My Poland Trip

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Parashat Mishpatim: On Top of the World

“I’m on the top of the world, looking down on creation…”

Last Motzei Shabbat (Saturday night), the lyrics from the famous Carpenters hit filled my head as I ticked off another wish on my bucket list.

For years I have driven past the UCL Observatory on the Watford Way (aka the A1) dreaming of being able to pay a visit and view the night sky through one of its half-dozen telescopes.  This is not a place you can just walk into whenever you wish.

On the rare occasion that an opportunity arose, it also seemed to take place either over Shabbat or at a time when I was otherwise occupied.  You can therefore imagine my delight when I received an email from my late parents’ shul, Dunstan Road, (officially known as Golders Green Synagogue) advertising its Men’s Levana (Moon) Night.  Apparently, the Ladies’ trip last year had been a huge success and I was not about to give this one a miss.

There was a slight hiccup in that I needed to be there by 7.30 pm and granted that Shabbat finished at 5.51pm in Staines, this might pose somewhat of a challenge, particularly if the M25 was not ‘playing nice’.  I gritted my teeth and prayed for the desired outcome.  Notwithstanding a pretty smooth run, I was also hopeful that the inclement weather would take a break to allow us the opportunity to view a planet or two.  I’m delighted to report that both worked in in my favour and not only did I make it there in time, but I was also able to clearly view Jupiter surrounded by two rings, accompanied by satellites on its east and west.  It looked very much like this image (although the other two moons were situated on the planet’s dark side).

 

If I were to link my visit to a Parasha, Mishpatim would not be the first one that comes to mind.

Bereishit, which described the creation of the world and particularly the fourth day when Gd created the sun, moon and stars, would be a perfect candidate.  I could even stretch this to last week’s Parasha when Gd gave us the Aseret Hadibrot/Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai which was aflame, accompanied by special effects such as thunder and lightning.  That would make more sense.

This week, we have a wide range of civil laws varying from oxen falling into open pits and taking bribes, to how to deal with sorceresses and the laws of Shmittah.  Nary a star nor planet in sight!  Where we talked about the heavens in last week’s Parasha of Yitro, we are now discussing pursuing justice in the small-claims court (sorceresses notwithstanding).

On the face of it, both Parashot seem like chalk (and Kosher) cheese.  However, it is not a coincidence that Mishpatim directly follows on from Yitro.

Rabbi Sacks would often share the following story.

In the early 20th century, the great astronomer George Ellery Hale built the world’s most powerful telescope.  When it was finally completed, he invited a group of scholars—scientists, philosophers, clergy—to witness the first night of observation.

One of the rabbis present later wrote that as he looked through the telescope and saw the swirling arms of distant galaxies, he felt a surge of awe.  But then he noticed something else: the astronomers weren’t simply admiring the beauty.  They were measuring.  Calculating.  Mapping.  They were trying to understand the order behind the beauty.

And the rabbi realised:

Wonder is the beginning of faith.

But order is the beginning of responsibility.

The stars inspire us.

But their order obligates us.

 

One of our greatest philosophers, the Rambam, begins his masterwork, the Mishneh Torah, with Hichot Yesodei Hatorah, the Laws which form the Foundations of the Torah.  Note that he didn’t prioritise the laws of Shabbat or Kashrut or prayer.  He commences with astronomy.

He writes:

‘The foundation of all foundations and the pillar of wisdom is to know that there is a Primary Being who brought into being all existence.  All the beings of the heavens, the earth and what is between them came into existence only from the truth of His being.’

After explaining why Hashem is the only god, he writes in Chapter 2:

‘It is a mitzvah to love and fear this glorious and awesome Gd, as [Deuteronomy 6:5] states: "And you shall love Gd, your Lord" and, as [Deuteronomy 6:13] states: "Fear Gd, your L-rd."

