Shabbat Shalom dear friends. I feels wonderful to be back after my recent Covid infection and I would like to take this opportunity to thank you most sincerely on behalf of Stephnie, Benjamin and myself for your thoughtful messages and support during this challenging time for our family. I can't express how touched we were.
This has not
been an easy week for the rest of the world either.
On Sunday,
a Hamas terrorist in Jerusalem dressed up as a Charedi man, shot dead a young man,
Eli Kay, zl who also happened to be the grandson of Rabbi Shlomo and Lynndy Levin
of South Hampstead Shul and the nephew of Rabbis Eli and Baruch Levin, the latter
being the Rabbi of Brondesbury Park. By all
accounts, Eli was a very special individual whose love of the land of Israel knew
no bounds. He had been a lone soldier who
recently emigrated from South Africa and was on his way to the Kotel, where he was
a guide. He was carrying his tefillin when
he was gunned down in cold blood.
On that very
same day, a car deliberately rammed into numerous people who were participating
in a Christmas Parade in Waukesha, Wisconsin. Six people have been killed and many
children, injured.
Two days later,
in Bulgaria, a bus crashed and caught fire killing at least forty-six people of
which twelve were children. The passengers had been returning from a trip to Istanbul.
Then on Wednesday, twenty-seven people drowned in The Channel. The week before Chanukah
this year has indeed been truly horrific.
How does one
internalise the bloodshed in the context with the joyous festival of lights that
we are about to celebrate? Events take place that are beyond our comprehension and
we, the bystanders, are left numb by their occurrence. There are very troubling
questions and no answers.
As we light
the first candle tomorrow night, the initial date of Chanukah this year won't have
missed my attention, for the 25th Kislev happens to be exactly eight months to the
day since my dearest mother left us. As I watch the flame engulf the wick, my mind
will try to make sense of the events of the last week and of those that took place
within our family over the last eight months. For me, trying to come to terms with
loss has taken the form of considering the best way to honour my mother's memory.
A few weeks
ago, a very special event took place, and I would like to share what happened with
you.
As you may
be aware, my parents were refugees from the Holocaust. The organisation that I used
to work for, and that they and I belong to, is the AJR - the Association of Jewish
Refugees.
This year is the AJR’s 80th anniversary and to mark the auspicious occasion, they decided to run a wonderful campaign. This consists of their planting eighty oak trees throughout the British Isles which are dedicated to both living and deceased members. I decided to take up their offer to plant both a tree in my mother's memory and a time capsule which contained, amongst other items, a memoir that she wrote shortly before she passed away. The time capsule was buried next to the tree in Canon's Park which lies between Edgware and Stanmore.
Sadly, the ceremony took place whilst I was in isolation and so my eldest
daughter, Hadassah represented the family. My mother's tree was planted along with two others.
The lovely
staff at the AJR kindly contacted me over What's App so that I was able to view
the ceremony and was extraordinarily proud to see my daughter, a
third-generation refugee, read a short speech that I had written, and then help
with the planting.
My mother
loved nature and in venerating her name through the planting of a tree that
will Gd willing grow and survive for many decades, this was my modest way of
bringing some light to our darkness.
And that is
really what Chanukah is all about. In these darkest of times, when we are so mired
in tragedy after tragedy, the candles that we will light tomorrow and then for the
next seven days might help to remind us that despite everything that is taking place,
one small flame can light up a very dark room.
It cannot bring back Eli or the people who died in Wisonsin, the victims
of the bus crash or the refugees who lost their lives in the Channel any more than
it can return my mother to the bosom of her family, but it can remind us that life
does go on. Life has to continue.
In the pitch
black darkness of these late November and early December nights, these lights can
make a difference to our lives, even if this only serves to remind us of how Chanukah,
the festival of lights came about miraculously after so many tragedies in our long
and troubled Jewish history.
If planting
a new tree or lighting a wick helps in any way to heal the pain of loss, then we
have truly honoured the person and people who have left us. May their memories be
a blessing to their families and loved ones and may Chanukah enable us to commence
the long road into a brighter future.
Wishing you
and your loved ones a happy, healthy and peaceful Chanukah.
Shabbat Shalom.
