Jonathan Sacks

A voice that’s missed

Four years have passed since the loss of Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks (1948-2020), and more than one year since the outbreak of the Iron Swords conflict. In these turbulent times, we can only imagine the wisdom that Sacks – who was a global religious leader, philosopher, award-winning author and respected moral voice – might have shared, the guidance he would have offered. His voice is profoundly missed, especially now, when his words could have offered clarity and hope. This longing to “hear” his perspective propelled me on a journey.

To Be a Jew is a booklet that was born from a deep desire to find meaning in the current historic moment. Distributed freely across the globe, with more than a quarter of a million copies printed in Hebrew and English – and soon to be available in additional languages – it shares the timeless lessons of Rabbi Sacks with all who seek them. Below is a small selection of his enduring wisdom. For the full booklet, available as a free download, visit sivanrahavmeir.com/to-be-a-Jew.

Growth from crisis

Every tragedy in Jewish history was followed by a new wave of creativity. The destruction of the First Temple led to the renewal of the Torah in the life of the nation, exemplified by the work of Ezra and Nehemiah. The destruction of the Second Temple led to the great works of the oral tradition, Midrash, Mishnah and the two Talmuds. The massacres of Jewish communities in northern Europe during the First Crusade led to the emergence of Hassidei Ashkenaz, the German-Jewish pietists.

The medieval encounter with Christianity led to a renewal of Bible commentary. The meeting with Islam inspired a renaissance of Jewish philosophy. The Spanish Expulsion was followed by the mystical revival in Safed in the 16th century. The greatest catastrophe of all led to the greatest rebirth: a mere three years after standing eyeball to eyeball with the angel of death at Auschwitz, Bergen-Belsen and Treblinka, the Jewish people responded by their greatest collective affirmation of life in 2,000 years, with the proclamation of the state of Israel.… Jews [do not] give way to defeat or despair. They are the people of hope.

The Chinese ideogram for “crisis” also means “opportunity.” Perhaps that is why Chinese civilization has survived for so long. Hebrew, however, is more hopeful still. The word for crisis, mashber, also means a “childbirth chair.” The Jewish reflex is to see difficult times as birth pangs. Something new is being born.

(Sacks, Future Tense, pp. 54-55)

Response to terrorism

The first prime minister of Israel, David Ben-Gurion, said, “In Israel, to be a realist you have to believe in miracles.” For Jews, faith is as necessary as life itself. Without it, the Jewish people would simply not have survived.

In 2001, after the Oslo peace process had broken down and the suicide bombings had begun, I told the then-Israeli ambassador: “In the past, Israel’s enemies have tried to put it in a military crisis and failed. Then they tried to put it in a political crisis and failed. Now they are about to put it in a spiritual crisis, and they may succeed.”

That, ultimately, is what 21st-century terror is about, and Israel has been its most consistent target. The suicide bombings brought war from the battlefront to the buses of Haifa, the shops of Tel Aviv and the restaurants of Jerusalem. There were times when Jewish parents sent their children on the school bus not knowing whether they would see them alive again. The missiles of Hezbollah and Hamas placed two-thirds of Israel – the north and south – within their range. As I write, there are 7-year-old children in Sderot who have only known safety in a bomb shelter. The delegitimization of Israel among some media, academic and NGO circles has left its people feeling abandoned and alone. The aim is to intimidate and create despair, and it needs immense resources of faith and courage not to be affected. That is the spiritual crisis.

(Sacks, Future Tense, pp. 18-19)

Where is man?

When I first stood at Auschwitz-Birkenau, the question that haunted me was not, “Where was God?” God was in the command, “You shall not murder.” God was in the words, “You shall not oppress the stranger.” God was saying to humanity, “Your brother’s blood is crying to Me from the ground.” God did not stop the first humans eating forbidden fruit. He did not stop Cain committing murder. He did not stop the Egyptians enslaving the Israelites. God does not save us from ourselves. That, according to the Talmud, is why creating man was such a risk that the angels advised against it. The question that haunts me after the Holocaust, as it does today in this new age of chaos, is “Where is man?”