What is the path [to attain] love and fear of Him?  When a person contemplates His wondrous and great deeds and creations and appreciates His infinite wisdom that surpasses all comparison, he will immediately love, praise, and glorify [Him], yearning with tremendous desire to know [Gd's] great name, as David stated, "My soul thirsts for the Lord, for the living Gd." [Psalms 42:3]

When he [continues] to reflect on these same matters, he will immediately recoil in awe and fear, appreciating how he is a tiny, lowly and dark creature, standing with his flimsy, limited, wisdom before He who is of perfect knowledge, as David stated, "When I see Your heavens, the work of Your fingers...[I wonder] what is man that You should recall Him?" [Psalms 8:4-5]’

In other words, we have a sacred duty to recognise that Gd, and only Gd, created the entire universe and that (as the Rambam continues to expound) with this in mind, we can only have love and awe of Him.

If Gd is perfect, the universe that He has fashioned and created must therefore be perfect (although, as we know, the world that we live in – the only one that He has allowed humans to take control of – is anything but).

In His perfection, He has created the universe not as some random entity that was cobbled together on a ‘Divine Whim’, but as one that operates according to structure, predictability, balance and morality, all of which are based on ‘order’.

It is, according to the Rambam, the order of the cosmos which is a metaphor for the order of society.

Just as the stars follow their orbits, human beings must follow laws that are created to maintain justice.

Just as the heavens move in harmony, communities must move with compassion.  Working with and not against each other.

Just as the universe avoids physical collision, society must avoid moral collision.  Where centuries’ old traditions are tossed aside to make way for the ‘great new idea’ where ‘anything goes’, and the societies and countries that we were raised in are now unrecognisable and threatening.

Only after discussing this does the Rambam turn to Halachah because without the former, the order, you cannot create the latter: healthy and thriving societies.

Rambam sees Parashat Mishpatim not as constituting a step-down from the revelation at Sinai but continuing themes introduced at Sinai.

The same Gd, who set the galaxies into the cosmos He created, commands us to build a world of dignity and responsibility.

The same precision that governs the heavens must govern our courts.

The same harmony that melds the universe into a seamless, vast, expanse must hold our communities together.  The orchestra can only succeed if every instrument plays its part to create the ‘music’ that unites us.

Or, as Rabbi Sacks beautifully states:

Judaism marries heaven and earth.

It brings the Divine into the details.

G-d created the universe as a model of order.

Similarly, we need to create our societies using the same principles.

Mishpatim instructs us to:

·         Protect the vulnerable.

·         Guard our neighbour’s properties.

·         Be honest and ethical in business.

·         Do not oppress the widow, orphan or stranger.

·         Do not pervert justice.

We need to do all of these to create the gravitational forces that protect our societies from collapsing.  Compromising on any or all the above leads to the kinds of headlines we have sadly become used to reading, day in and day out.  The shocking and morally reprehensible behaviour that has been wrought on the world by Jeffrey Epstein, a member of our tribe who has shamed us and created a Chillul Hashem/a desecration of Gd’s name of epic proportions.

Returning to Rabbi Sacks’ story:

‘When that rabbi stepped away from the telescope, he wrote:

“The stars taught me awe.
But the astronomers taught me duty.”’

That is Mishpatim.

Sinai gives us awe…Mishpatim gives us duty.

Sinai lifts our eyes upward toward the heavens…Mishpatim turns our eyes outwards to the people around us and beyond.

Sinai reveals Gd in the heavens…Mishpatim reveals Gd in the human being standing next to us, down the road, in the Houses of Commons or the Lords.

That trip to the observatory last week was more than the fulfilment of a dream, it was a reminder of how infinite the universe is and, at the same time, how infinitesimally small I am in relation to the galaxy in which I live.

You and I are walking under the same stars that the Rambam studied nearly a thousand years ago.  We learn from the same Torah that he pored over and marvel at the intricacies and challenges that it presents us.

We have a duty to bring Gd into the world, not only through prayer but in ensuring that justice is fair and equal for all; that our faith guides us in making the correct decisions and that we are held accountable when we do not live up to the expectations that others have of us and, ultimately, those we have of ourselves.

It is all well and good to look up to the stars but we must not forget to see those around us and play our part in building and maintaining healthy societies.

When we ensure that the mitzvot/commandments enshrined in Mishpatim are acted upon, we effectively align our lives with the moral geometry of creation.

We become, in a sense, astronomers of the human spirit—charting paths of righteousness, avoiding collisions of ego, and ensuring that our community moves in harmony.

