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

In our torah cycle, we are currently in the book of numbers or in Hebrew ‘B’midbar’ – in the wilderness. Whilst the title describes the Israelites physical space, it also gives an understanding of the spiritual and emotional state of the newly freed people. The late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks speaks of this moment in the desert as liminal space. Quoting anthropologist Von Gennep, he describes how societies create three stages of ritual that mark separation, incorporation and transition. The vast, empty space of the desert, can be described as a withdrawal for the Israelite people, to give space for them to transform from a nation of slaves to a nation of freed people. In last week’s parasha, sh’lach l’cha twelve spies are sent into Israel to scout out the land and get a sense of what might be to come. Ten of those spies come back terrified. They tell tales of giant grapes and huge people that the Israelites could never defeat. “We looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must have looked to them,’ they exclaimed.

Whereas two of the spies, Joshua and Caleb returned ecstatic and excited for the possibilities of what was to come in their new land. God was outraged, as God so often is and decrees that the Israelites should wonder the desert for forty years, what is more, anyone over the age of twenty-one would not live to see their arrival at to the Land of Israel. Whilst this punishment may seem harsh, what God realised from the ten spies’ reaction was that while these people were physically free, they were not yet truly free from the mindset of slavery. It would take a generation before the Israelites could be truly free and that nation would be built over the course of the forty years in the wilderness.

We have learned all too well this year that with uncertainty brings anxiety. As a society we have spent more than a year now in relative stages of captivity. Fearful of the world outside and the possible risks of pandemic, and with constantly changing advice and regulations. We now find ourselves in a limbo. As restrictions slowly ease and the vaccination roll out speeds, we have a taste of a safer world. We can spy the end of the journey but with no clarity about what it means. The ten spies who entered Israel and were fearful, had a natural anxiety response to the unknown. Equally, Caleb and Joshua, who returned ecstatic, had a natural response to the possibilities of what was to come.

This week, NLJC are meeting for the first time in-person in over a year. Whilst many of the community rushed to sign up, excited to return to an in-person service (even with the many restrictions it brings) many of the community are still unsure, not quite ready to brave the giants of returning to face-to-face interactions. Whilst as a community we stand together and will support everyone, wherever they stand on the easing of restrictions and returning to a more normal world, each individual will be on their own journey. Although, I hope it will not take anyone forty years, we recognise that for some it will take longer than others. Whether we be the ten fearful spies or the Joshuas and Calebs of this world, this pandemic has been a series of traumas for many of society. As we begin to return in person and await Boris’s announcement on Monday we remember that we are in our own wilderness and will each find our way through at our own pace.

Rabbi Anna

Growing up in Nottingham, we would often take trips to nearby Lincoln to wonder the cobbled streets and venture down “Jews Street” to “Jews House” and learn about the Jewish community that existed there during medieval times and wander around the Cathedral hearing stories of the Blood Libel as we stood by Saint Hugh’s grave, the boy who had allegedly been killed by Jews to use his blood for Matzah. I was astonished to find out that there was no sign by the grave that explained the allegations to be false and antisemitic until Rabbi Andrew Goldstein’s campaign to add one in 2002.

Working with the NLJC community has connected me once again not just to a Medieval Jewish history but to a community who has managed to return and rebuild and begin to create its own history that will take it long into the future. I have enjoyed attending meetings with those who are collaborating on the exhibition that will be shown at the castle and to see artifacts and poetry that link Norwich to its Medieval Jewish past. I was contacted this week by someone who is creating a play about the Jewish Medieval History in Norwich. Chloe is looking for people to collaborate with and I thought, who better than the wonderful congregants at NLJC! Here is a little information about her and her project. Chloe is a local theatre maker and founder of theatre company Tombola who make work in the East, about the East. With fellow writer/ director Jane Prinsley Tombola are embarking on a new project which seeks to bring Norwich’s Jewish medieval story to the stage. We have been researching the idea for some time and have 3just been awarded a National Lottery Project Grant from Arts Council England to develop the work.

During one week in June and two weeks over July and August, we will be writing and workshopping a piece of theatre, entitled Where We Dwelt (title taken from one of Meir’s poems). This will culminate in a sharing The National Centre for Writing at Dragon Hall on August 6th and the Earlham Rd Synagogue on August 5th. We are working with local archaeologist Sophie Cabot and the Castle Museum’s curatorial team over the course of the research. In the future, we hope this will become a full-scale show produced by Chloe’s company, Tombola.

We’d love to include members of the community in our process and would like to extend an invitation to any member who would like to get involved. We want to hear more about Jewish life in Norwich today and have conversations about the regional Jewish story. Please email Chloe at enquiries@norwichljc.org.uk and your response will be forwarded to Chloe and she can arrange a time to speak via zoom or on the phone.

Rabbi Anna Posner

You may have heard me say many times that Judaism is a religion of time rather than place or objects. Our spirituality is time bound: shabbat, festivals, new moon, morning, afternoon and evening all marked by ritual, and objects or buildings help us on our way but are not holy in and of themselves. One can usually tell what festival or indeed what time of the day a service is based upon the clothes or ritual objects that are there. On a festival or shabbat evening we see candles that would not be there on a morning service. We only wear tallit in the morning or daylight hours. On Yom Kippur we might all be dressed in white.

It is not just the clothing or objects that indicate the time in Judaism, but the music too. Traditional nussach (liturgical melodies) is different for each occasion and at each time of day. The nussach is often based around a scale, and cantors would improvise the melodies for prayers around those scales. Each scale denotes a period of time. There is a different mode for the morning than the evening, for shabbat and for weekday and for each of the festivals. Someone in the know would be able to enter any synagogue in the world and know what time of day or festival it is based upon the melodies of the prayers. I must confess that the melody I and many other rabbis use for the Amidah on a Saturday morning is actually the weekday nussach.

In the Liberal siddur during the Amidah we say both ‘mashiv haruach u’morid hageshem’- making the wind blow and the rain fall, and ‘morid hatal’ – causing the dew to fall. However, in other denominations the Amidah follows tradition and separates the seasons, praying about wind and rain in the winter and dew in the summer. The festival of Passover marks the changing of the season and the shift in the liturgy. As I am sure you can imagine, such a momentous occasion is celebrated in song. Now that Pesach is over, we are officially in spring. Do not let those few flakes of snow we’ve had this week fool you! If you would like to listen to Cantor Tamara Wolfson and Cantor Jack Mendelson singing a stunning duet of the prayer Tal to mark the coming of spring, follow this link:

https://pr.huc.edu/email/2019/04/dfssm/April-19-DFSSM-Message.m4v

Rabbi Anna Posner