Parashat Chukat: Moshe's Influencer

Hers was the first voice I heard and continued listening to until it fell silent fifty-four years later.

I could begin this Drasha with the famous quote that ‘a boy’s best friend is his mother’ but granted it was uttered by Norman Bates in Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘Psycho’ film, it’s not best appropriate!

However, I do believe that the sentiment is accurate, at least in my case.

In my formative years, my mother was without a doubt the most influential person in my life.  She fed and nurtured and educated me, and the fact that I am bi-lingual is purely down to her speaking to me in French until I started nursery.  This is not to say that my father’s contribution was not an integral part of my upbringing.  In the long tradition of Jewish mothers, she was a force of nature and Dad was smart enough not to disagree.

From time immemorial, traditional Judaism has defined a Jewish person’s status through their mother’s line.  This makes sense as it is the mother who has the greatest influence on the child from the moment they enter the world.  Although our fathers would like to think they are in charge, we all know who really runs the household, don’t we?!  Additionally, there is never any doubt as to who the child’s mother is which, from a historical point, may not have been applicable to their father, granted our long and violent history of persecution.

Back to my mother. Her influence on me was such that, in primary school, I thrived under female teachers and with a few exceptions, clashed with my male instructors.  It was as though I instinctively gravitated towards the ‘mumsy’ type teachers over the stricter school ‘ma’ams’ (and their male equivalents).

I have a natural empathy for the fairer sex and my deep-seated belief in granting women equal rights was instilled in me by my late mother.  At university in the early 1990s, I recall writing an essay on the significance of The Equal Pay Act (1970) and The Sex Discrimination Act (1975) both of which were latterly replaced by the Equality Act (2010).  I was appalled that despite the 1970 Act, men and women were still being paid differently for performing identical jobs.

It also didn’t hurt that I came of age under Lady Thatcher’s premiership.  A leader whom I have always held in very high esteem (unlike my parents who despised her!)  She also helped to inform and influence my thinking at a crucial stage of my emotional development and awareness of the world.  All of the above embedded in me a high level of respect and admiration for women.

When Hashem is about to create Adam, He says (Bereshit 2.18)

‘It is not good for man to be alone. 
I will make him a fitting partner for him’.

The Hebrew expression used is ‘Ezer Kenegdo’ which literally means ‘someone to help him who will oppose him.’  Chazal understand that a truly loving female partner is one who is not afraid to criticize her male counterpart, for in doing so, she will make him a better person.  I don’t think any lady here would disagree with that sentiment and although we, the boys, might sometimes wince at this idea, deep down, we know that it makes a great deal of sense!

When I look at the other women who have influenced me over the years, I feel that I have been (mostly) blessed.  Gd (and nature), seeing that I coped better in female company gave me the gift of four fabulous daughters and a wonderful wife in Stephnie.  I am truly blessed on all accounts.

Mark Twain’s famous quote of, “Behind every successful man, there is a woman.” recalls this week’s Parasha.  In our case, the man is Moshe Rabbeinu and the woman is his sister, Miriam.

Rabbi Sacks ztl asks a crucial question regarding a seminal event that takes place in Chukat.  Why did Moshe lose his temper and hit the rock when Hashem had told him to speak to it?

Twice before, the people had complained about not having water, firstly at Marah where he took a branch to sweeten the waters and then at Rephidim where Gd told him to hit the rock which he did and this led to the waters flowing out.

Moshe had managed to overcome the previous challenges, Rabbi Sacks states, so why did he fail this third test?

As always, it is crucial to look at the context of what was happening.  In this case, we are told in Bemidbar 20.11 that:

 

 ‘In the first month, the whole Israelite community arrived at the Desert of Zin and they stayed at Kadesh.  There Miriam died and was buried.’

The Gemara in Taanit (9a) tells us that due to Miriam’s merit, there existed a well of water that accompanied the people on their journeys through the desert.  Upon her death, the well disappeared.  There was no more water and the next event that we are told about describes the people complaining about not having water.  This led to Moshe’s actions.

Rabbi Sacks’ understanding of the passage is subtle and empathetic.  Moshe had lost his big sister.  She had been with him throughout his life, from the time she carefully watched his basket as it floated on the River Nile and interceded on his behalf to Pharaoh’s daughter to arrange for their mother to nurse her brother.  She was there, leading the jubilant women who had witnessed the miracle of the parting of the sea in song.  She admonished Moshe through speaking to their brother Aharon when she was concerned about the breakup of his marriage to Tzipporah (for which she was punished with leprosy).  He begged Gd to heal her.  It is without a doubt that they loved and cared about each other as only siblings can.