May we live lives that reflect the order of the heavens and construct societies that are worthy of the Gd who created the heavens and the earth and everything else in the universe.  He saw that it was good and we must do the same if we are truly to be worthy of having been ‘created in His image’.

Only then will this week’s Parasha be a true reflection of the wondrous vista I witnessed a few days ago at the UCL Observatory.

On top of the world, looking down on creation.

Shavuah Tov.

Parashat Bo: : Tommy, Pharaoh and The People of Iran

 It is probably one of the most famous creations in popular music history and is still being performed live by the man who wrote both the music and lyrics.

It is estimated that over 20 million copies (including numerous reissues) have been sold since its release in May 1969.  It was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1998 joining more than a thousand others including The Beatles’ Abbey Road, Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G Major (Leonard Bernstein with the Philharmonia Orchestra), Ella Fitzgerald Sings the George and Ira Gershwin Songbook, West Side Story (both the Original Broadway Cast recordings and the Film Soundtrack) and Bob Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde.

I am referring to the Who’s rock opera, Tommy which stems from the furtive imagination and prodigious talent of Pete Townshend.

It tells the fictional story of four-year-old Tommy whose father Captain Walker has been reported missing during the Second World War only to turn up and find Tommy’s mother with her lover.  In a pique of rage, he kills the man whereupon the couple coerce Tommy into believing that he didn’t see or hear anything regarding the act.  As a result, the boy enters a psychosomatic state which leaves him ‘deaf, dumb and blind’ to the world around him.  He only interacts with his surroundings through his imagination and sense of touch.  As he grows older, he feels the vibrations emanating from playing pinball machines and this leads to his becoming a ‘Pinball Wizard’ (from ‘Soho down to Brighton’) before eventually being healed and becoming a Messianic leader (the music is more memorable than the story!)

The dark world that Tommy inhabits is very relatable to this week’s Parasha of Bo, particularly when it comes to the ninth plague.  The Torah tells us:

Then the Lord said to Moshe, “Reach out your hand towards the sky to bring darkness down to Egypt – darkness so deep that it can be felt” (Shemot 10.21)

Rashi adds that this was no ordinary darkness.  It was one in which the Egyptians could not see for three days.  It was so thick that they were frozen in their places, unable to reach one another.  Anyone who was standing could not sit down and vice versa.  It was as if they were rendered ‘deaf, dumb and blind’.  Cut off from the world, just like Tommy.

However, they were not alone.

Their leader, Pharaoh had already cast himself into this state.

Gd told Moshe that he had hardened Pharaoh’s heart (Shemot 10.1) to which Rashi adds that this was a result of the ruler hardening his own heart first.

He was deaf to the plight of the Israelites.  His tongue refused to speak the truth about how wrong he was and he suffered from, as Rabbi Sacks ztl put it, “The worst kind of blindness (which) is moral blindness.”

His heart was metaphorically blind to the injustice of what he had instituted.  Whilst his people may have been ‘blinded’ by the plague of darkness, Pharaoh chose not to investigate his heart to act favourably towards the Bnei Yisrael.

Let us contrast these senses with those experienced by our ancestors.

For three days, no one could see anyone else or move.  But in the Israelites’ homes, they had light.  (ibid)

Why was this?  Not necessarily because they had sunshine streaming through their windows but due to the light that emanates from faith, hope and moral clarity which is hardwired into our Jewish souls.

Whilst others around us may be deaf, dumb and blind to the evil machinations of those who bring darkness into the world, we introduce light to rebalance the equation.

A case in point revolves around the recent and ongoing brutal massacres being perpetrated on the Iranian people (not ‘allegedly’ but actually).

For nearly a month, tens of thousands of young men, women and children have been risking, and losing, their lives to stand up for dignity and freedom from the nihilistic and barbaric regime that currently rules the proud and ancient country of Iran (which used to be known as Persia).  The Mullahs have been deaf, dumb and blind to the cries and anguish of the people they lead.  They have tried to extinguish any semblance of light to recreate the ninth plague of darkness across the country where people are too frightened to reach out to their loved ones for fear of imprisonment or execution.

The nations of the world, who are all too eager to criticize Israel at the drop of a hat whenever they can, have also been deaf, dumb and blind to the plight of the Iranian people.

