2 February 2024
Dear Members and Friends,
What are we to think about the war in Gaza? How should we respond to South Africa’s case in the International Court of Justice (ICJ) that Israel has committed genocidal acts in Gaza and with genocidal intent? The ICJ’s ruling came the day before Holocaust Memorial Day, with what Rabbi Donniel Hartman, President of the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem, described as a ‘yellow card’ issued by The Hague. Although it stopped short of demanding a ceasefire, it ordered Israel to take action to prevent acts of genocide as it wages war against Hamas terrorists. And it demanded that Israel take measures to improve the humanitarian situation for Palestinian civilians in Gaza.
Two days later, right wing messianic nationalists, including 12 cabinet ministers assembled at a conference calling for the renewal of Israel’s settlements in Gaza, dismantled in 2005 after Israel’s withdrawal from the coastal enclave.
For the majority of Israelis who are profoundly disturbed and disorientated by this ultra-nationalist messianic fantasy and for Jews around the world, the political and theological divisions are dangerous and destructive.
The State of Israel is not a place in which we can work out our theological beliefs. Liberal Judaism, for precisely this reason, rejected the idea of a personal Messiah and the pre-messianic wars of Gog and Magog that would bring turbulence and suffering, of venerating the land above its people. It repudiated nationalism and adopted a universal – human perspective, with a vision of peace and harmony for all humanity.
But where is the alternative vision to this messianic madness? The current reality is so unbearable: the long night of captivity for the hostages, and the agonising wait by families for their return; the insufferable pain of those whose family members and friends were murdered on October 7th or whose men-folk are losing their lives fighting in this war; the death of Palestinian civilians in Gaza, the destruction of and displacement from their homes.
The pages of the Torah are open before me – this week’s parashah Yitro in which the Israelites prepare for revelation on Mount Sinai. These chapters lie at the heart of the Torah, at the very centre of the Book of Exodus and they are terrifying. Three long days as the Israelites, encamped in the desert of Sinai wait for Moses to return from communing with God.
As morning dawns on the third day, there is thunder and lightning, and a dense cloud descends upon the mountain and a long blast of the shofar. The people tremble as they look on the fire and see the smoke rising like the smoke of a kiln, and standing at the foot of Sinai, they feel the mountain quake.
It is the Hebrew expression ‘at the foot of the mountain’ – b’tachtit ha-har – literally ‘underneath the mountain’ that gives rise to the midrash that God plucked up the mountain, held it over the heads of the Israelites and said them, ‘If you keep My commandments, all will be well; but if you do not keep my commandments, here will be your grave’ (bShabbat 88a).
I wonder if there is some hidden power in our weekly reading of the Torah – a narrative that has accompanied us since October 7th, from the creation and destruction of the world in Bereshit and Noach, to the sibling rivalry of Cain and Abel, Esau and Jacob, Joseph and his brothers, from the unendurable slavery in Egypt and unspeakable portents brought down upon the heads and homes of the Egyptians, to this moment of revelation, law and hope – the giving of the commandments on Mount Sinai.
Is there a moment in war when men have had enough? When the warnings begin to be heard, when they begin to see each other’s faces, each other’s humanity, and reason and diplomacy can break through? When suddenly people see that there are lessons to be learnt from the past, not repetitions?
We must pray and hope and guard carefully those commandments that were given to the Jewish people to share with the world: ‘I the Eternal One am your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage…’ (Exodus 20:2).
Shabbat Shalom,
Alexandra Wright
Reflections on Hostages, Israel, and Gaza
9 February 2024
Dear Members and Friends,
This week, a friend of mine brought me a tag from Israel. It looked like an army name tag, but instead of the name, it had two inscriptions. The Hebrew phrase on top says, ‘Our heart is in captivity in Gaza’, and the bottom part has ‘Bring them home – now!’ written in English. It breaks my heart to think of the families and friends of those who know that their loved ones are hostages in Gaza. This gift coincided with my reflections on the meaning of ‘Bring Them Home’ signs, the two hostages that the LJS ‘adopted,’ and how I think we should see these signs as a religious Jewish community. [*1] I decided to attach this tag to my backpack and hope that a day will come soon when all the hostages will be freed and innocent people in Gaza will stop dying.
