Rabbi Claude's Scribbles

  In late September 1938, the infamous Munich Pact (or 'Munich Agreement' as it is formally known) was signed between Germany, Italy, England and France.  This granted Hitler the authority to extend German sovereignty over the Sudetenland, which saw Czechoslovakia surrendering some of its territory to its aggressive neighbour. At the same time, in the port city of Antwerp, a confluence of events within our family led to my paternal grandmother being able to secure three visas for her, my grandfather and my father, who had just turned 10 to travel to New York.   My grandfather transferred some money to a corporation in the city which eventually allowed them to emigrate to the United States. The situation in Belgium was not as precarious as it would turn out to be a year-and-a-half later.   Anti-Semitism was rife and my father had to endure taunts from non-Jewish fellow classmates on a regular basis.   My grandfather realised that they had to emigrate upon the invasion of Den

 When I was a teenager in the 1980s, 3D films became the ‘new craze’ for a while.  They offered you the chance to experience a movie in a way that had not been possible for decades.  Filmmakers capitalized on the audience’s insatiable appetite for 3D films even if it meant sitting through tedious films (Jaws 3D anyone?) just to experience the thrill whilst simultaneously emerging with a mighty headache at the end.  There’s only so much torture my poor eyes could take peering at the screen, through flimsy cardboard ‘spectacles’ which housed red and blue filters. After a while, interest dipped and 3D films quietly disappeared into the ether. When they reappeared, a few decades later, the technology had improved and we donned more robust, clear plastic glasses instead.   At the start of the 21 st Century, it seemed as though every single film was being released in a 3D format, commensurate with the increased cost of viewing them.   This too ran its course and after the success of Ava

  Dedicated in respectful and loving memory of HaRav Avraham di Yitzchak HaLevy Just over a month ago, on the 1 st December, I celebrated my 55th birthday. One of the first thoughts that entered my mind after the shock of realising that I had reached my mid-fifties (they say that fifty is the ‘new thirty’ but I remain to be convinced) was the mathematical fact that I am now half the age that Joseph was when he died at 110.   His passing, at the end of this week’s Parasha also marks the conclusion of Sefer Bereishit. More thoughts entered my mind.   Not only was Joseph 110 when he passed away, but so was Joshua, his great-great-great grandson.   Joshua’s grandfather’s grandfather was Ephraim, Joseph’s younger son. Life is to a certain degree whatever we make of it.   We can flit through our twenties, thirties and even early forties hardly aware of what might come next.   After all, many of us are focused on two distinct strands.   These centre around our careers and finding a s