In the service of 7 May I used an excerpt from a text by the French philosopher Simone Weil (1909-1943).
Weil is an inspiration for the way she combines her religiosity with very concrete political actions. In this, she touches on some of the central values in liberal Judaism, though Weil’s determination is of a unique kind. It makes her thought so exceptional, but also difficult. Her writing needs to be read slowly and more than once.

What strikes me in the excerpt I have included, is that she holds that there is something in any human being that expects the good from people. This she calls ‘the sacred’ in every human. It is often silenced in those who are powerless. They don’t have words to express injustice being done to them. Their words sound irrelevant, or shrill, or they stumble when they speak. Weil’s text presents a powerful warning against not being swayed by suave words, but also an appeal to listen to uncomfortable or halting speech.

Lastly, as I have to concentrate on work for the college and other responsibilities, I shall have to reduce my contributions to NLJC’s wonderful newsletter. So, you will not see ’From the Student Rabbi’ every month, but I aim to keep contributing from time to time.

The excerpt – I hope it will speak to you too.

From Simone Weil, ‘The Person and the Sacred’

At the bottom of the heart of every human being, from earliest infancy until the tomb, there is something that goes on indomitably expecting, in the teeth of all experience of crimes committed, suffered, and witnessed, that good and not evil will be done to him. It is this above all that is sacred in every human being.

Every time that there arises from the depth of a human heart the childish cry … ‘Why am I being hurt?’, then there is certainly injustice. For if, as often happens, it is only the result of a misunderstanding, then the injustice consists in the inadequacy of the explanation.

In those who may have suffered too many blows, in slaves for example, that place in the heart from which the infliction of evil evokes a cry of surprise may seem to be dead. But it is never quite dead; it is simply unable to cry out anymore. It has sunk into a state of dumb and ceaseless lamentation.

And even in those who still have the power to cry out, the cry hardly ever expresses itself, either inwardly or outwardly, in coherent language. Usually, the words through which it seeks expression are quite irrelevant.

That is all the more inevitable because those who most often have occasion to feel that evil is being done to them are those who are least trained in the art of speech. Nothing, for example, is more frightful that to see some poor wretch in the police court stammering before a magistrate who keeps up an elegant flow of witticisms.

Apart from the intelligence, the only human faculty which has an interest in public freedom of expression is that point in the heart which cries out against evil. But as it cannot express itself, freedom is of little use to it. What is first needed is a system of public education capable of providing it, so far as is possible, with means of expression; and next, a regime in which the public freedom of expression is characterised not so much by freedom of expression as by an attentive silence in which this faint and inept cry can make itself heard; and finally, institutions are needed of a sort which will, so far as is possible, put power into the hands of men who are able and anxious to hear and understand it.

The full text is available here, under a different title: https://lib.tcu.edu/staff/bellinger/rel-viol/Weil.pdf

Dr. Hannah M. Altorf

This weekend marks Jewish Women’s Aid Shabbat, a fully cross-communal event supported by the Office of the Chief Rabbi, United Synagogue, Reform Judaism, Liberal Judaism, Masorti Judaism, S&P Sephardi Community, Jewish Leadership Council and the Board of Deputies.

According to Jewish Women’s Aid’s website:
“The goal is to focus our community on the issue of domestic abuse and sexual violence, and generate important conversations that lead to a culture change.”

Sadly, no community is immune from domestic abuse. As we reach nearly two years of the pandemic, the lockdowns caused a spike in cases of domestic abuse as people were trapped in with their abusers. In this last year alone, it was estimated that 1.6 million women were victims of domestic abuse. When we speak of domestic abuse, it is not just physical violence that is being spoken of. Since 2015, coercive control was recognised in law. Coercive control is a continuing “act or pattern of acts of assault, threats, humiliation and intimidation or other abuse that is used to harm, punish, or frighten their victim.” (cps.gov.uk)

Jewish Women’s Aid has wonderful resources to help educate our communities and support those going through physical abuse or coercive control. So often in tight-knit communities, rather than being held and protected, people can feel constrained and may feel  reluctant to share the truths of their relationships, if they fear it will damage the name of a loved congregant. No one should have to suffer at the hand of another. If you are concerned about yourself, a friend or a loved one, please know that Jewish Women’s Aid is there for you.