And now she was gone and for the first time in his life, Moshe had to face a challenge of such magnitude without his sister being there to support him.  To influence his decision and to be his ‘ezer kenegdo’.  At this hurdle, our greatest leader stumbled.  As our late great former Chief Rabbi puts it:

“A careful reading of this famous episode in the context of Moses’ early life suggests that Miriam was Moses’ ‘trusted friend,’ his confidante, the source of his emotional stability; when she was no longer there, he could not cope with crises as he had done until then.” Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Lessons in Leadership, page 214.

Losing my mother just over three years ago literally ‘knocked me for six’ and I still think about her every single day and miss her sage advice.  I have been blessed in that my female influencers who gently took up her reins over the years (which I hasten to add, she encouraged!) continue to be my rocks and the people I turn to when I feel that I cannot cope with the curveballs that life throws in my direction every now and again.  This doesn’t mean that her influence is any less significant in my life. 

Like everything else it becomes who we are and who we aspire to be.

Returning to my original quotation, I would change it to a ‘boy’s best friend is an amalgamation of his wife, daughters, sister-in-law and any other lady who cares about his happiness and wellbeing.  These are our influencers, and we need to treasure them and heed their advice, even if we may sometimes disagree with it.

For it is women like Miriam, Sarah, Rebecca, Rachel, Hannah and Esther that have influenced their husbands, brothers, children and cousins.  And let’s not forget our mothers - they made us who we are!

Shavuah Tov. 

Parashat Korach: The Two Aarons

They are thoughts that have been embedded in our minds and present on our lips for numerous weeks.  Questions such as, “What kind of leader will take on the highest political position in the land following the General Election?  “Which priorities will drive his policies and those of his ministers?” and “Will we, the nation, benefit from their outcome?”

These are questions that weigh heavily in our thoughts.

The protagonist of this week’s Parasha, Korach had no such qualms.

‘Now (there) took Korach, son of Yitzhar, son of Kehat, son of Levi, together with Datan and Aviram, sons of Eliav and On, son of Pelet, the sons of Reuven and they rose up in the face of Moses with certain men of the children of Israel, two hundred-and fifty…’

Rashi famously questions the odd phraseology regarding the manner in which the Parasha begins, namely ‘Vayikach Korach’, which read literally would be ‘And Korach took’.

What exactly, asks Rashi, did he take?  Quoting the Midrash Tanchuma, he states that:

‘(Korach) took himself to one side, to be set apart from the congregation, to contend against the priesthood and that is how Onkelos renders it.  He set himself apart (i.e.) he separated himself from the rest of the congregation to establish a rebellion.’

Chazal, our rabbis, were in no doubt as to his motives and they were anything but altruistic.  In modern parlance, he was attempting a ‘power grab’ riding on the back of the events following the disastrous report of the spies that we read about in last week’s Parasha and the low morale it had engendered.  Datan and Aviram, Moshe’s old Reubenite foes (we first met them fighting each other in Egypt and threatening Moshe that they would reveal his killing of the Egyptian slave-master), joined the rebellion.  Their grievance lay in the fact that, as descendants of the oldest brother, they should have had ‘first dibs’ at the leadership.  This all made for an explosive power-keg waiting to ignite.

Korach’s idea of leadership was very different to the one demonstrated by Moshe and Aharon.  It was all about gratifying his lust for the power at the expense of everyone else.  Nominally using the concept of ‘strength in numbers’ to propel him to the top.

I’m sure we can think of many contemporary leaders who are more focused on their own interests than those of the people they claim to represent and by extension, protect.

The dictum of ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ doesn’t play a prominent role in their mission statement!

He accused the brothers of ‘setting themselves above the Lord’s people’ whom he had described as being ‘holy, every one of them and that the Lord was in their midst’.

To which Moshe replied,

“Listen now, you sons of Levi.  Is it not enough for you that the Gd of Israel has separated you from the Israelite community, enabling you to come close to Him to serve in the Lord’s Tabernacle and stand in the presence of the community to minister to Him….and yet you seek the priesthood also?’...Aharon, who is he that you should have grievances against him?”

The same Aharon who we are told in Pirkei Avot 1.12 ‘loved peace and pursued peace (amongst people)’.  That Korech was envious of Moshe’s position was one factor.  To have a grievance against the saintly peace-loving Aharon was something else altogether.

Aharon’s love towards others would be amplified thousands of years later in the guise of his namesake, a man by the name of Aaron Feuerstein (of blessed memory).

