Parshat Veyeishev: Nature's Lights

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.