Rabbi Anna Posner

As we entered into the New Year, we rerolled the scroll and began our story back at the beginning. Bereshit, in the beginning, God created all that was. Often, we read the story as binary; light and darkness, day and night, land and sea. Yet we know that as we follow the light through the day, from morning to night time, it changes in increments; twilight, dawn, dusk.

The stories in Genesis, before Abraham, are universal stories of humanity. No tribe is set, no religion. In creation, we learn that all humans are created in God’s image. Famously, when asked the ‘golden rule’ of Judaism, Rabbi Hillel answered, “Treat your neighbour as you would want to be treated.”  Rabbi ben Azai argued that the word ‘neighbour’ is too narrow. In fact, the golden rule should be to remember that all humans were created in the image of God and we are all descendants of Adam.

In Exodus, we’re taught that all people whose hearts moved them, contributed to the building of the Mishkan (Tabernacle). The artists who were wise of heart brought the plans, and the women whose hearts stirred them spun the goat’s hair. Together the Israelites built the tabernacle where God would dwell. Upon the Mishkan sat two cherubim, from the root keruv, to draw close. The two cherubim facing each other teaching us, according to Torah scholar Avivah Zonberg that, “God is in the place where the two gazes intersect.”

The divine is found in connection and relationship, and through those divine encounters, we are moved and changed. Divinity is found in the connection between, and knowledge and truth are found in an understanding that often, when things seem binary, we must look for the twilight.

Rabbi Anna Posner

The task of heshbon hanefesh (accounting for the soul) that Jews are implored to do during the High Holy Days is too large to begin just on Erev Rosh Hashannah and so, the month of Elul is traditionally a time where we begin the work and prepare our minds and bodies for our yearly soul cleanse. Customarily the Shofar is blown every morning to awaken the senses, reminding us of this extra daily task and Psalm 27 is added to the daily liturgy, a psalm that begs for guidance and support, that God not abandon us through this difficult process. That month of Elul began on the 9^th of August, giving us plenty of time to prepare ourselves for the month ahead.

This yearly cleaning out of the soul culminates with Yom Kippur, a day where we withdraw ourselves from the world of the living and refrain from normal day to day activity including eating, washing and working. We give space for our minds to reflect to give us the strength and motivation to be judged and be ready start afresh for the New Year ahead. If we are building up to the final stage of withdrawal, maybe we begin the process in the month of Elul at the other end of the spectrum by truly engaging with our day to day lives. Not just going through the motions but taking stock of our interactions, the places we go, the things we write, the people we see, each and everything we do in the daily run of life. Taking the time to be present and engage with how our movements and actions affect us and those around us. Being able to reconnect with people again and go places after nearly eighteen months of the world being turned upside down gives us another opportunity to take stock of our lives. What relationships flourished, which need repair, what did we miss, what are we learning, what feels safe, what feels like we do not want to return to it. Elul is a time for taking action rather than withdrawal, a time to tie up loose ends, make those connections you keep putting off, apologise to those who you may have hurt, break bad habits, channel your anger into action and give yourself a fresh start.

The modern world can often feel nonstop. With work days and weeks getting ever longer, social media and mobile phones keeping people always switched on and political unrest feeding fear, uncertainty and anger. It can be overwhelming and exhausting. The month of Elul affords us that time to step back and take note, even see where we may want to throw ourselves in. The Maharal of Prague said that during the month of Elul before eating or sleeping one must look into their soul and search their deeds for what they may confess this year and Mateh Moshe, a rabbi who wrote halacha in the 16^th century, said that during the month of Elul people should exclude themselves for an hour a day to scrutinize their actions.