He was a businessman whose grandfather Henry, a Hungarian immigrant, had founded a textile company called ‘Malden Mills’ in 1906.  Their best-selling line consisted of synthetic fleece products known as Polartec.  Aaron took over the business in 1957.  The factory was based in Lawrence, Massachusetts.

On the night of 11^th December 1995, a fire broke out in the redbrick factory which, by the end of the day, had destroyed the three buildings that comprised Malden Mills.  It was literally ‘burned to the ground’ over a period of 16 hours injuring more than 30 workers and leaving 1,400 employees without a job - two weeks before Christmas.  It was one of the most devastating fires in the history of the State and there are differing reports as to whether there were 1,400 or 3000 employees.

Aaron Feuerstein could have understandably walked away and absolved himself of the responsibility for what had happened.  However, he chose a different path.  According to the New York Times (5^th November 2021), three days after the blaze, when most of the workers were lining up to receive their final pay checks, he joined the queue, handed out holiday bonuses and announced that he would reopen as much as the factory as he could, reconstruct the destroyed buildings and continue to pay the entire workforce for a month, despite their not being able to work.  He extended this promise twice.

https://www.timesofisrael.com/mensch-of-malden-mills-who-paid-workers-even-after-factory-burned-dies-at-95/

The Boston Globe quoted Feuerstein as saying:

“I’m not throwing 3,000 people out of work two weeks before Christmas.”

 Feuerstein also explained after the fire that he was guided by Jewish tradition.

“When all is moral chaos, this is the time for you to be a mensch,”

he said.’

A deeply religious man and a graduate of Yeshiva University, Aaron Feuerstein kept his word and the millions he paid out, eventually led to his losing control of the company.  After a downturn, he had no option but to place it into bankruptcy in 2007.  It was bought by a private equity firm which closed down the factory and relocated the manufacturing to Tennessee.  Five years ago, Polartec, as it was now known, was bought out by Milliken an industrial manufacturing company.

Aaron Feuerstein passed away at the age of 95 in 2021 without ever regretting his actions.

In a 2003 episode of 60 Minutes entitled, ‘The Mensch of Malden Hills’, he said:

“You are not permitted to oppress the working man, because he’s poor and he’s needy, amongst your brethren and amongst the non-Jew in your community.”

 

The two Aarons though separated by thousands of years are examples of what it means to be a great leader.  Men who placed those for whom they were responsible ahead of their own personal ambitions.  Aharon Hakohen, the first High Priest could have distanced himself from others by stating that, as a Kohen Gadol, he had to place all of his focus on the important work he did.  Instead, he prioritised healing rifts between people doing everything in his power to bring people together to set aside the animosity they might have felt as a result of an argument.

Aaron Feuerstein displayed the ultimate Kiddush Hashem, sanctification of Gd’s name by supporting his employees and their families for as long as they were unable to work because of the fire.

Compared alongside these two giants, Korach and the type of leader that we are all too familiar with, pale into insignificance.  Their attempts at aggrandisement often result in a great deal of misery for those who are impacted by their selfish acts.  Many of the world’s current leaders could learn a great deal from both Aarons.

No one knows what the future will bring, and which kind of leaders will make the decisions that will impact all of our futures.

Shakespeare wrote in Twelfth Night (Act 2: Scene 5)

‘Some Are Born Great, Some Achieve Greatness, And Some Have Greatness Thrust Upon Them.’

We hope and pray that whoever is chosen to lead us, proves to be wise enough to learn from the altruistic actions of the truly great leaders that I have described today.

Shavuah Tov and Chodesh Tov. 

Parashat Beha'alotecha: This One's For You, Dad

 Dedicated to the memory of my dear father, R’ Yitzchak Asher ben Yechezkel Shraga on the anniversary of his passing.

Dear Dad,

I’m writing to you because you’ve been on my mind throughout the last year, particularly over the course of this week.

I am writing these words on Tuesday evening, in the knowledge that in just over 48 hours, I will be reaching the end of my year of aveilut/mourning for you.  I will mark the occasion by switching off the electric light imprinted with the words ‘Ner Neshama’ – ‘a light for the soul’ at the end of the day, once darkness has fallen.

The light has remained on since 3^rd July last year, corresponding with 14^th Tammuz which was the day your soul left the home it had inhabited since the end of 1927.

Actually, I’m not being wholly accurate.  The light was damaged when your step great-grandchildren dropped a board game on it causing a temporary blip!  Thankfully Benjamin, Stephnie’s youngest son and Adam, Gabrielle’s boyfriend, worked their magic to restore it. Sorry about that!