This week’s news agenda in Israel was dominated by the prospect of a new deal between Israel and Hamas and the hope that more hostages might be released in exchange for a temporary ceasefire, the release of Palestinian prisoners and some other conditions. Unfortunately, by the time I write this article, this hope remains very distant, and it is unlikely that they will agree. However, it led me to ask myself– what would I do if I had any influence on the Israeli government? Would I agree to ANY hostage deal, even if it meant releasing thousands of convicted terrorists from prisons?
These questions reminded me of a series of articles I recently read on the Jewish Review of Books website. They were written by Israeli Rabbi Elli Fischer, who translated and explored Rabbi Ovadia Yosef’s halakhic opinion on whether Israel could release terrorists in exchange for the hostages of the hijacked Air France Flight 139 in 1976. [*2] In the end, Israel conducted a military operation, ‘Entebbe’, and released all hostages, so there was no need to an exchange deal. However, Rabbi Yosef’s response is a fascinating read and might be relevant for today’s situation.
Throughout history, Jewish people have had to pay high ransoms to free captives. For centuries, money was the only tool available to them for redeeming hostages from captivity. However, after the hijacking of Air France Flight 139, Rabbi Ovadiah Yosef was faced with a difficult decision. He was asked to evaluate the acceptability of a different approach - exchanging captives for imprisoned terrorists. Despite the moral complexity of the situation, Rabbi Yosef's decision was ultimately guided by his commitment to the safety and well-being of all individuals involved.
Without going into too much detail, Rabbi Yosef argues that releasing convicted terrorists from prisons is a potential future danger to the lives of Israelis and Jews all over the world, but abducted hostages face real and immediate threats to their lives now. Therefore, there is no such thing as ‘too high price’ to pay for the release of a hostage. After citing many cases and Rabbinic sources, he concluded: ‘Even if there are grounds to say that [exchanging terrorists for hostages] is considered an overpayment since the present case [of the Entebbe hostages] entails substantial danger, we do not exhibit concern that they will redouble their efforts to seize more captives.’
I wasn't surprised to learn that Rabbi Yosef wasn't consulted beforehand on the permissibility of the rescue operation. Throughout history, it has been ‘the responsibility’ of Jewish leaders to justify actions that the Jewish community has already taken, and Rabbi Yosef is no exception. I do not have any influence on the Israeli government, but I wonder what I would do if I did. Perhaps I would send them Rabbi Yosef’s response. What would you do?
Shabbat shalom. May there be a complete and lasting peace in Israel and Gaza soon, in our days.
Rabbi Igor
References:
[*1] Click here to watch it.
[*2] Click here to read all articles by Eli Fischer.
A Letter to Jewish Students at British Universities and Colleges
16 February 2024
Dear Students,
I don’t know if this letter will reach you. Maybe your parents or grandparents will send it on to you, or someone will post it on social media. You might glance at it briefly and see that it is expressly addressed to you, wherever you happen to be. A letter long overdue, but necessary at a time of unprecedented and painful polarisation and turbulence on campus at universities and colleges.
I have spoken to some of you face to face or on Zoom over the past few months since October 7. I know that this is a desperately harrowing and bewildering time, and many of you are searching for companionship and someone to talk to, not only about what is happening in this war between Israel and Hamas, but what is taking place here in the UK – this terrific spike in thoughtless, ignorant and hurtful anti-Jewish incidents and words.
I don’t know how affected you are by the reverberations of the conflict in the Middle East. Your focus may be on your studies, on the daily assignments that must be in by certain deadlines. You may have your own personal preoccupations with family or relationships, with other worldly concerns such as what we are doing to the environment, or the growing gap between rich and poor.
But I am deeply struck by the reports I have heard and read about concerning what is happening at universities – in the lecture theatre, on campus and on social media, in particular.