(Sacks, Judaism’s Life-Changing Ideas, p. 7)

Everything has purpose

Life is meaningful. We are not mere accidents of matter, generated by a universe that came into being for no reason and will one day, for no reason, cease to be. We are here because a loving God brought the universe, and life, and us, into existence – a God who knows our fears, hears our prayers, believes in us more than we believe in ourselves, who forgives us when we fail, lifts us when we fall and gives us the strength to overcome despair. The historian Paul Johnson once wrote: “No people has ever insisted more firmly than the Jews that history has a purpose and humanity a destiny.”

(Sacks, Ceremony & Celebration, p. 22)

Everyone has a mission

God enters our lives as a call from the future. It is as if we hear him beckoning to us from the far horizon of time, urging us to take a journey and undertake a task that, in ways we cannot fully understand, we were created for. That is the meaning of the word vocation, literally “a calling,” a mission, a task to which we are summoned.

We are not here by accident. We are here because God wanted us to be, and because there is a task we were meant to fulfil. Discovering what that is, is not easy, and often takes many years and false starts.

(Sacks, Studies in Spirituality, p. 24)

Sivan Rahav-Meir is a primetime news anchor who lives in Jerusalem. She has a weekly podcast on Tablet, called Sivan Says, and has published several books in English. Her “Daily Thought” on social media has hundreds of thousands of followers and is translated into 17 languages.

Growing and sharing our inner light

If we fear “advertising” our identities, we should do everything we can to maintain our inner light and self-worth in trying times. (photo from PxHere)

Years ago, my husband lost both his grandmother and his great aunt. Several years apart, he traveled to the Lower East Side in New York to attend their funerals at the same funeral home. There was a rabbi there who officiated at both funerals. This rabbi told the same story twice. Perhaps he had only the one funeral teaching, but my husband remembered it. This rabbi suggested that a famous rabbi taught that the worst of the plagues against the Egyptians was darkness. Why was darkness the worst? It was all encompassing, overwhelming, and seemingly permanent. No one knew if the sun would ever return. This rabbi used this to talk about death, but the metaphor stayed with us.

Despite our efforts to find the source for this story, we couldn’t track down its origin. While looking for it, I thought about darkness and what we can learn from it as we celebrate Hanukkah this year.

There are parallels between the Hanukkah story and our current struggles. Before Oct. 7, Israelis were distracted by potential changes to their court system and very divided politically. While that political turmoil didn’t disappear in the face of the massacre and the war, Israelis have immediately united in the aftermath to work together. Israelis I know have said that it isn’t the government that is taking care of those who are displaced, but rather nongovernmental organizations and volunteers from every corner of Israeli society. Israelis are cooking meals for soldiers, for moms managing as single parents for long periods of time, and for those who have been evacuated or made homeless by the conflict. Israelis and the Jewish people worldwide have also worked together as a people to take care of one another.

The military conflict of Hanukkah is a story of division and unity. There were Jews at this time, around 200 BCE, who had become increasingly assimilated and Hellenized. They cooperated with the Seleucid Empire. There was societal upheaval. Others were more traditional in practice and offended by the changes made by more “liberal”-minded Jews and King Antiochus. The Maccabees represented the traditional or more orthodox Jewish tradition. They rose up against King Antiochus’s pagan practices and the more assimilated Jews who had adapted to Hellenistic practice.

We know now that the Maccabees won these battles. They rededicated the Temple in Jerusalem. This is a military victory and a story around religious or national liberation. The rabbis tried to focus the religious observance on the miracle of the light (the “ner tamid,” the holy flame in the Temple that should not go out) rather than on the military situation. However, we wouldn’t have Hanukkah without these historical cultural conflicts or the Maccabees’ wars.

The historical details of this struggle are in the books of the First and Second Maccabees, which describe the Hanukkah story. While there are many references to the holiday in the Mishnah, the detailed story has been maintained through the Catholic and Orthodox churches, which kept First and Second Maccabees as part of their Old Testament. Protestants don’t include these books in their bibles. We study these texts to understand Hanukkah, but they don’t hold any official status in Jewish tradition.