As you know, in this week’s Parasha of Beha’alotecha, we read that G-d told Moshe to instruct his brother Aharon on the process of preparing and kindling the Menorah for its daily use in the Mishkan. These instructions were passed on to his sons and descendants.

To this day, every shul in the world has a ner tamid/everlasting light to remind us of the Menorot in the Mishkan and Batei Mikdash/Temples.  This is in addition to our recreating the act over the eight days of Chanukah in our homes.

Dad, you know that in Judaism, we put great emphasis on the importance of light.  Every Friday night, we light candles in honour of Shabbat and bid farewell to our holy day through the kindling of the Havdalah Candle the next day.

We appreciate that, just as wicks or candles bring light to the world, so do people.  When you smiled, your soul shone through your eyes.  You lit up a room and brightened the mood.

Your ner zikaron, though small and placed in the corner of our living room, has been a lasting reminder of how missed you are and the modest light it emits has been a constant reminder that, by your loss, our lives have been darker.

The practice of lighting a Yartzheit candle for a departed relative on the Hebrew anniversary of their passing probably goes back to Mishnaic times, whilst the lesser known minhag/custom of keeping a light on in the home for a year is more recent.  In the past, Chabad communities would ensure that a candle was lit over the period of the year in the shul.  These days, we use electric memorial boards instead.  They are probably safer too!

A contemporary Rabbi, the Nitei Gavriel, Rabbi Gavriel Zimmer, who lives in Boro Park (which isn’t far from where you lived) quotes the Ruach Chayim (Rabbi Chaim Palagi d.1868) who was the Turkish (and therefore Sephardi) Chief Rabbi of Smyrna as being the source for this custom.  I remember when you honoured your parents by keeping a light on for an entire year upon their passing (along with mum’s departed relatives).

Dad, you and mum provided much of the spiritual light that powers me today.  You encouraged me to develop my knowledge and share it with others.  You lit the internal menorah that burns brightly inside me to this day, replicating the beautiful acts performed by Aharon as described at the start of Beha’alotecha.

I therefore feel a modicum of sadness knowing that when I push that switch, the light that served as a bridge between the day you passed away and the end of my year of mourning will be extinguished.

The consolation I will have lies in the knowledge that, although the physical light will return to the drawer that keeps it safe on non-Yartzheit days, the spiritual light that I received from you will never be diminished inside me.

As Jews, we understand the concept of darkness.  At times like these, it sometimes feels that we are enveloped deeply inside it.  But, dad, you always taught me that each day brings new hope and you made me realise that we should be thankful for the light we are blessed to have through the family we have and the friends we treasure.

Sure as last summer was followed by autumn and then winter, before I knew it, spring had arrived and now, in early summer, it is the time for me to end my year of mourning for you.

I want to start this new year remembering you without the bitterness of mourning and although that means moving on, it also gives me the opportunity to bathe in the light that you provided for me.

Thank you, Dad and take care of Mum up there for me.

Your loving son, Claude.

Shabbat Shalom.

Parashat Bemidbar: Saving Private Cohen

Note: The following Drasha/Sermon was written before the extraordinary (and miraculous) rescue of the four hostages from Gaza on the morning that I delivered the sermon (I only found out about the events after the termination of Shabbat). The courageous joint operation by the IDF, Shin Bet (Security Services), Yamam (National Counter-Terrorist Unit and Police) emphasised the message that I am conveying in these words.

This Drasha is dedicated to the memory of Police Chief Inspector Arnon Zamora, zichrono livracha (of blessed memory) who was tragically killed during the rescue.

Twenty-four minutes.

If you’ve seen the film ‘Saving Private Ryan’, this is the length of the vivid recreation of the  D-Day landings that introduces the story.  It is so graphical in its depiction of the horrors of war, that once witnessed cannot be easily forgotten.  At the time, one of the veterans of the 101st Airborne Division was quoted as saying, “it felt like I was right there again.  It was so damned real.”  Another one said, “That’s as real as a movie could get without the smell of gunpowder and putrefying bodies.” A third, representing the views of many, spoke to CBS News and said how, “watching the movie was like being back in battle.” (https://tinyurl.com/y6z5dewn)

In fact, the depiction of the Normandy Invasion (and the subsequent story) was so accurate that the United States Department of Veteran Affairs (VA) provided a free telephone hotline to help any veterans who had viewed the film cope with the PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) they experienced from watching the film.  Some veterans found it difficult to sleep and found solace in the fact that the screen they were watching it on ‘could block the barrage of bullets that were coming their way’.