What does it feel like for someone Jewish to walk past a group of demonstrators holding banners with the words ‘Zionists off our campus’ or ’Stop the Genocide against Palestine’? How do you react when you hear the words of protesters shouting, ‘From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free’? How does it feel when close friends suddenly start to question your loyalties and to blame you for the war in Gaza? How do you respond to the accusation that the bombing of Gaza is the expression of Western imperialism by Jews?
Perhaps you are keeping a low profile, tucking your Magen David underneath your clothes, refusing to share with fellow students or friends your Jewish identity. You may be nervous about ‘coming out’ as Jewish with the huge increase of anti-Jewish incidents on campus and on the streets. And this is understandable – it may be too scary to confront the slogans carried and proclaimed by protesters week after week through city centres.
I wonder if you are someone who wants to – or needs to – speak to friends and fellow students about family or friends in Israel and the terrible trauma of October 7? And why shouldn’t you? A first-year student at UCL, a member of the LJS, said that she was labelled a ‘brainwashed Zionist’ by fellow classmates after she had spoken about friends who had narrowly escaped from the music festival in Israel. The language used against her on social media was so full of hatred that it drove her out of her classes.
Such conduct is unspeakable, as are the death and rape threats against the Jewish chaplain and his wife in Leeds who have been forced to go into hiding with their two very young children.
Where is civility? Where is kindness? Where is understanding and intelligent listening and conversation? Where is humility and empathy?
It is a long time since I was at university. Being Jewish wasn’t always comfortable. Students who had never encountered a Jewish person brought their curiosity, but also their prejudices about Judaism, about Jewish history and identity. Few people spoke about the Shoah thirty years after the liberation of Auschwitz. Few books had been published, compared with the plethora on the subject today. There were none of the scores of films and documentaries that emerged in the late nineties and in the years that followed. History stopped with the Russian Revolution.
We have learnt so much more and know so much more. So why are we still so ignorant about each other? Why can’t we learn from history?
My heart goes out to each one of you. If you have read this far and if you would like to find a gentle forum online where members of our congregation on campus can speak to each other, or if you would simply to speak to one of the Rabbis at the LJS, please get in touch either with Rabbi Igor (i.zinkov@ljs.org) or with me (a.wright@ljs.org). We would love to hear from you.
We don’t have the answers to the intractable conflict in the Middle East. But we do know that the only way forward is for Israelis and Palestinians to be helped towards a peaceful solution – through political and not military means. We can model that conversation with those out in the streets or on campus by helping them learn something about what it means to be Jewish in today’s world. It takes courage, but done gently and patiently, we can engage in those challenging relationships.
I wish you success in your studies and strength as we navigate this difficult time together.
Shabbat Shalom,
Alexandra Wright
Second Anniversary of the War in Ukraine - 'Do not be afraid!'
23 February 2024
Dear Members and Friends,
Before February 2022, when people asked me about the origin of my accent, I would say ‘Russian.’ I was glad to tell people about my happy childhood in Chelyabinsk, my parents, my school, music and dancing lessons, the engineering degree at my university, and the Jewish community. It was a normal, diverse, and full life. I was undoubtedly proud to be a part of such a rich culture.
My answer slightly changed after February 2022. After Russia attacked Ukraine, I started including a wider context of my story. My self-presentation started to include the story of the Jewish-Ukrainian branch of my family. It has its roots in Kyiv and Odesa. Shortly before the Nazis invaded the Soviet Union in 1941, some of my ancestors managed to move from Ukraine to the Urals region (what is now Russia). This is how they survived the Holocaust, and this is why I spent most of my life in Russia. I often ask myself why I feel the need to add this story now when I introduce myself. Perhaps because being Russian today can be associated with something dangerous. Perhaps because deep inside, I feel shame and responsibility for what Russia became and for the Russian attack on Ukraine. I keep asking myself - Did I do enough to prevent this war? Do I do enough now to support those who suffer from it? Undoubtedly, the war has changed my perception of who I am.
In the last year or so I’ve been working on a book ‘Wisdom of War.’ This book is a collection of my reflections about the war in Ukraine, inspired by conversations with many people involved in this war - thinkers, experts, religious and political leaders, soldiers, Ukrainians and Russians.