This, too, has a parallel to our modern experience. While we know our traditions around Hanukkah, some of the context comes from many historical texts preserved by others. During this war against Hamas, we are being forced to defend ourselves against antisemitism, and also to defend the existence of the state of Israel. The worldwide Jewish community doesn’t have to use our personal experiences to educate others about this. The historical contexts for understanding both antisemitism and the need for the existence of the state of Israel are embedded in world history. Learning about the historical roots of Christian antisemitism in Europe or in the dhimmi law of Islamic empires is part of the greater history. Information about when the Romans conquered Israel and destroyed the second Temple can be found in multiple sources, including on the Arch of Titus in Rome. The creation of the modern state of Israel in 1948 is also part of a much broader historical context.

The rabbis chose, in creating the rules around the holiday of Hanukkah, to focus on light and miracles rather than military victories. Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks (z”l) wrote in “8 Short Thoughts for 8 Hanukkah Nights” about the ways in which the light is emphasized. His fifth short thought focuses on Maimonides’ teaching about how to fulfil the mitzvah of Hanukkah. Maimonides teaches that lighting candles on Hanukkah is precious and that one must sell something or borrow to fulfil this commandment. Yet, if one finds Shabbat is coming and you have only one candle? Light it for Shabbat. In this case, Maimonides teaches: “The Shabbat light takes priority because it symbolizes shalom bayit, domestic peace. And great is peace because the entire Torah was given to make peace in the world.” Sacks suggests that, “in Judaism, the greatest military victory takes second place to peace in the home.” He points out the great victory is a spiritual and not military one.

For Israel today, too, the great victory must be the notion of continuing to pray and negotiate for peace while also navigating difficult military situations.

Sacks makes several points that could be articles on their own, but the ones I felt most drawn to remain relevant. The Hanukkah candles should be lit so that people can see them outside, but if one is afraid of inviting hate, it has long been taught that it is OK to light the candles indoors, out of public view. Still, we are meant to be public about our “light” more generally and fight for it, if necessary. If we fear “advertising” our identities, we should do everything we can to maintain our inner light and self-worth in trying times.

Finally, Sacks discusses a story in the Talmud in which Rav and Shmuel, third-century rabbis, disagree over whether you can use one Hanukkah candle to light another (if you lack an extra candle, a shamash, the helper candle, that is used to light the other eight candles). Rav suggests that you may not, as this might diminish the light of the first candle. Shmuel disagrees, and halachah (Jewish law) follows Shmuel, who teaches that you can use one Hanukkah candle to light another because it helps the light grow and brings us more light. Using your light to enlighten others is the best practice.

I bumped into a rabbi I admire who lives in Winnipeg, where I live. We were each dropping off kids at a Jewish youth group activity. He wore a ball cap, as he was “off duty.” I thanked him for his contribution to a news article about the war and local protests, and he responded, “These are dark times.”

Like the plague of darkness in Egypt, we don’t know exactly how or when things will lighten. We need Hanukkah’s message and rituals to offer that light. Maybe we won’t put our Hanukkah candles on public display this year, but we can draw wisdom and comfort from our long history and rabbinic teachings. These teach us to reach deep to find the messages of hope, faith and peace from a story about a war. This time around, we need to act individually like Hanukkah candles. We can lend our inner lights to volunteer, to speak out, to support others and to kindle others’ lights during a hard time. Even during times of war and hate, we can be the light.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for CBC Manitoba and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

Seek humility, wisdom

It has been a particularly reflective and momentous week. The U.S. elected Joe Biden as its 46th president and Kamala Harris as vice-president, the first Black woman and first woman of Asian and Indian descent elected to that high office. Around the world, there were nearly audible sighs of relief and cries of jubilation as the count trickled in and it became clear that president-elect Biden had cleared the 270 Electoral College threshold, even as the counting of ballots continues and results are not certified until early in December. More solemnly, this week was the commemoration of the 82nd anniversary of Kristallnacht and of Remembrance Day. And, right at the dawn of this emotional week, we learned of the passing of Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks. Britain’s former chief rabbi, Sacks died of cancer on Shabbat at age 72.

Formally called chief rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth, Sacks held the role from 1991 to 2013, during which time his scholarship in philosophy helped him elucidate Jewish theology to general audiences as a regular guest on BBC Radio. He was admired and his death lamented by leading figures in British society, not least the heir apparent to the throne, Prince Charles. He was good friends with now-retired Anglican bishop George Carey, who was the head of the Church of England, strengthening interfaith relations.

