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

Yom Kippur: One

 In the 1960s, the late Harry Nilsson wrote a very sad song entitled: ‘One’.

Its first stanza read:

‘One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do’

We can survive as single entities but for many of us, it is the company of others that helps to brighten our lives, be it with fellow humans or even pets.  On the surface, at least, having a ‘me party’ isn’t as much fun as spending the evening with two or more friends, is it? Given the choice of an odd or even quantity, which would you prefer?

Keeping this idea in mind, how about celebrating Yom Kippur not for one, but instead two days?

The Gemara (Rosh Hashanah 21a) tells us that:

Rava would regularly sit in observance of the fast of Yom Kippur for two days in case Elul had been declared a thirty-day month and Yom Kippur should be observed on what was observed in Babylonia as the eleventh of Tishrei.  It once happened in accordance with his opinion.  Elul had been declared a thirty-day month, and he was the only one who observed Yom Kippur on the correct day.  It was related that Rav Naḥman had once fasted the entire day of Yom Kippur as usual.  In the evening, toward the end of his fast, a certain man came and said to him, “Tomorrow is the great day, Yom Kippur, in the West, Eretz Yisrael, and it is therefore necessary to fast tomorrow.”

Fortunately for us, the Rabbis didn’t agree with this line of thinking and so this did not become the accepted custom!

I will be the first to admit that although there are legitimate reasons to prefer even numbers, I have a weakness for the number ‘one’, singular in nature as it may be.

I am the only child of an only child (my father had no siblings) and although I love being the father of four, step-father of another four and grandfather of three (nearly four), if left on my own for a few hours, I can always find something to occupy my time, be it reading, writing a drasha or watching one of my favourite films.  To me, one is anything but a lonely number and guess what?  Both Stephnie and my birthdays are on the 1^st of August and December respectively and our chuppah was on the 1^st of Tevet!

In fact, ‘one’ is a very Jewish number and it is inexorably linked to Yom Kippur.

For at the very end of the fast, a single note from the Shofar will signify the completion of the holiest day in our calendar.  One note is all that is needed.

Our prayers focus on the singularity of the one Gd.  During the emotional closing stages (shortly before the blowing of the Shofar), we recite the most famous prayer in our liturgy – “Hear O Israel, the Lord is our Gd, the Lord is One.”

Yom Kippur was the only day in the year when the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest was allowed to enter the Holy of Holies in the Temple.

The fast itself is the only one (of our six) that is mandated in the Torah.

Yet, at times for us, the Jewish nation, ‘one’ was a very lonely number.  We were alone, isolated and facing destruction.  A case in point was the outbreak of the Yom Kippur War, exactly fifty years ago this afternoon (which coincidentally began when the Egyptians started an offensive at 2:00 Israeli time, which was 1:00 over here).   One small nation facing the might of the Egyptian and Syrian armies.

Despite the odds, both half a century ago and further back, we survived and held faith in the one Gd that we believe in.  The very same that we turn our hearts and minds to on this day and pray for peace inside our beloved State of Israel.  That He helps us to find a way to reunite as a unified nation and agree on a resolution to solve the very serious and complex problems facing the country at this moment.

My father, of blessed memory, always said that he was not afraid of what Israel’s enemies could achieve.  He was much more concerned regarding the damage we could do to ourselves as has been demonstrated so many times in our long history.

We can be ‘Am Echad BeLev Echad – One people with a single heart’ if we choose to be and when we come together, as we did recently against Corbyn, we can achieve miracles.  As Abraham Lincoln famously said, “A house divided against itself cannot stand.”

You may recall a few years ago that I connected the five prayers we recite over Yom Kippur to the levels of consciousness that exist within our souls.  For on this holiest of days, not only are we compared to angels but also it is the unique occasion that all souls are judged by Gd, both in heaven and earth.  The Nefesh is the level that connects with our mortal beings, followed by the Ruach, Neshama and Chaya.