Those twenty-four minutes are, at least in my mind, some of the most harrowing scenes I have ever witnessed on the silver screen.

For the uninitiated, the film, though fictional in nature, tells the story of a group of soldiers led by Tom Hanks’ Captain John Miller, who are sent on a mission in occupied Europe to rescue Private James Frances Ryan.  Following the battle, we are told that two of his brothers were killed on the beachhead and a third had been killed in action in New Guinea.  Subsequently, their mother would receive three of the dreaded telegrams on the same day.  To alleviate the grief she would be feeling, it is known that there is a fourth son and that their mission is to bring him back home.  At this time, it is not clear whether or not Private Ryan is still alive.

The tagline for the film was: ‘In the Last Great Invasion of the Last Great War, The Greatest Danger for Eight Men was Saving...One.  The mission is a man.’

The true story which inspired the film derived from a 1944 application of the ‘sole-survivor policy’ with regard to repatriating to the United States Paratrooper Frederick Niland who had lost his three brothers in the war.  To spare his parents the agony of losing all four of their sons.

On Thursday, we commemorated the eightieth anniversary of that invasion.  The US National D-Day Memorial Foundation has calculated that 4,414 allied personnel were killed on 6^th June 1944.  This included 2,501 Americans, 1,449 British, 391 Canadians and 73 from the other Allied contingents.

Wednesday marked the fifty-seventh anniversary of another battle and one that was arguably just as significant to our people.  I am of course referring to the liberation of Jerusalem on 7^th June 1967 (corresponding with 28^th Iyar 5727).

776 IDF soldiers were killed in action over the course of the Six Day War which is less than 20% of those who fell on D-Day.  However, the reunification of Jerusalem is as significant a part of our Jewish history as D-Day was to the countries fighting each other over the course of the Second World War.  In both cases, the outcome led to the eventual defeat of nations who were sworn enemies of the Jewish people (setting aside the Japanese who are not included here).

The Nazis wanted to rid the world of its Jews.  The Egyptians, Syrians and Jordanians wanted to rid Israel of its Jews.  Their methods may have been different (and I am not comparing the Arab Armies to the Nazis and their allies) but they were united in their hatred of our people.

Fortunately, after nearly a hundred years, we are at peace with all our former enemies (aside from Syria).

I haven’t come across a film called ‘Saving Private Cohen’ set in a period which would recreate events from the first few weeks of June 1967.  I also can’t recall sitting through a twenty-four-minute depiction of what it must have been like to liberate the Old City as an IDF Paratrooper (for the record, it was the 55^th Paratrooper, Jerusalem and Harel Brigades along with armoured support that liberated the city…and of course Gd’s Divine Assistance!)

I have however found something else and you can read it in this week’s Parasha.

Bemidbar starts with Gd telling Moshe to take a census of the Bnei Yisrael just over a year after they had left Egypt.  Rashi tells us that Gd told Moshe to count the nation several times including a tally that took place following the sin of the Golden Calf followed by a further two in the desert.  The first census is detailed in this week’s Parasha near the start of the forty-year period and the second, later in the book, as they were about to enter the Land of Israel.

Rashi states that the reason why Gd wanted to count us was because of his love for the Jewish People.  As anyone who values something will tell you (such as a collector of artefacts), you derive a great deal of pleasure from numbering the items you own.  So it is with Gd who loves us so deeply that he wants to know how many children (in the widest sense of the word) He has fathered.

We are those ‘children’.

It is well-known that the IDF has a policy that they will never leave an injured or dead soldier on the battlefield.  To Tzahal (army), every soldier counts.  Every single chayal (soldier) is an extended member of the IDF family.  So, if Hollywood ever made a ‘Saving Private Cohen’ film, it’s accurate tagline would be: ‘In Every Israeli War, The Greatest Danger for Eight IDF Soldiers was Saving...One.  The mission is a man or a woman.’

We have witnessed this time and again in these last impossibly challenging and heartbreaking months where soldiers are being killed in their efforts to find our hostages.  Which other nation would see its nationals rushing to a war zone from every corner of the world as happened following the massacres of 7^th October?

On a daily basis in Gaza, our teenage brothers and sisters, accompanied by older soldiers, are literally risking their lives to save ‘Privates Berman, Ohana, Bibas, Sharabi, Bohbot, Goldberg-Polin, Shem-Tov’ and over a hundred other hostages.  They are fighting against an enemy who eagerly embraces the ideologies of those who brought savagery and evil into our world for the six years between 1^st September 1939 and 8^th May 1945 and the six days between 5^th and 10^th June 1967.