Sacks’s time in leadership was not without controversy. He has been viewed by some as too accommodating of orthodoxy and not adequately inclusive of progressive or liberal strains of Judaism. Sacks skipped the 1996 funeral of Rabbi Hugo Gryn, the leading figure in Reform Judaism, drawing rebukes from liberals. In contrast, a book Sacks authored, The Dignity of Difference, implied that all religions and streams therein are equally valid, a thesis that was deemed too ecumenical by some British Orthodox Jews. One rabbi accused him of “heresy.”

In other words, Sacks leaves behind a mixed legacy, though few among us in this generation have left such a lasting mark on contemporary Judaism. The sort of centralized religious leadership that British Jewry and others in Europe have is unfamiliar to North American Jews. But anyone in a position of responsibility in the Jewish community knows the perils of presuming to speak on behalf of all – or most – Jews. Anyone in a job like Sacks’s would draw admirers and detractors. Chief rabbi is, of course, not a political role, but it must be a profoundly political one nonetheless, to elicit an accusation of heresy.

The concept of heresy seems to have seeped from the theological into the political realm in recent years. Fanaticism and extreme loyalty have always played a part in politics. But, in the highly polarized situation we see in the United States and many other places, differences of opinion are magnified into civilizational, even existential, divisions. This certainly seemed to be the case in the U.S. elections. Not everyone likes the incumbent President Donald Trump but, to paraphrase a beer commercial, those who like him like him a lot. While Biden won the support of a vast majority of Jews, surveys suggest that somewhere between 20% and 30% of American Jews voted for Trump’s reelection, a higher vote for a Republican than in many of the last presidential elections. The vehemence of opinion on both sides – some decry Trump as antisemitic while others claim he is the most pro-Israel president ever – would be confusing to the proverbial Martian.

We are assimilating this news in a week where we reflect on the destruction of European Jewry in the Holocaust, the world wars, the bloody history of the 20th century and all the conflict and misery and bloodshed it wrought. The 21st century seems similarly full of divisions and conflicts. Political polarization in democratic countries, as well as growing authoritarian tendencies in several democracies, call for a response.

Biden ran as a unifying figure bent on restoring a sense of moderation and respect to public discourse. Whether one individual can alter the trajectory of a divided society will be seen as the president-elect navigates a narrowly divided House and Senate to shepherd his legislative vision into reality. The unexpected tightness of Republican-Democratic splits in both chambers may exacerbate his challenge. A small tail of far-left Democrats and of far-right Republicans could wag the dog that is their respective party. On the other hand, this challenge could present an opportunity, if there are those willing to fight for what is right and to compromise across the aisle when appropriate and necessary. Such a shift from the failure of bipartisanship in recent years would be monumental indeed. But it could effectively reduce the influence of extremes.

Perhaps what these disparate events illustrate is that conflict – from the cataclysmic to the mild awkwardness of politics at the Shabbat table – is innate to humans. But so is confronting conflict and difference intellectually and with open hearts. Seeking moderation and compromise has lost currency in the age of social media and 24/7 cable news. Nuance is blurred and enlightenment darkened by ideological certainty.

We should seek understanding wherever we might find it and avoid elevating mere mortals to unattainable standards or demonizing them beyond all reasonable recognition. In our spiritual and political realms, in our daily work and home life, we can all commit to some additional humility, to deeper listening and to finding wisdom wherever it might be, even in unexpected places.

Judaism’s importance

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks speaks at Congregation Schara Tzedeck on April 28. (photo by Cynthia Ramsay)

“There is one thing about Judaism for which we were mocked for centuries, whose wisdom is just becoming clear in the 21st century,” Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks told a packed Schara Tzedeck synagogue on April 28, after describing the world as “a terribly dangerous place” in which religion has “returned in some of its most violent and aggressive forms.”

“We did not try to conquer or convert the world,” he explained. “Why? Because we believe that God made a covenant with Noah before he made a covenant with Abraham and, therefore, you don’t have to be a child of Abraham to be in a relationship with the Holy One, blessed be He.

“We believe that the righteous of every nation have a share in the World to Come and, therefore, we never sought to conquer or convert the world. Christianity and Islam sought to become, and did become, world powers, and they achieved great things, but right now their clash, which is threatening in some ways to take us back into the age of crusades, is so dangerous because our powers of destruction are so great.”