Where was the United Nations at the end of December?  (It issued a ‘Joint Statement on 16^th January, nearly three weeks later).  I don’t recall Amnesty International putting out a press release criticizing the Iranian Regime until 14^th January.  How about a word from those so called ‘celebrities’ who think nothing of falsely accusing Israel of ‘genocide’?  Have they too lost their voices or are they ‘out at sea’ on a flotilla in the Gulf along with Greta Thunberg.  Why are the university students silent too?

Finally, why was the media deaf, dumb and blind when it came to Iran on New Year’s Eve?  Whilst the Iranians are being hanged in public places, they are more concerned with whether Greenland is American or Danish and why Brooklyn Beckham can’t get along with his parents!

When it came to standing up for Iran, one of the only other flags seen at the rallies outside the Iranian Embassies was that of Israel, the only true democracy in the Middle East.

Returning to Tommy, if you recall, the turning point in the album takes place when he awakens.  He can hear, speak and see his reflection in the mirror.  His world of darkness is now flooded by light.

In Parashat Bo, when Egypt has been brought to its knees following the nine plagues, Gd tells the Israelites:

And when your children say to you, “What does this ceremony (i.e.  the bringing of the Korban Pesach/Pascal lamb) mean to you?”  You shall say, “It is the Passover sacrifice to the Lord who passed over the houses of the Israelites in Egypt…” (12.27)

In other words, we are publicly stating that we, the people, believe in Gd who saved us and we are no longer deafened, silenced or blinded by the Egyptians who enslaved us (in a metaphorical way).  We can hear, speak and see the redemption that we are about to encounter when we leave Egypt.

Parashat Bo shows us that during the plague of darkness, our abiding faith and moral compass enabled us to overcome the blindness that had struck Egypt.

The leaders of the world’s nations deliberately ignored the pleas of those who were, and still are, suffering to promote their own agendas when it came to the Iranian leadership.  Where they could have stood up for the people, they chose to remind silent.  Finally, where they claimed that they couldn’t ‘see’ what was transpiring, it was visible in plain sight to those who chose to look at the evidence.  Deaf, dumb and blind.

It takes a single candle to light up an entire room and, in the process, banish the darkness.

Parashat Bo teaches us how important it is to provide light, metaphorically and physically.

When Egypt was plunged into darkness, our people had light in their homes.

We could have followed the example of Pharaoh whose egotism and arrogance knew no bounds.  We chose a different path and that is why today Israel, even with its faults, is a beacon of light to the rest of the world.

When the Iranian regime eventually crumbles, we pray that the people will remember the one country that stood up for them and refused to be deaf, dumb or blind in their hour of need.

May we continue to be that lone candle lighting the darkness always hearing the pleas of the strangers, widows and orphans, speaking up for them and illuminating the rest of the world in the process.  Perhaps one day, the other nations will join us and, as John Lennon put it beautifully in Imagine, the world will live as one.

Shavuah Tov.

Parashat Vayechi: The Generation Frame

When you walk into our living room and look at the left-hand side wall, you are greeted with an assortment of different sized framed family photographs.  A few depict Stephnie and me as children whilst others show our sons and daughters in various stages of their young lives to date.  There are photos of our departed (and very missed parents) along with other members of our close family (such as Stephnie’s sister).  They span the length of the wall and even extend to the adjacent one.  In each picture, the subjects are smiling and the entire collection is a wonderful site to behold.

If you cast your eye to the far end, you will see a column of official photographs taken at all four of my daughters’ graduation ceremonies and they hang chronologically from the top of the wall down to the bottom.

To the top left of my eldest daughter, Hadassah’s photograph is another graduation photo.  This one however was taken nearly a quarter of a century earlier.

There are three people in the photograph.  I am in the centre tightly holding my ‘prop’ certificate dressed in my blue gown and black cap.  My father is on the left of the picture with his hand on my elbow and my mother is on the right resting the palm of her hand on my arm.  The pride on our faces is palpable and the three of us are grinning like Cheshire cats.  It is March 1996 and I have just been awarded my MA.

Fast forward to July 2019 and the photo is slightly different.  Hadassah is receiving her BSc and is dressed in a black gown and hat.  Like me, she holds her prop close to her chest.  I am now where my father was, on the left, with my hand holding her arm.  My mother, whose hair was auburn in the previous photograph is now snow white and visibly older.  Her hand however is in the identical position on Hadassah’s arm.  The grins are the same but little did we know at the time that within two years, she would no longer be with us.