The highest level the soul can attain is that of the Yechida, whose root is ‘Echad’ – one- where the soul is bound to Gd Himself.  Literally, it is at ‘one with Hashem’ which is the ultimate connection with Yom Kippur.

One man, Moshe Rabbeinu, was able to fight for our survival.  It is because of his efforts that our ancestors were saved from Gd’s wrath when our greatest Prophet and leader descended from Mount Sinai.  He was holding the second set of Tablets on the very first Yom Kippur and this showed our ancestors that they had been forgiven for the sin of the Golden Calf.

And all these years later, we are a united nation that prays together, irrespective of where we happen to find ourselves in the world on the single day in our calendar that acts a catalyst to bring us together.  We ask Gd, to forgive us, both on a personal level and as a people, united in hope and belief that things can improve.  It demonstrates the power of ‘one’.

Returning to my original theme, I think that when it comes to appreciating Yom Kippur we can respectfully disagree with Mr Nilsson.  One is certainly not the loneliest number.

It represents purity, unity and resilience.  It is our story.  We are the singular nation that survived despite the odds (pun intended).

We should use the opportunity that Yom Kippur provides us with, to ask for forgiveness from Gd.  On the same day that we received the second set of tablets and thousands of years later nearly faced the prospect of losing Eretz Yisrael, let us consider the power of this very day - the ONE period of 25 hours that will impact the rest of the year.  It all depends on the effort we put into our prayers, irrespective of the language we choose to utilize.

A single word, spoken from the heart is worth more than a hundred uttered thoughtlessly.

Wishing you all a continued meaningful and easy fast on this very special and unique day.  Gmar Chatimah Tovah – may we all be blessed with a wonderful year and one that we will wish to remember for all the best reasons - the one that we have prayed for.

Chag Sameach.

Rosh Hashanah: The Real Shofar

Rabbi Saadia Gaon (892 – 942 CE) was one of the most important and significant philosophers of his age and the Head (which is a translation of the word ‘Gaon’) of the great and influential Yeshiva of Sura in Baghdad.  It was one of the most respected academies in Babylon and throughout the Jewish World.

He lists ten reasons for blowing the Shofar on Rosh Hashanah:

1.    Rosh Hashanah is the anniversary of the creation of the world (through his forming Adam and Eve on this day, which was why the Earth was created) and so we are crowning Gd as the creator of the Universe on this day and the Shofar proclaims Him as sovereign of the Universe.

2.    Rosh Hashanah is the beginning of the Aseret Yemei Teshuvah, the Ten Days of Repentance.  The Shofar is therefore the means by which Gd wants us to hear a last warning to repent before we are finally judged on Yom Kippur, which is the culmination of these days.

3.    A Shofar was sounded on Mount Sinai at Gd’s revelation when He gave us the Torah.  We responded by saying that we would carry out His commandments (Na’aseh Venishmah – ‘we will do and we will listen’)

4.    Our ancient prophets’ warnings and exhortations are likened to the blasts of the Shofar.  As the prophet Ezekiel wrote (chapter 33, 4-5) “He who hears the sound of the shofar and does not take warning, the sword will come and take him away.  His blood will be upon his own head…but he who heeds warning will save his soul.”

5.    The Shofar reminds us of the destruction of the first Temple which took place while the sounds of our enemy’s trumpets were ringing in our ears.  When we hear the Shofar on Rosh Hashanah, we pray that our temple will be rebuilt.

6.    The Shofar, or Ram’s Horn recalls the willingness of Isaac to be sacrificed (there are opinions that the binding of Isaac took place on Rosh Hashanah).  When we hear the Shofar, we ask Gd to forgive us in his merit.  As we know, Abraham sacrificed a ram in his place.

7.    The sound of the Shofar fills our hearts with awe and reverence.  This is appropriate when we are in the presence of Gd, pleading for a positive outcome on Yom HaDin – Judgement Day.

