Parashat Lech Lecha: Jewish Stars

On Sunday afternoon, I stood with my back to the National Gallery facing Nelson’s Column.  Trafalgar Square was bathed in a sea of blue and white flags fluttering in the light breeze.  The speakers, whose faces I could not make out, came onto the stage and one by one, fighting back tears, related their heartbreaking and shocking testimonies, describing their experiences on Shabbat 7^th October.  How they had lost loved ones, either through being murdered or seeing them dragged away into the hellhole that is Gaza.  Many of those who bravely tried to defend their families, friends and kibbutzim were massacred by an overwhelming and unbelievably cruel foe.

As one of the speakers was tearfully informing us that her brother and his family had been amongst the more than two hundred people kidnapped, I was handed a poster that just happened to display their details under a large bold white-on-red headline marked ‘Kidnapped’.  Reading the events in the news hadn’t hit me yet.  Standing alongside thousands of Jews, listening to both our Israeli and English brethren telling their stories and our chanting, “Bring them home” brought home to me the enormity of what had happened.

Whilst I was trying to process what was going on in terms of what had happened, what could be done to bring them home alive and how vulnerable I felt as a Jew in the United Kingdom, I had a thought.  All of us in Trafalgar Square, most of whom I assumed were Jewish, were descended either biologically or spiritually from one single couple, namely Avraham and Sarah (or Avram and Sarai is they are known for the majority of this week’s Parasha).

I believe that all of us standing, weeping, applauding and chanting recognised that something very special was taking place for a brief moment in our long, shared history together.  In this hour of darkness, we set aside our differences and spoke with one voice.

Avram knew what it meant to live in a hostile environment.  According to the Vilna Ga’on, he was forty-eight years old when the Tower of Bavel was built and the resultant dispersion that we read about at the end of last week’s Parasha occurred.  The Ramban tells us that Noach died ten years later, so it is very possible that Avram would have heard from him, about what it felt like to live amongst evil people.  To be different to them and of course, how he had been saved through building the Ark.

The Midrash tells us how Avram’s arch-enemy, Nimrod, who was incidentally the architect of the doomed tower project, tried to have him burned in a furnace.  Avram, despite everything, held firm to his revolutionary belief in the existence of a single Deity, much to the fury of Nimrod whose belief system was deeply entrenched in idolatry.

Avram was different and we are different.

Gd tested him ten times with the ultimate challenge of having to sacrifice his son.  He passed the test despite the odds.  We, his descendants, have had to face the most barbaric, sadistic nations in the history of the world who wished to destroy us and we too have survived these tests.

But what was it that made Avram (and of course his beloved wife) the archetypal role models that eventually led to the birth of our nation?

Rabbi Sacks tells us that the secret of what made Avram different lies in the very first verse of this week’s Parasha when Hashem told him to:

“Go from your land, your birthplace and your father’s house to the land that I will show you.”

He was instructing him to leave behind everything that had shaped him to that point.

“Why?” asks Rabbi Sacks.

“Because people do conform.  They adopt the standards and absorb the culture of the time and place in which they live – “your land”.  At a deeper level, they are influenced by friends and neighbours – “your birthplace”.  More deeply still, they are shaped by their parents and the family in which they grew up – “your father’s house.”

He continues by explaining that Gd wanted Avram to be different…for the sake of starting something new, namely a religion that eschewed power and the symbols of that power as represented by idolatry.

As Gd later tells him:

“I want you to teach your children and your household afterwards to follow the way of the Lord by doing what is right and just.

Avram understood how important it was to stand up for justice, irrespective of how unpopular this would make him.  To throw away everything that you’ve been conditioned with, to accept in the name of seeking the path of truth, is a very Jewish thing to do.  Whilst there are many (in the media and in politics as well as our sworn enemies) who conveniently set aside the events that took place a few weeks ago to set their own agenda, we refuse to compromise on what we believe is to be right.

We have sadly learned to our great personal detriment the result of what transpires when we try to avoid fighting evil - if we accept the arguments of those who do not have our best interests in mind and compromise on what we know is the right thing to do.

There are those who wish us to quietly conform to their lifestyles.

They say that Shechita is barbaric and that it would be kinder to the animals to kill them in a more conventional manner.  It would also be less of a burden on our already stretched budgets.

In the same breath, they claim that brit milah, which we read about in this week’s Parasha, deprives a child of the right to choose as to whether they wish to be ‘mutilated’.  Why not just give it up so that our boys won’t be different to those of our friends.

It would be so much easier for us if we stayed in our metaphorical lands, birthplaces and fathers’ houses.

The German Jews tried to do that in the 19^th century by assimilating at a huge rate.  Yet, with regard to Nazi ideology and the Final Solution, it didn’t make a jot of difference when it came to who ended up in the gas chambers.

Stalin wasn’t too bothered by whether or not Jews identified as such when he exiled them to the Gulag and Hamas didn’t check out the religiosity of the people it either killed or kidnapped less than a month ago.The thread that links us back to the very first Jews (even if they weren’t called by this name at that time) is the same one which keeps us bound together.  A refusal to compromise on pursuing justice despite those who wish to put barriers in our way.