They do so because they understand that, in the words of the Talmud (Sanhedrin 37a):

‘Anyone who sustains one soul from the Jewish people, the Verse ascribes him credit as if he sustained an entire world.’

The fictional soldiers who risked their lives to save Private Ryan might have been based on those who brought Paratrooper Frederick Niland back to the bosom of his family.

Over 290 IDF soldiers have been killed trying to save the notional privates that I listed above.  Not to forget those who lost their lives trying to protect civilians on 7th October itself.

In the past, it was easy to distinguish between the oppressor and the oppressed.  That Israel, the true victim of Hamas’ genocidal policy, is treated as the enemy by some that we mistakenly considered to be friends is both shocking and deeply worrying.

We are so proud of our boys and girls in the IDF who are continuing the tradition that every single person counts.

We don’t need another 6^th June or 7^th October to remind us of what happens when evil is allowed to flourish.

May Gd who loves His people so much that He wanted to count us, take another census and help them to save our real ‘Private Ryans’ and hopefully, this will be the one which precedes the coming of Moshiach.

May he come speedily in our days and bring and to war forever.

Amen.

Shabbat Shalom. 

Parashat Behar: Our Symbiotic Relationship

On Mount Sinai, the Lord spoke to Moshe, “Speak to the Israelites.  Say: When you enter the land that I am giving you, the land shall keep a Sabbath to the Lord.  For six years you may plant your fields, prune your vineyards and harvest their crops.  But the seventh year shall be to the land a Sabbath of complete rest, a Sabbath to the Lord.  You shall not sow your fields or prune your vineyards; you shall not harvest what grows of itself or gather the grapes of your unpruned vine; it is a year of rest for the land. 

My mother’s maternal side lived in Kraków and, like most Jews, knew very little about farming.  My great-grandfather, Kalman Bienenzucht (the German term for beekeeping) was a wine merchant who travelled from the suburb of Podgórze to Germany to sell wine to monasteries. Farming was strictly out of bounds. Incidentally, Podgórze would later be the location of the Ghetto which was established on 3^rd March 1941and from which the Jews were later deported to several concentration camps including Auschwitz. Nearly every member of his family was murdered although he survived and died of natural causes hiding in Spa, eastern Belgium in 1942.

Few Jews in Poland (unlike their counterparts in Russia) were farmers.  Reading this week’s Parasha, I wonder if they could have countenanced the notion that ‘shmitta’, a set of laws that had been (understandably) neglected for nearly two millennia, would re-enter into our vocabulary as a going concern less than a century later?

He died six decades after the Rabbis in pre-State Palestine re-introduced the concept and six decades after Jews started returning to our ancient homeland in their droves.

Shmitta was now relevant once again but it had to be interpreted in an era that was markedly different to the last time it had been enacted.  When the Jews started returning and working the land, establishing kibbutzim and moshavim (settlements), it was practically impossible to observe the laws of shmitta, granted that they would have had to cease production on the land for a year.  Hence, they cleverly reused an idea that we’ve just employed over Pesach.

In the same way that we sell our chametz to Gentiles to obviate owning it and transgressing another Torah command, they introduced the concept of ‘heter mechira’ which means a ‘sale permit’.  The Jews could sell their land to the non-Jewish inhabitants for a small amount and then employ Gentiles to work that land during the shmitta year.  The farms would be operational and the shmitta produce would be available to all.  This is the model that has been used since (as you may recall last year throughout the latest shmitta).

The laws of shmitta in this week’s Parasha underscore the symbiotic relationship between the Jewish people and the Land of Israel.  Hashem tells us that when we observe the laws of shmitta, we will receive a bumper crop in the sixth year of the cycle which will provide enough food to last for three years.  He reminds us that the land is His and we are ‘merely migrants’.  As long as we keep the rules, we deserve to inhabit the land.

The Tanach (Chronicles II, 36 21) quotes Jeremiah who prophesised that the initial exile following the destruction of the first Beit Hamikdash lasted for 70 years…

…in fulfilment of the word of the L-RD spoken by Jeremiah, until the land paid back its sabbaths; as long as it lay desolate it kept sabbath, till seventy years were completed. 

The Jews had neglected to observe ten cycles of shmitta and as a result, they were exiled for that precise amount of time.

Throughout the time that we were exiled from the land it regressed.  We only need to look at the help provided by Sir Moses Montefiore to assist the beleaguered Jewish community to see how difficult the situation was.  Without Jewish presence, the land withered and slid into obscurity.  Once our nation returned and reinstated our ancient laws, the agricultural miracle that is the State of Israel came into being.  For Israel to bloom, it must be inhabited by Jews.  For our nation to thrive and survive, we need to inhabit our ancient homeland.