Being a full-time Rabbi means that this book is progressing much slower than I would have wanted, but nevertheless, I hope that one day it will be ready. Today, approaching the second anniversary of the Russian attack on Ukraine, I would like to share with you a few paragraphs from this book’s draft. It is inspired by a conversation I had with Rabbi Alexander Dukhovny, chief progressive rabbi of Kyiv and Ukraine since 1999.
I used to believe that the most important and frequently repeated commandment in the Hebrew Bible was to care for the weakest members of society - refugees, homeless, or disadvantaged. The biblical language expresses this obligation as 'Do not oppress the widow or the orphan, the foreigner or the poor.' (Zechariah 7:10) or 'Do not oppress a stranger; you yourselves know how it feels to be strangers because you were strangers in Egypt. (Exodus 23:9). However, I was wrong. In a TV show ‘30 Good Minutes’, Rabbi Harold Kushner pointed out that another commandment appears more frequently in the Hebrew Bible: 'Do not be afraid.' God says this to someone over 80 times in different situations and circumstances
Why is this commandment so emphasised? Perhaps because fear is a common and powerful emotion that affects all people, regardless of their background, culture, or faith. We all face situations that challenge our courage and confidence, and we need to find a balance between being alert and anxious. How does one deal with fear and uncertainty and overcome them with faith, hope, and dignity? Such questions are in the mind of all people, but especially those who live in the time of war.
As a Rabbi and as a spiritual leader, how do you address genuine fear of your community? How do you give hope to people without telling lies or escaping reality? And, most importantly, what is the role of a spiritual leader during war? I can understand the roles of a soldier or a doctor – to fight for their country and to heal the wounded. But when I think about the role of a rabbi, priest, or imam, I feel torn between two conflicting values. The first is the sanctity of human life. If this is the paramount value, rabbis should advocate for a ceasefire and an end to the bloodshed at any cost. On the other hand, there is another value – justice. If this value is taken as a guiding principle, then supporting the continuation of the war may be necessary. When I posed this dilemma to Rabbi Dukhovny, he gave me this answer:
We are all human beings. Every person is afraid of death, regardless of whether they are righteous or wicked. Villains also fear death. One might think that some people are not afraid of death, but they are. They may just be so brainwashed to believe that their death will lead them to heaven and a glorious afterlife. However, Judaism is not based on death. The main idea of Judaism is the value of life. We know that our righteous life will lead us to paradise, not righteous death.
From the history of past wars, I know that the rabbi's task was to ensure that our faith is greater than our fear. If our faith is greater than our fear, we are strong…
I really want to go back to a free, liberated Ukraine, where I can support those who lost optimism, hope and faith during the war. My role is to instil hope and faith that good always triumphs over evil.
There has never been a case where evil prevailed. Yes, there were periods, sometimes decades, when evil dominated. But the world is designed in such a way that good always prevails. To see the light, we must understand what darkness is. To understand the value of life, we must go through these challenging trials of war.
War is a trial. My role as a rabbi is to be a staff upon which a person going through these trials can lean. From the texts of our Scriptures, we know that the staff is a symbol of leadership. For example, with Moses, the staff blossomed. I am precisely that flourishing staff, the staff of faith and hope, on which a person in destress, in need of support, can lean.
One of the most difficult aspects of living through war is maintaining a sense of hope and gratitude for the gift of life. When death and destruction surround you everywhere, every day, it is hard to see any light in the darkness or to feel any joy in the midst of sorrow. How can one value life when it seems so cheap and fragile? How can one think of anything positive when there is so much pain and suffering? Perhaps Rabbi Dukhovny has a point. Perhaps, in the kingdom of death, one appreciates life much more. Perhaps, we need fear to remind us of faith. A world without fear is a world that does not understand the true meaning and cost of life, but a world without hope is a world that does not care for the dignity and potential of life. A world without fear is a world that has lost its vision, but a world without hope is a world that has lost its heart.
Shabbat Shalom, and let’s pray for a just and lasting peace in Ukraine and beyond.
Rabbi Igor
References:
[*1] (30 Good Minutes, Harold Kushner - Conquering Fear - Program 5305 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a06ws3gRWcM)