8.    Hearing the Shofar reminds us of the ultimate Day of Judgement which we hope will happen soon.

In In the same vein, it is a portent of the coming of Mashiach when we will experience the ‘ingathering of the exiles’ to the Land of Israel.  We will shortly read the Mussaf prayer where we say, “And it will be on that day that a great Shofar will be sounded and those who were lost in the Land of Ashur…will come and prostrate themselves before the Lord on the holy mountain in Jerusalem.”

10. Finally, it is there to remind us of the future resurrection of the dead which will be heralded by the sound of the Shofar.

This comprehensive list sums up some or many of the reasons we have heard over the years for the sounding of the instrument.

From its earliest mention in the Torah, Rosh Hashanah (which is first called by this name in the Mishna) is called ‘Yom Teruah’ in the Torah.  The word ‘Teruah’ specifies the centrality of the Shofar to the Yom Tov.

Hearing the sound of this ancient instrument is therefore the mitzvah appertaining to the festival.  It’s more important than dipping an apple in honey or partaking of honey cake (although, many of us could not envisage Rosh Hashanah without the latter!)

You may legitimately enquire as to why, if this is so important, we do not blow the Shofar on Shabbat and I am happy to answer separately, but this constitutes a different Drasha entirely!On 29^th September 2016, Rabbi Sacks, of blessed memory, wrote an extremely prescient article for the Wall Street Journal titled ‘Rosh Hashanah and the Robots’.

https://www.rabbisacks.org/archive/rosh-hashana-and-the-robots-wsj/

He predicted the impact of AI (Artificial Intelligence) by quoting the documentary filmmaker James Barrett who, in 2013, ten years ago warned “of the rise of artificial intelligence - that is robots that are-all around smarter than humans.” in his book ‘Our Final Invention’.  Mr Barrett argued that “for the first time, humans will face a competitor that can outthink them at every stage and that the Earth may be nearing the end of the human era.”  I note that there is an updated edition of the book that came out a few months ago (https://www.amazon.co.uk/Our-Final-Invention-Artificial Intelligence/dp/1529434629/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2F6UAL4US1B36&keywords=our+final+invention+james+barrat&qid=1694344417&sprefix=our+final+invention%2Caps%2C253&sr=8-1).  Rabbi Sacks then quoted another source, Robert Ford, who in 2015 wrote a book on a similar theme entitled, ‘The Rise of the Robots - Technology and the Threat of Mass Unemployment’ where he stated the following:

‘Humanity has hardly begun to realize how far humans will be displaced from the world of work.  Robots have so far only taken over relatively mindless tasks, such as some of those in manufacturing.  Soon more professions will be hit.  Driverless cars and trucks will put millions out of work, while innovations like medicine without doctors will kill opportunities for even the most highly skilled workers.  Fewer and fewer humans will be needed to run the world, and they will have enormous power over the rest.’

It does not take a great deal of imagination to relate these predictions to our current times.  Although we have mercifully not reached the dire and terrifying spectacle of fully driverless cars or having Android doctors treating patients, the recent technological developments in the use of Artificial Intelligence are very concerning.

Recently, we have witnessed an AI created deepfake video advertisement on social media to try to convince us that Martin Lewis OBE, who has dedicated his life to assisting us to save money, is promoting an app associated with Elon Musk.  Both the computer-generated image and voice of Mr Lewis are fake and their intent is to scam people out of a great deal of money.

In a similar vein, Hollywood’s film production has virtually ground to a halt as screenwriters, actors and other industry professionals are striking as a result of their grave concerns regarding the use of AI to create screenplays or even films that they have not been involved with.  This in addition to other grievances regarding their low pay.