One of the tragedies emanating from the massacres of 7th October, in addition to the murder and abduction of so many people, was the devastation inflicted on the kibbutzim and the flora and fauna therein.  Not to be beaten, Jews from both within and outside Israel came forward to provide invaluable assistance in terms of helping with the harvest, picking fruit and doing everything they could to assist in the vital agricultural work that had been impacted as there are many farms that are struggling to survive.

It could take years to fully recover from the damage that has been done but the Jewish people have a long history of clinging tenaciously to our homeland.

The laws of shmitta are inexorably linked to the idea of freedom.  Working the land for six years allows it to be ‘free’ on the seventh in the same way that we are blessed to have Shabbat as our day of ‘freedom’ from work.

It is not a coincidence that the shmitta year also enabled Jewish slaves to be free and upon the completion of the forty-nine-year cycle, in the fiftieth, Jubilee year, all land and property returned to its original owner.  The Jubilee year can only be celebrated when all twelve tribes return to the Land of Israel.

Nearly a hundred years after the death of my great-grandfather, ancient laws that he might have considered to be obsolete are very much part of our lives.

We can only hope and pray that soon the whole world will come to recognise that our symbiotic relationship with the Land of Israel was not predicated on a UN vote in November 1947.  It can be found throughout the Torah and particularly in this week’s Parasha.

May we merit the coming of Moshiach and the return of our brothers and sisters from the four corners of the world, Amen!

Shavuah Tov.

Parashat Kedoshim: The Letters That Define Us.

Dalet (ד), Kuf (ק), and Shin (ש) are three letters of the alef-bet that pronounced individually have no symbolic meaning (although as we know, the letter Shin represents G-d’s name through its use on religious items such as Mezuzot and Tefillin).

Join them together and they form one of the most important shorashim/roots in the Hebrew language.  A word, that is so integral to our faith that without it, the religion that we practice would be completely unrecognisable.

That root is the word קָדַשׁ (Kodash).

One of the names we call Gd is Hakadosh Baruch-Hu, the Holy One, Blessed be He.

We have just celebrated the festival of Pesach and the Seder begins with Kadesh.     Imagine observing Shabbat without making Kiddush or enjoying a Kiddush after shul?  How would a mourner be able to honour their departed relative without reciting Kaddish (and we know how upset we feel when we are unable to form a minyan)?  Our Torah Scrolls are stored in the Aron Kodesh.  That minyan enables us to recite the Kedusha prayer in the repetition of the Amidot that are recited throughout the entire week at Shacharit, Mincha and when applicable, Musaph.

Our Temple was known as the Beit Hamikdash and the Kodesh Hakodashim or Holy of Holies was where the Ark of the Covenant was stored (in the First Temple).  It was accessed by the Kohen Gadol/High Priest on the holiest day of the year, Yom Kippur.

Anything that was consecrated for use in the Temple such as animals for offerings of monetary donations towards the treasury to pay for the building’s upkeep were considered to be Hekdesh.  Since Talmudic Times, we have continued this concept to cover mitzvot such as giving Tzedaka, in terms of not misusing funds that were consecrated towards providing monetary relief to the poor members of our communities.

You may have seen the acronym קק  (or KK) as part of the name of a Synagogue. This stands for Kahal Kodesh which means a ‘Holy Community’.

These are a few examples of how the shoresh of the word ‘k-d-sh  ק־ד־שׁ’ is embedded within the DNA of Judaism.

But what does the word ‘kodesh’ mean and what does it represent?

On a simple/peshat level, Kodesh means holy or sacred.

I found a lovely definition of the word on https://www.balashon.com/2022/04/kodesh-and-kadosh.html

The author writes…

…that the root קדש has two primary connotations.

1) ‘to be holy’, in the sense of ‘lofty, exalted’, even ‘perfect’, and perhaps closer to divine.  This is captured well by the English word ‘holy’ (and the related ‘hallow’) which derives from an earlier root meaning ‘whole, uninjured’ (and is ultimately cognate with ‘whole’ as well.)

2) ‘to set apart, separate.’  Perhaps this meaning could better be expressed with the adjective ‘sacred,’ and the verb ‘sanctify’, both of which derive from roots indicating separation or consecration.

When we sanctify something, we give it a separate Halachic status.  On Shabbat, we do this by blessing the day when make the bracha of ‘mekadesh HaShabbat – He who sanctifies the Sabbath’ through the blessing over the wine or grape juice.

