I want you to appreciate the importance of what I am saying: if God’s word directly meets reality it shatters just like the first tablets. God’s words in the world can only survive when they are transmitted through humans. And even though the second set of tablets is less magical than the first one, it is a compromise that God is prepared to make for Torah to remain alive in this world.

So, hopefully I have convinced you that God is prepared to compromise. But are you, am I, prepared to compromise? Maybe being here tonight is a first step towards giving a positive reply to that question.

Tonight, on the eve of a new year, I want to invite you to join me in starting to think about a coalition with God and I want to encourage you to use the next ten days until Yom Kippur to engage with this challenge further.

Let us begin to build a coalition with God – or if you can’t believe in God – with our Jewish tradition. But let me be a little more concrete.

We all have values that are non-negotiable but it might be difficult to articulate what these values are. The Days of Awe offer us the opportunity to reflect upon these vales more deeply. I, for myself, believe that every human being has a fundamental right to strive for personal happiness as long as it is not at the expense of others. I believe in this fundamental right even in cases when it clashes with values held by the Jewish tradition – I am talking about the right of gays and lesbians to the lifestyle of their choice without having to face prejudice and the right of women to choose whether to continue or terminate a pregnancy but where would I draw the limits? I too will spend the next ten days thinking about my non-negotiable values further.

But just like we have non-negotiable values, many areas in our life are open to compromise. This certainly does not mean that these values are less important but maybe they are a little more fluid. In politics, a compromise is often considered a negative thing – something less than ideal. But on a personal level, I think we all realise that it can be positive to compromise; through compromises we build true relationships; through compromises we are forced to look beyond ourselves, and, compromises drive us to explore and reassess our own position and to grow as human beings.

Now, I just want to talk about two areas that I believe leave room for compromises, room for coalition building with God and our Jewish tradition – Kashrut and Shabbat. I don’t believe that the only way to keep Kashrut and Shabbat is to follow word for word the instructions of the Shulchan Aruch, the Code of Jewish law written in the 16th century. But I believe that we should all embrace the values of Kashrut and Shabbat. I can understand that you might not choose to observe every detailed law concerning food – but I believe that we must reflect upon what we eat: where does our food come from and how was it made? I also think that we should be truly grateful for our food – appreciate that not every person has a warm meal a day, even in England – appreciate the blessing of having enough food and be thankful. And maybe even think about how we can help others to have enough food.

Similarly, with Shabbat – I don’t believe that a Shabbat observance should necessarily exclude a visit to the cinema, the theatre or a concert. But I think it is essential that each and every one of us takes time out from our normal flow of life at least once a week. Rather than working in some form or another for seven days a week, Shabbat offers us the opportunity to find time for ourselves, our friends, our families and our community. Shabbat is our weekly reminder that we can be so much more than what is reflected in our daily chores.

I hope that together, we can seriously and honestly embark on a journey through the Days of Awe - a journey of coalition building with God and our Jewish tradition. It won’t be an easy journey and each of us will probably encounter times when we believe that the coalition is doomed to fail. But I believe that our future depends on the success of this coalition and so we must strive to work harder on it.

Our tradition teaches that the gates of repentance are never closed; before we reach Ne’ilah, the closing service on Yom Kippur when the gates of mercy are closing; let us make sure to open the gates to our heart to allow God and our Jewish tradition to enter.

I wish us all much strength for embarking on this journey into the new year. And of course, shana tova umetuka – a happy and sweet year.

כן יהי רצון.– may this be God’s will.