Many of us keep kosher to differing degrees and sometimes not at all.  There are those who choose not to circumcise their sons but when it comes to identifying as Jewish, in whichever format works for them, they are the first to stand up and be counted, because we, like Avram and Sarai before us, understand what it means to take the ‘right and just path’.  When it comes to giving charity, our hands dig deep.  When legitimate refugees need legal support, how often do we hear of their representatives bearing Jewish names?  Our hospitals and universities are filled with Jewish doctors and professors and don’t get me started on how many members of our nation have won Nobel prizes!

We went to Trafalgar Square because we knew we needed to be there.  For us.  Not for the world.  For those in Israel who were suffering, whether or not we knew them.  We travelled through the streets of London knowing that there was possible danger ahead because we knew that standing up and being counted as Jews was more important than cowering in the face of danger.

We are giving and giving and giving to charities inside and outside Israel because we know the fundamental role tzedaka plays in our national psyche.  We have an innate need to help the families of those who were killed, wounded or kidnapped irrespective of their political leanings or religious affiliation precisely because they are Jews, like us.

When a Gentile takes the bold move to convert to our religion, his Hebrew name becomes ‘ben Avraham’ and hers ‘bat Sarah’, which means, ‘The son of Avraham’ or the ‘daughter of Sarah’.  This is not by accident.  It is a testament to the extraordinary decision a single couple chose to take, when they stood out from the crowd and, despite the extreme hardships they endured (as described in three Parashiot that cover their lives), did not compromise on their mission to change humanity and draw them away from idol-worship to creating an environment that promoted chessed, kindness to all and one that recognised a single G-d.

In 15.4, Gd takes Avram outside and tells him:

“Look at the heavens and count the stars, if indeed you can count them…that is how your descendants will be.”

Looking at the blue stars on those white backgrounds and human stars in all their shapes and forms on Sunday afternoon helped me realise that we are the culmination of that prophecy - the progeny of Avram and Sarai in the very heart of London.  We are their children – we are different – In short, we are Jews.    

Shabbat Shalom.

Parashat Noach: For The Many

Dedicated to the memory of Yaakov Aharon ben Moshe, Jake Marlowe - may Hashem avenge his murder.

I'd like to ask a very simple question regarding this week's protagonist, Noach.  In his act of saving his family (and a shipload of animals) from the flood that wiped out every living creature (aside from the fish), would you consider him to be courageous?

There is a fascinating Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 36.3) which compares Noach with Moshe Rabbeinu:

“Noach, man of the soil, began, and he planted a vineyard” (Genesis 9:20).

“Noach, man of the soil, began [vayaḥel]” – he became profaned and unholy [ḥulin].  Why?  “And he planted a vineyard.” Should he not have planted something else, that was constructive, a fig tree branch or an olive tree branch?  Instead, “he planted a vineyard.”

‘Man of the soil’ – There were three people who were enthusiastic about the soil but ultimately nothing constructive came from them.  They are: Cain, Noach, and Uziyahu.  Cain – “Cain was a tiller of the soil” (Genesis 4:2); Noach – “a man of the soil”; Uziyahu – “he had farmers and vine growers in the mountains and on the fertile lands, as he was a lover of the soil” (II Chronicles 26:10).

The underlying question is: In what sense was Noach a ‘man of the soil’? – He remade the surface of the soil; He began to re-cultivate the soil after it had been devastated by the Flood.  because of him the soil was watered; It was on his behalf that rain fell upon the parched soil after the Flood (see Bereshit Rabba 33:7).  He filled the entire surface of the soil.  His descendants populated the world.

‘Man of the soil’ – He was a farmer, [called “man of the soil”] after his farming activities.

Rabbi Berekhya said: Moses was more beloved than Noach.  Noach, after he was called ‘a righteous man’ (Genesis 6:9), was called ‘a man of the soil.’

He was diminished in stature when he became older.  But Moses, after he was called “an Egyptian man” (Exodus 2:19) was called “the man of God” (Deuteronomy 33:1).

On the face of it, we can't dismiss Noach's role in reclaiming man's mastery over the earth after it had been subsumed by the flood.  More importantly, he singlehandedly (albeit on Gd's command) ensured that every single person alive today can trace their ancestry back to him.  We can trace our roots back to Noach and Naama (her lineage is mentioned in last week's Parasha) through their three sons and daughters-in-law.  Jews and Arabs are called Semites which underscores the fact that we are direct descendants of his son, Shem (although anti-Semitism is unique to the Jewish people, but that's a different discussion).

It is safe to say that Noach, as a person is extremely significant in the history of mankind.

But, returning to my original question, is that enough to guarantee his validity as a man of note?

There is a famous Rashi on the first pasuk of the Parasha:

Genesis 6:9

These are the generations of Noach: Noach was a just man and perfect in his generations, and Noach walked with Gd.

 

Rashi on Genesis 6:9:2

Generations — Some of our Rabbis explain it (this word) to his credit: he was righteous even in his generation; it follows that had he lived in a generation of righteous people he would have been even more righteous owing to the force of good example.  Others, however, explain it to his discredit: in comparison with his own generation, he was accounted righteous, but had he lived in the generation of Abraham he would have been accounted as of no importance (cf.  Sanhedrin 108a).