For many years, synthesizers have replicated the sound of instruments on recordings, and it is becoming increasingly more challenging to recognise whether the sound has been formed by a human or a machine.  Without even realising it, we have invited Artificial Intelligence into our homes, through the ubiquitous presence of devices such as Google Nest or Amazon Alexa (not to forget, Siri on iPhones).  As wonderful as these devices are, if we think about it, how much do we question the information they provide us with or the information they are gathering about us?

It appears that we are allowing technology to take over our lives to the extent that we are in danger of sidelining the importance of sound.  The type created by human beings, formed in our breath and projected via our lips.

With the advent of AI, we could believe that everything we hear or see is real.  It is so accurate and at the same time, persuasive.  The man in the advertisement looks like Martin Lewis and sounds like him.  How could it not be him?  We trust his advice.  Would he lie to us?

 The genuine sound of the shofar cuts through the mists of time.  Every year, from the first day of Ellul, through to Rosh Hashanah (omitting the eve of the Festival) and then, to mark the end of the Fast, it speaks to us, for all of the reasons that Rav Saadia Gaon listed.  We can choose the one that means the most to each of us or, if you wish, pick all ten.  The one thing that they have in common is the emphasis of how genuine the sound is and how important it is for us to hear it from an instrument which dates back beyond the origins of our faith.

The concerns regarding AI touch us at the deepest level of our conscious being.  On a positive note, the examples I gave of Martin Lewis’ concerns and those on the picket lines, remind us of our wish to use the technology in a responsible and productive manner.  All of the people I quoted are not calling for the abolition of such technology.  We all recognise that the metaphorical genie has been ‘released from the bottle’.  They are simply demanding that it be controlled and that, at the end of the day, what matters is the continued presence of real sound.  Words written by real screenwriters and scenes shot using living, breathing actors and actresses.

Real intelligence teaches us the limits of artificial intelligence.

There are many mitzvot associated with the blowing and hearing of the Shofar but in a nutshell, it comes down to one factor.  You can only fulfil the Biblically ordained commandment if the familiar sound you hear, the same one that was heard at Sinai, in all its iterations, is the product of a human breath.

Let us pray that next year, we will hear the Shofar sounding to announce either the arrival of Mashiach (reason #9) or the ingathering of our exiles (#8).

Wishing you and your families a truly genuine Shanah Tovah – a year of good health, peace and prosperity.  May we only hear good news from real people!

Amen.

Ki Teitzei: How Did I Get Here?

In loving memory of my father Yitzchak Asher ben Yechezkel Shraga zl who would have celebrated his 95^th birthday yesterday

The sky could not have been a more perfect shade of blue.  With a few white clouds to add some contrast, it looked like a recreation of the wallpaper from Andy’s room in the first scene of ‘Toy Story’.

With the warm breeze bathing our faces, this was as close to paradise as I can recall.  We walked arm-in-arm, me on her right-hand side and her mother on the left, as we approached the beautiful chuppah in the middle in the field.  My eldest daughter in a stunning wedding dress looked positively radiant with a smile that was so bright we could have measured it in kilowatts!  Her handsome Chatan came forward to lift the veil over her face for the Bedeken and I blessed them both before she joined him under the Chuppah, circling her bridegroom seven times, enacting the Jewish tradition that we are so familiar with.

It's not every day that a father has the honour of officiating at his own daughter’s wedding.  With a little help from another Rabbinic friend, I did just this on Tuesday afternoon.

As I was standing there, taking in the atmosphere and looking at the beautiful and joyous young couple, my mind skipped back to the night before.  I had been watching old videos of Hadassah moving around in her cot, doing the actions whilst I was singing, “When You’re Happy and You Know It…”  She clapped her hands, stamped her feet and said a toddler’s version of, “Hello!”  This same little girl was now standing in front of me, next to the handsome man who would shortly become my son-in-law.  It was an extraordinary moment.  And then a question occurred to me.

“How did I get here?”