Be it by listening to the Shofar sound every day, reciting psalm 27, excluding yourself for an hour a day, making that phone call you keep meaning to make, writing that letter, donating to that charity, going out to protest, choosing to engage with those things that give you energy and stepping back from those that give you pain, find the thing that can help you this Elul to prepare yourself for the fresh start of the New Year. And remember, while all this soul searching can only be done as each of us as individuals, we are held together and supported in a community of people joining us in the task and when we join together on Rosh Hashannah there, we can continue the work together.

Rabbi Anna Posner

For the Sake of Heaven

The well known story of the oven of Akhnai, found in b.talmud bava metzia 59a-b is often celebrated in progressive Jewish circles as ‘proof’ that the decision of Jewish law and practice lie in the authority of individuals or communities (or the rabbis) rather than ‘in heaven’. In this story Rabbi Eliezar and his colleagues are arguing about whether or not an oven, is Kosher. He is adamant it is, instructing trees to move, water to flow backwards and walls to bend, miracles to try and prove his point. Whereas his colleagues are convinced it is not and it is they who declare the famous, ‘lo bashamayim hiy’ this decision is not in heaven, when the ‘bat kol’ the heavenly voice sides with Rabbi Eliezar. When read in its context, this story is not one of a celebration of human autonomy and authority in the face of God but rather, a lesson about how we speak and behave toward one another. Set amongst laws and conversations which deal with ‘the wrong doing of words’ the story of the oven of Akhnai is a lesson in how not to treat one another in matters of dispute and is critical of the other Rabbis treatment of Rabbi Eliezer.

In recent years, it has often felt that the art of being able to hear multiple voices and hold different narratives has been lost. As politics and opinions polarise, helped by social media algorithms, people seem quicker to disregard and shut out voices they do not agree with rather than being able to agree to disagree. This brings a new challenge to our diverse and varied community. When the wider society seems to be lacking such spaces, how are we able to create community environments where people feel allowed to have varied opinions, narratives and beliefs?

The story of the oven of Akhnai appears with slightly different versions in the Palestinian (Jerusalem) and Babylonian Talmuds. In both version, Rabbi Eliezar is excommunicated – excluded for having a different opinion. The Bavli outlines R. Eliezar emotional reaction to the excommunication whereas the Yerushalmi takes it one step further, not just excommunicating R. Eliezar but scratching his name from his teachings in Talmud. What strikes me by the Yerushalmi account is that now, any teaching in Talmud that does not have a name attributed to it could be assumed to be the voice of R. Eliezar meaning, not only is, in some ways his voice amplified, but also his opinion and teaching assumed.

When we try to silence those we do not agree it does not just lead to individuals feeling excluded from the community but so often it leads to the amplification of the very opinions that people were trying to push out and assumptions around who people are and what they stand for, rather than real connection and understanding. I often revel in how Jewish tradition holds within it a celebration of disagreement, for volumes upon volumes in the Talmud we have rabbis arguing, interpreting and unpacking the words of Torah and for centuries the Jewish people have followed suit, grappling with text and ideas as a way to connect to each other, God and spirituality.

Dispute is in our tradition. I think of the story in Talmud of Rabbi Yochanan and Rabbi Reish Lakish who were chevruta partners (Torah study partners) they constantly challenged each other and fought for the many years of their friendship and partnership. One day the argument got too much and the friends fell out never to study together again. Yochanan was never able to find another study partner, as he needed the argument from Reish Lakish to further his understanding, connection and meaning.

As we navigate difficult conversations at NLJC I hope for us all that we can facilitate a culture that recognises the power in disagreement. May we listen to each other with respect and judge each other with charity, and may we not say ‘lo ba shamiyim hiy’ – the answers are not in heaven but rather macklochet l’shamayin, our controversies are for heaven. May the eternal guide us with wise counsel, and establish the work of our hands. And let us say – Amen.

Rabbi Anna Posner