The Gemara (in tandem with the Midrash) is quite scathing about Noach's reputation and if you bring both comments together, you have the description of a man who fell short of his potential when compared to giants such as Avraham and Moshe.

At this stage, it is unclear as to what he did wrong (setting aside the fact that he could have planted something more useful to humanity than a vine).  He saved his family and ensured that we still have the descendants of countless animals and other creatures to visit in our local zoos (and are able to benefit from their output, including their meat).

Rabbi Sacks (OBM) points out (Covenant and Conversation: A Drama in Four Acts, 2019) that although Noach is a righteous man, he is no hero.  He saves no-one but himself and his family.  He takes no responsibility for anyone else.

At no point in the story do we read about Noach pleading with Gd to save his fellow humans in the same way that Avraham does when it comes to the inhabitants of Sodom.  Where is there a description of how he asked Gd to destroy him instead of others in the vein of Moshe following the sin of the Golden Calf?

Rabbi Sacks writes that ‘One cannot be a sole survivor and still survive…we have to do what we can to save others, not just ourselves.  Noach failed the test of collective responsibility.’

After he survived the flood, he ends up naked, drunk and then sexually abused by one of his sons.  A sad and ignoble end to a man who could have achieved so much more. Compare the story of his life with that of his descendant Moshe who rose from being the Prince of Egypt to the position of our greatest leader – a man whom Gd would speak to ‘face-to-face as one person speaks to his friend (Shemot 33,11).

Returning to my original question, it doesn’t take much to demonstrate that Noach was anything but courageous.

I suspect that, like you, the terrible situation in Israel occupies my mind throughout my waking hours.  The last thing I do before going to sleep is to check my phone for any updates.  Bleary eyed, first thing in the morning, I scrabble for my glasses to see if there have been any developments overnight.

Over the last week, the horror of what transpired on the Shabbat of Shmini Arzeret was at the forefront of my thoughts.  No doubt you read about Jake Marlowe, (may his memory be a blessing) the 26-year-old former JFS student who was killed at the festival whilst working as a security guard.  To our family, Jake was more than just a name.  He was in the same year as one of my stepdaughters and he was also second cousin to a very dear schoolfriend who made Aliyah many years ago.

My friend wrote to me and asked if he could stay with us so that he could attend Jake’s Levaya.  At the time, we did not know when this would take place.  I didn’t even ask Stephnie before responding and we spent nearly a week together catching up on old times and mourning his cousin’s passing.  He knew Jake and had the highest respect for him.  He also told me how Jake had rescued several other people from the party on his motorised buggy, under fire and ultimately at the cost of his own life.  He was courageous beyond description and the very epitome of Rabbi Sacks’ dictum that ‘we must save others, not just ourselves’.  Jake’s love of his fellow Jews was limitless.  He demonstrated this by paying the ultimate price.  He died ‘al kiddush Hashem - sanctifying Gd’s name.

More and more stories like Jake’s are coming to light.  How kibbutzniks who were vastly outnumbered fought to protect their families, friends and homes against a horde of sadistic barbaric savages whose evil actions rendered them, as I heard it put by the Home Secretary Suella Braverman, a ‘stain on humanity’. How young soldiers were massacred trying to protect civilians and women, children and the elderly were snatched away from their families, many of whom were tortured and killed.  The list of atrocities is endless.

Jake and the other fallen heroes of Israel, both male and female represent the very finest example of what it means to be, not only courageous but righteous, not only in their generations but for all time.  They are our Joshua, Deborah, King David and Judah Maccabee rolled into one.  They passed Rabbi Sacks’ test of collective responsibility with flying colours and paid with their lives.

As for Noach, we look at him in the shadow of what has happened with more questions than answers.

Why didn’t he speak up?

Why didn’t he try to save those who might have adapted their behaviour to show kindness to others?

Why did he just focus on his own family?  

Why?

The United Synagogue has dedicated yesterday, today and tomorrow as the ‘Weekend of Kindness’ where we, the Jewish people are being asked to bring more light into the world.         It doesn’t take much to show kindness to others and there is a host of ways in which we can do this such as:

• Sending a voice message of support to friends and family in Israel.
• Making a meal for someone who needs the support.
• Thanking our local security guard for keeping us safe.
• Visiting someone elderly or ill.
• Donating food to your local food bank.
• Helping carry someone’s shopping to their car.
• Holding the door open for a stranger.
• Donating blood.
• Adding yourself to a bone marrow registry and take part in a bone marrow drive.
• Making a conscious effort to recycle.

You can read other ideas on the US website (https://theus.org.uk/article/weekend-kindness).

It doesn’t take much to show our love ‘for the many’ both inside and outside the community who will appreciate what we do.  We can show the world how extraordinary a nation we are, whilst also defending Israel from the lies that are populating social networking platforms and the media.  We owe it to our people and our Medinah.

We need to show the world that we are not ‘Noach’.

Instead, we are Avraham and we are Moshe.

And…

We are Jake.

Shabbat Shalom