I wasn’t referring to the long journey we had just experienced circling the M25 and coming across more temporary traffic lights along one road than I’d seen in the last year!  I was thinking about how I was now standing there in front of my daughter under the chuppah, about to perform a ceremony as a Rabbi in front of a crowd of friends and family.  This was something that I could never have dreamed of two decades ago when I filmed her jumping up and down energetically wide eyed, with a grin populated by a few lower teeth.

It wasn’t a ‘Sunrise Sunset’ moment (to be honest, I didn’t even think of the song throughout the day).  It was so much more than that.

Have you ever taken a moment to wonder how you’ve reached the point in your life where you are right now?  All the challenges you’ve had to face throughout your life to date, just to wake up this morning and realise that you’ve made it thus far?

Parashat Ki Tetzei presents us with the highest number of mitzvot/commandments in one Parasha in the entire Torah.  Seventy-four of them to be precise.  I wonder what was going through the minds of our ancestors as they listened to Moshe listing these commandments along the banks of the Jordan River some 3,300 years ago.

A few of the mitzvot included are:

·         The way to treat a female captive.

·         Inheritance rights of firstborn sons.

·         Building a safety fence around a roof.

·         Sending off a mother bird before taking her eggs from a nest.

·         Paying workers on time.

·         Interest on loans.

·         Forbidden forms of plant and animal hybrids.

·         Dealing with the wayward and rebellious son.

·         The Levirate Marriage (known as ‘Yibbum’ in Hebrew).

·         Blotting out the name of Amalek (which is also the maftir we read on Parashat Zachot, the Shabat before Purim.)

Picture yourself listening to these commandments.  The only environment you’ve ever encountered is that of the wilderness that your parents entered when they left Egypt.  Now Moshe, who you’ve only seen as an elderly man (albeit a remarkable one at that), is talking about things that you are finding difficult to relate to.  Yet, here you are, at this crucial moment in your nation’s history, about to embark on a journey into a land that you’ve never seen, in an environment that you have next-to-no knowledge of.

How can you make sense of it all?

The ‘connect’ between spending time with my daughter as a toddler and looking at her under the chuppah is admittedly less pronounced than the example I have just provided with regard to the Israelites.  However, the idea of how to connect the journey I have taken from watching Hadassah jumping around her cot to standing before her under the Chuppah brings me to the same question that our ancestors might have had back then. 

How did I get here?

When I say ‘here’, I don’t necessarily refer to the literal location that they found themselves to be in.  More a case, ‘what was the path of my life that I followed to bring me to this point?’

On the face of it, the seemingly disparate placing of the commandments together makes very little sense.  Rabbi Sacks however, as usual, provides us with a lifeline.  He explains that the dominant theme linking the various commandments is that of relationships.

These exist between people - men and women, parents and children, employers and employees, lenders and borrowers, humans and animals and I would humbly add (when it comes to Kilayim – hybrids), man and the earth.

Our ancestors may not have understood the context of what the commandments meant but they did know how important it was to appreciate, respect and foster good relationships with each other.  They knew that the reason why they had been born in the desert and not in the Promised Land, lay in the failings of their parents to trust Gd to protect them.  Had they done so, the spies and the people who believed their lies, would not have doubted Gd’s desire to bring them to the land flowing with milk and honey.  It was a breakdown in the relationship between the Israelites, Gd, Moshe and Aharon that led to the episode of the Golden Calf.  Similarly so, with the failed mission that had led to the forty-year wanderings.

Time and again, the people misjudged Gd and Moshe’s intentions.  They had all the manna needed, but it wasn’t enough.  Their complaints regarding the lack of water following Miriam’s death led to Moshe’s hitting the rock.  After all they had been through, did they honestly believe that Gd would not provide them with water?  All they had to do was ask for it instead of pushing their leader, who had risked his life fighting for their survival, to the point that he disobeyed Gd’s command to speak to the rock.

In answering the question of, “How did we get here?”, they could have taken a moment to appreciate the journey that had led them to this point, as surprising as it may have been.