Sacks was introduced to the crowd of approximately 700 people by Schara Tzedeck Rabbi Andrew Rosenblatt, who talked about Sacks’ importance as an embodiment of the ethos of Modern Orthodoxy, which Rosenblatt said combines fidelity to Orthodox tradition with openness to the world. He commented on Sacks’ ability to bring Jews of all kinds together, quipping, “Tonight, we have here rabbis from all stretches of Oak Street.”

That was far from the only joke of the evening. When Sacks, who lives in London, England, took the stage, he asked the audience to forgive him if he rambled a bit, saying, “In my body clock it is now almost two in the morning and I am feeling very much like the man who once dreamt he was giving a speech in the House of Lords and woke up to discover that he was.”

After saluting the relative unity of the Vancouver Jewish community, Sacks took up his theme, which was the value of Judaism to both Jews and non-Jews, and the need for Jews to move confidently in the world as ambassadors of Jewish wisdom.

He noted how often it seems that non-Jews appreciate our strengths more than we do, and then he focused on seven things he felt Judaism has to offer the world: a sense of purposeful identity; a strength of community; the centrality of family; the prioritization of the intellect; a belief in the dignity of difference and an acceptance of religious and cultural pluralism; the sacred value of protest; and the importance of hope.

Sacks spoke of the essential human need for identity, pointing out that Moses’ first question to God was, “Who am I?”

Of community, the rabbi cited research showing that “regular attendance at a house of worship extends your lifespan by seven years.” He followed this up with a joke, saying that he told his wife, Elaine, “Maybe it just feels as though your lifespan has been extended by seven years.”

With regards to family, Sacks shared the story of taking Penelope Leech, a childcare expert in the United Kingdom, to a Jewish school in London on a Friday morning. There they watched a mock Shabbat, complete with “5-year-old abba and ima, 5-year-old baba and zaida shepping naches [feeling proud].”

Sacks said Leech asked one of the boys, “What do you not like and like about Shabbes the most?” The boy responded, “What I don’t like is not getting to watch TV! What I do like is it’s the only time Daddy doesn’t have to rush off.”

Leech apparently told Sacks, “that Sabbath of yours is saving their parents’ marriages.”

To illustrate Judaism’s appreciation of the intellect, Sacks told the well-known story of Nobel laureate physicist Isidor Isaac Rabi, who said his mother had made him a scientist by asking him every day when he came home from school not ‘what did you learn today?’ but ‘Izzy, hot du fregn a gut kashya [did you ask a good question]?’ What do we teach our children?” asked Sacks. “The Four Questions. Do you know how rare that is, to teach your children to question?”

Addressing one of his favourite themes, the dignity of difference, Sacks said, “You will meet with more diversity on a city street in one hour today than an 18th-century anthropologist would in a lifetime. We have to live with difference; we have to learn to respect difference. We have learned that the miracle of monotheism is not ‘one God, one people, one book’ – the miracle of monotheism is that it is the unity up there creates diversity down here.”

On his sixth point, Sacks said, “Many faiths teach the virtue of acceptance – yes, there’s injustice and suffering in the world, but in Olam Haba, in the World to Come, it will be OK; or, in Nirvana, where you escape from the sufferings of the world. Judaism is a religion not of acceptance but of protest.” Rather than accepting the pain and injustice in the world, God tells us to be partners in making the world a better place, he said.

And, lastly, Sacks described Judaism as “the voice of hope in the human conversation.”

“Optimism is the belief that things are going to get better,” he said. “Hope is the belief that, if we work hard enough, we can make things better. It takes no courage, just a kind of naiveté, to be an optimist. It takes great courage to have hope. Let us go out and do what we are called to do, to be Hashem’s ambassadors to the world. Let us, and not only non-Jews, recognize the value of what it is we’ve got.”

Sacks’ talk, which was sponsored in part by Cathy and David Golden to mark their 30th anniversary, was followed by services and dinner.

Matthew Gindin is a freelance journalist, writer and lecturer. He writes regularly for the Forward and All That Is Interesting, and has been published in Religion Dispatches, Situate Magazine, Tikkun and elsewhere. He can be found on Medium and Twitter.