I am transfixed by the similarities in both photographs.  The positioning, the smiles and the pride that all three participants felt at the moment the picture was taken.

And then, a wave of sadness floods over me as I realise that in both cases, these photographs could never be taken again with the same subjects (setting aside the endless technological possibilities inherent in AI).

It feels as though, in the two images, the baton is being passed from one generation to the next.  Where I stood in one photo, my daughter takes my place.  Where my father was positioned previously, I am now the parent and in both, my mother remains there, previously younger and now older.

Vayechi is the only Parasha in the Torah which describes a scene that so many of us have sadly had to experience and can very much relate to.

The ageing patriarch Yaakov Avinu is on his deathbed.  He wants to ensure that he can spend the time he has left confined to his bed blessing his children and grandchildren.  We are not told how long this is and it is not important.  What does matter, however, is that he imparts to them the wisdom and blessings that they will need in order to continue the legacy that was handed to him by his father, Yitzchak and by extension through his grandfather Avraham, the first Jew.

He calls for his sons and says,

“Gather together so that I can tell you what will happen in the days to come.  Assemble and listen, Yaakov’s sons.  Listen to your father Yisrael…”

And with that, he addresses and blesses the twelve sons.  Some of his comments (according to Rabbi Sacks’ new Chumash) read ‘more like curses than blessings’.  But he notes something startling, that although there seems to be a ‘discernible tension’, the fact is that he is blessing ‘all twelve together in the same room at the same time’, which is not something that we have seen before in the Torah.  Avraham is not recorded as having blessed either Yitzchak or Yishmael.  We also know that Yitzchak gave separate brachot to Yaakov and Eisav (and let’s be honest, that didn’t turn out too well).

Rabbi Sacks continues,

“The mere fact that Yaakov is able to gather his sons together is unprecedented and important…because,” he writes “in the next chapter – the first of Exodus, the Israelites are for the first time described as a people.  It is hard to see how they could live together as a people if they could not live together as a family.”

The most important links we have to each other are through our families and I would add, by extension, the global Jewish mishpocha (family).  Who could not feel a sharp, gnawing and familiar numb pain when we heard about the recent terrorist attacks in Manchester, Sydney and Israel.  We may not have known any of the victims, but to us, ‘unsere’, our people are extended members of our own kin.

And tangentially, when we hear of a ‘broygus’ in families, we know that, beneath the anger, bitterness, hurt and tears, there lies a deep abiding love.  It may seem to be far below the surface, but when it comes to it, as Jews, we are all one large mishpocha.

In the immediate wake of the October 7^th massacres, our people united overnight, despite the events that had dogged our beloved country over the Judicial Reforms.  We came together because we love each other.  We did so, because we are one family.  One people with a single beating heart.

No-one will deny that families are complicated entities.  I recall that many years ago, John Cleese co-authored a wonderfully titled best-selling book called ‘Families and How to Survive Them’ which could be used as a moniker to describe this week’s Parasha!

Perhaps, subconsciously, he had read Sefer Bereishit and in particular Vayechi before deciding on the title!

Returning to my first reflections on those two photographs.  I will add that, like many people, my parents and I and my children and I have not always had the smoothest of relationships.  Very few of us do and there have been times when we’ve all said things we wished we hadn’t - but you wouldn’t know it when looking at those photos.

We are all human beings, warts and all but when it came to it, I would not have dreamed of having my graduation take place without my parents being present and likewise of not attending my daughters’ special days.  Standing next to Hadassah in the same way that my father stood by my side were some of the proudest moments in both our lives.  That my mother was able to be present for both events, at least to me, symbolises the inextinguishable flame that burns in the deepest recesses of our collective national Jewish heart.

Perhaps in a quarter of a century, Please Gd, a beaming Hadassah will rest her hand on her son or daughter’s arm alongside the graduate’s father who, carrying my metaphorical baton, will hold onto my grandson or granddaughter as they hold tightly onto their prop graduate certificate, continuing the half-century tradition.

One family which is part of our people with that single beating heart.

Shavuah Tov.