And that is what went through my mind as I stared in awe at my beaming daughter under the chuppah, flapping in the warm summer breeze.  How did my life take me from a bedroom in Edgware to a field in Essex?  I knew that as a parent, there would always be challenges and that I would (and did) follow a path that, at times, wouldn’t make much sense to me.  Along a journey that I could never have envisaged, when I began my Semicha studies nearly ten years ago, did it occur to me that one day in the not-to-distant future, I would find myself in this position?

Our lives take us in so many different directions.  I guess that’s part of what it means to live and develop as humans.  We are all taking our own journeys, following our own paths, trying to make sense of our own lives.

Sometimes, we find ourselves asking the question of, “How did I get here?’

In doing so, we can appreciate that we may not know the answer.  Decisions that we take at one stage in our lives may not make sense until another.  That we made it through to the present day is a testament to who we are, whether or not we believe we did this through a Divine Plan that gently guided us.  I happen to believe that Gd has been instrumental in bringing me to this stage in my life.  Others will have their own rationale.

How did I get here?

I don’t know, but it resulted in standing before my daughter and her Chattan and being part of a process that led them to becoming the next link in the chain of Jewish survival.  It was worth every single hill and trough that I had to negotiate to get here since that first miraculous Shabbat when Hadassah entered our lives.

Wishing the Chattan and Kallah a long, happy and healthy life together.  Who knows, maybe one day I’ll be blessed to officiate at my grandchild’s chuppah too!

Shavuah Tov.

Shoftim: ‘I Have a (Three-and-a Half-Thousand-Year-Old) Dream’

 In just over a week, on 28th August, we will commemorate the sixtieth anniversary of one of the Twentieth Century's most remarkable and important speeches.  Standing on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC, before a crowd of 200,000 people, Dr Martin Luther King Jr spoke about the dream he had to see a society where Black and White people could live together peacefully as equals.

He described the persecution that Black people had faced in the century following the end of the American Civil War and how they were segregated in Southern States such as Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana and South Carolina.

Towards the end of his oration, he said the following:

"So even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream.  It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.  I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed:  We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the colour of their skin but by the content of their character.  I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the L-rd shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope… With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.  With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.  With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of G-d's children will be able to sing with new meaning: My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.  Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrims' pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of G-d's children, Black men and White men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual: Free at last.  Free at last.  Thank G-d almighty, we are free at last."

I was minded quoting this extraordinary speech when I was considering one of the verses in this week's Parasha of Shoftim.

Moshe, who would pass away weeks after delivering his second oration, was instructing our ancestors on the crucial task of setting up a system of justice once they had conquered the Land of Israel.

Our sidra begins with the following verse:

Appoint judges and officials for your tribes, in all the towns that the L-rd your Gd is giving you, to govern the people with equitable justice.  Do not pervert justice or show partiality.  Do not accept bribes for bribes blind the eyes of the blind and subvert the cause of the just.  Pursue justice, only justice. (Deuteronomy 16:18-19)

There is so much that I could say about the first few verses but for the purposes of this Drasha, I will concentrate on the last pasuk in my quote.

For as long as I can recall, I have been endowed with a deep sense of knowing what is right and ultimately, what is wrong.  I have always and will forever continue to fight to the 'nth degree if I believe that an injustice has been enacted upon me or others.  This is not to say that I don't admit defeat, because sometimes, one has no choice but to accept this, but that does not stop me believing (and protesting) about how unfair I see a situation to be.  Call it obstinacy if you will, but my sense of what is and is not just or fair is as deeply ingrained into my very being as the blood that flows through my veins.