Kedushah or holiness is therefore a state which separates a person or item from other people or objects.  You may be surprised to hear that one of the Biblical words to describe a harlot is Kedesha (see Bereishit 38:21, with regard to Judah’s description of his unrecognizable daughter-in-law, Tamar).  This is because she is woman who separates herself from the rest of a moral driven society.

Our national connection with this idea of Kedusha (as representing separation and holiness) finds its origins in Gd’s instruction to our ancestors at the foot of Mount Sinai.

As we were about to receive the Torah, He told us (Shemot 19) that if we faithfully heeded His voice and kept His covenant, we would be His treasure among all the peoples…Mamlechet Cohanim – a kingdom of priests and Goy Kadosh – a holy nation.

At Sinai, holiness, sacredness and therefore separation were branded into our national consciousness.  To be Gd’s nation, to represent His presence on earth, to teach His Torah - which He gave to us – to the rest of the world, meant having to be different from others. 
Not better but different.

This week’s Parasha begins with G-d’s instruction to Moshe:

“Speak to all the community of Israel.  Say…Kedoshim Tihiyu, ki kadosh Ani Hashem Elokeichem – Be holy, for I am holy, I The Lord your Gd.”

Parashat Kedoshim provides detailed instructions on what holiness entails.  How, we as a nation must prioritise a different set of laws and moral standards that were vastly dissimilar to those kept and practiced by the other nations who surrounded us, both near and far.  If we followed Gd’s commands, we would reap the rewards of His beneficence.

On the flip side, we discovered that we also suffered as a result of the inevitable hate directed at us from those who saw us as different.  Those who did not respect or value the tight-knitted and caring societies that we established.  Those who resented the righteousness we espoused and the strong moral compass that underpinned the way we behaved.

Throughout the centuries that followed, we paid the price for being Kedoshim – holy, and the term itself came to represent those of our nation who were killed ‘al Kiddush Hashem’ – sanctifying Gd’s name.

Last Monday, we remembered the six million Kedoshim - the holy martyrs of the Shoah.  Tomorrow night, we will mark the commencement of Yom Hazikaron which recalls many other Kedoshim.  The holy souls who have been killed protecting and living in Medinat Yisrael including those who were martyred on 7^th October and ever since.

Being separate may encourage us to live by a different set of moral rules.  It also requires us to pay a bloody price in terms of the suffering we have been subjected to and continue to endure from those whose despise us – precisely because we are Kadosh.

In just over two weeks, I will be completing the eleven months of reciting Kaddish in memory of my father.  For those of us who have gone through the mourning process, we know how lonely it feels to sometimes find yourself being the only one to recite the prayer.

Many people don’t like to draw attention to themselves in shul.  They are happy to sit at the back and blend in with others.  They come to shul, talk a little, pray, speak to their friends, enjoy the kiddush and return home.  Reciting Kaddish removes their anonymity and instantly, every ear in the building is focused on listening to them.

Stephnie and I recently spent Pesach at the new BNJC hub in Hove.  As you may be aware, it is also the new home of the Brighton and Hove Hebrew Congregation (BHHC).  Throughout the Chag, I was one of two or three people saying Kaddish.  Despite my having recited this prayer probably close to two thousand times over the last ten months, I felt very conscious whenever it was time to recite this (despite knowing how important it is in helping my dear father’s soul reach its heavenly destination).

On the last day of Yom Tov, something extraordinary took place.  At the end of Yizkor, every single person in the room recited Kaddish alongside me.  For the first time, we were united in this incredible, holy prayer.  It was the very epitome of what it meant to be part of Goy Kadosh – a holy, sacred nation.  I was so moved that it almost took my breath away.

Three letters that may seem to be insignificant, underpin who we are.  Irrespective of how connected or disconnected some of our brethren may be, I would wager that it is a minority of Jews who don’t know what a Kiddush is.  It is a handful who wouldn’t appreciate or be moved by hearing someone recite Kaddish and it is even fewer who wouldn’t know what we place inside an Aron Kodesh (even if they don’t know its Hebrew name).

Each of us has a Kedushah gene in our Jewish DNA regardless of whether we can understand or explain why we are different and what makes us so.  That it takes antisemitism to wake this up in some is desperately sad but at the same time, it reminds us of who we are and where we originate.

Kaf, Dalet and Shin form the single word which defines us, for we are Gd’s Holy nation.

Along with the Angels, we praise Gd as being Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh - Holy, Holy, Holy.

May He sanctify us and bring us to the eternal redemption with the coming of Moshiach.

Amen and Shavuah Tov.