I can readily relate to Dr King's words because they scream out as to how unjust the treatment of his fellow Black citizens was at the time and sadly, continues to be to this day in many countries.  That America was able to vote in a Black president was a crowning achievement (whether one agreed with his policies or not).  This still did not stop the brutal murder of George Floyd a few years later and the prejudice that sadly still exists both in America and in the rest of the world.  We only have the case of Steven Lawrence in this country to remind us of how Dr King's speech is just as relevant today as it was three score years ago.  In trying to unpick and understand the words 'Pursue justice, only justice', our commentators were unequivocal in their interpretations of what this really means.

The Ibn Ezra (died c.1167) (as quoted by Rashi et al.) writes:

“Moses speaks to the disputants.  Moses repeats the word justice to indicate that one should pursue justice whether one gains or loses.  Or the word is repeated to indicate that one should pursue justice as long as one exists; or the word is repeated for emphasis.”

The Ramban (d.  1270) writes:

“Go to seek a reliable court...The reason for the repetition [of the word “justice”] is to indicate that the judges should judge the people with righteous judgment, and you must also pursue justice constantly by going from your place to the place of the great Sages: “after Rabban Yochanan ben Zaccai to Yavneh; after Rabbi [Yehudah Hanasi] to Beth Shearim.”

In other words, the Ramban is emphasising the fact that if a court is unable to pass fair judgement, it needs to seek its authority from another court.

We are all too well aware of the significant levels of injustice that have transpired over the years in this country where innocent people were convicted of crimes they did not commit, such as the Birmingham Six, whose sentences which were pronounced by one court were quashed by another in 1991 after sixteen years and The Guildford Four/Maguire Seven in 1988 and 1991 after a similar amount of time in confinement.  Several recent cases also raised my ire in connection with a huge miscarriage of justice such as the scandal regarding the convictions of innocent postmasters by the Post Office between 1999 and 2015. 

As of last month, 86 convictions have been overturned and the cases are ongoing (there were a total of 700 people accused) and nearly £13 million has been paid out.  This of course cannot reverse the trauma of what has happened.  Thirty-three people have died without ‘knowing’ that they had been wrongfully accused.

Just last month, Andrew Malkinson was acquitted after serving twenty years having been wrongfully convicted of having raped a woman in Manchester.  It transpired that there was no DNA evidence linking him to the crime and that following his incarceration, Greater Manchester Police took measures to dismiss his appeal.  Those involved in this deception included a chief of the Police.

The examples that I have cited demonstrate how relevant the words of the Torah are so many years later and this is without even describing the institutionalized racism that exists against Black people and has done so for too many years.  You can read about this in a recent article in The Guardian^*

Dr King's speech has many references to the Torah that we hold so dear.  His call for freedom echoes our Prophets and later Rabbis' views that real freedom exists in the creation of societies built on a strongly defined and maintained rule of law, the equal treatment for all citizens and a solid foundation of justice.  One which grants everyone, irrespective of their gender, creed, ethnic background or physical condition the right to be protected and represented in equal measure.

The only way that this can happen is if we follow the words of the Torah and pursue justice, only justice.  If we have a justice system that is seen to be trustworthy and fair, it sends out the message that, from the very highest echelons of the State, nothing but the rule of law and the equitable treatment of all citizens is acceptable.  Without this, we cannot be surprised that the people who use the system, view it as flawed and unjust.  If we wish to mend society, the first place to begin the process is by ensuring that we pursue 'justice, only justice.'

Sixty years ago, Dr Martin Luther King reinforced the message that we have been reading about in the Torah for three and a half thousand years.  We the 'people of the book' want nothing more than to hold hands with our brothers, Black, White, Gentile, Protestant, Catholic, Muslim, Hindu and everyone else and sing a song of peace.

As we say in our prayers throughout the day: Ose Shalom Bimromav, Hu Yaaseh Shalom Aleinu Ve'al kol Yisrael -He who makes peace in His High places, make peace for us and all Israel.  Amen. It is a message that rings through the ears and through the years for justice and peace are indivisible – without one, you cannot have the other.  

Shavuah Tov

^*‘Met police found to be institutionally racist, misogynistic and homophobic.’