December 2017 – Sim Lev

Instead of doing a sermon for the Hanukkah service at Manchester Liberal Jewish Community, I put together a play that drew out the themes of the festival.

NARRATOR 1:

Hanukkah is a festival of resistance. It is a time to celebrate struggle.

The Jews in Palestine are living under occupation. It’s the 1^st Century BCE and the Seleucid emperor Antiochus has brought the country under military lockdown. He’s a tyrant. He has banned all the central components of Jewish life: circumcision, Shabbat, kashrut and reading Torah.

His is a mighty army that tortures all dissenters. He ransacks the Temple, then the centre of Jewish life, and sacrifices pigs on the altars to make the whole place unclean.

In an incredible act, a tiny of army of militants manage to drive out the Greeks. They return to their Temple and rededicate it to God. They burn their oil lamps and practise their religion again. This is the miracle of Hanukkah.

NARRATOR 2:

One of the best stories of Hanukkah is of Hannah and her seven children. They are zealots who refuse to bow down to Antiochus. One by one, the children are martyred to defend their religion.

It is a beautiful story of courage and religious conviction that many children grow up with. But there is a problem with it. The Maccabees were religious fundamentalists. They were nationalist extremists. As a resistance army, they used tactics that would make ISIS blush. Once in power, they set up a theocratic dictatorship.

Theirs is a Hanukkah story, but it is not the only Hanukkah story. As a Liberal Jewish community, our stories of resistance are not stories of religious fundamentalism and nationalism, but often of fighting against it. Our stories are of fighting for Disabled access, queer liberation, anti-racism, women’s rights and social justice. At Hanukkah, we need to celebrate stories of struggle, liberation and perseverance that resonate with us. So tonight, we retell the story of Hannah and her seven children from those perspectives. We use the words of people who inspire us.

ANTIOCHUS:

I am King Antiochus and I demand that everybody worship me. There will be no more Jews or religious freedom. Nobody will be free to rest. Nobody will be free to organise. Nobody can have their own opinions. And I will kill anyone who disagrees.

HANNAH:

We have to resist this man. We cannot let him decide our lives. Everybody who cares about freedom must stand up and be counted. Will any of my children resist him?

SOPHIE:

I will.

ANTIOCHUS:

Who dares to defy me?

SOPHIE:

I do. Somebody has to make a start. I will stand up for what I believe in, even if I am standing alone. How can we expect a righteous cause to prevail if nobody is willing to give themselves up for it? I may be the only one to resist you, Antiochus, but there are many others who feel the way I do.[1]

ANTIOCHUS:

Then you will die.

NARRATOR 1:

And with that, he killed her. But Hannah had another daughter, who was willing to stand up to Antiochus too.

ROSA:

I will not let you win, Antiochus. Those who do not move do not notice their chains. But my sister has started a movement and now the chains are beginning to break. Being human means throwing your whole life on the scales of destiny when need be, all the while rejoicing in every sunny day and every beautiful cloud.[2]

ANTIOCHUS:

Then you will die.

NARRATOR 1:

And with that, he killed her. But Hannah had a son, who was willing to stand up to Antiochus too.

ABRAHAM:

I have a faith in God that is not the clinging to a shrine but the endless pilgrimage of the heart. When I protest, my feet are praying. Prayer is nothing if it is not subversive, and it is time I prayed against you.[3]

ANTIOCHUS:

Then you will die.

NARRATOR 1:

And with that, he killed him. But Hannah had another child, who was willing to stand up to Antiochus too.

TANIA:

Perhaps my name will be forgotten and my struggle too. But the cause I fight for, the cause of justice, will continue long after your reign has ended, Antiochus.[4]

ANTIOCHUS:

Then you will die.

NARRATOR 1:

And with that, he killed him. But Hannah had a son, who was willing to stand up to Antiochus too.

LARRY:

I am bound to have enemies, but I will not be my own. We will go down if we don’t stand up for ourselves. All of us should have the power and the pride to benefit from what is rightfully ours.[5]

ANTIOCHUS:

Then you will die.

NARRATOR 1:

And with that, he killed him. But Hannah had another son, who was willing to stand up to Antiochus too.

JOE:

Antiochus, you cannot kill all of us. Our tactic of standing up to you is bearing fruit. That process has started and is now irreversible.[6]

NARRATOR 2:

By this time, Antiochus was exhausted. He knew he was losing. Hannah had only one child left, her youngest child of all. Antiochus tossed his ring on the floor.

ANTIOCHUS:

I don’t even want to kill you. If you bow down to me just by picking up this ring, I will let you live. Hannah, convince your child to pick up this ring.

HANNAH:

I carried you in my womb for nine months and I have raised you. I urge you, my child, to look at the sky and the earth. Consider everything you see there, and realize that God made it all from nothing, just as God made all of humanity. Your life is a miracle and your religion is a celebration of it. Do not be afraid of this butcher.[7]

NETTA:

You do not need to convince me, mother. Antiochus, may God forgive you for what you are doing.[8]

NARRATOR 2:

Antiochus killed the last of Hannah’s children, and Hannah herself. But although he killed the people he could not kill their dreams. Ultimately, the small army won and Antiochus’s reign came to an end.

NARRATOR 1:

The words we have used tonight all come from people who struggled for justice in the last century: from Sophie Scholl, anti-Nazi activist; from Rosa Luxemburg, socialist and anti-war campaigner; from Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, civil rights activist; from Tamara Bunke, Latin American revolutionary; from Larry Kramer, gay liberation and AIDS campaigner; from Joe Slovo of the South African anti-apartheid movement; and Netta Franklin, British Jewish suffragette. They are all now dead but their dreams live on. Their dreams, our dreams, of a just, more inclusive, kinder world, continue.

At Hanukkah, we remember the resistance of brave people and join our struggles to theirs. The struggle to be Jewish of a thousand years ago becomes part of our stories of trying to build a better world.

At Hanukkah, we commemorate the destruction of the Temple and look forward to the great Temple that is to come – the Messianic age when there will be no more need for Temples because all will know that God is one and everybody will live in peace. As Liberal Jews, we know that we cannot wait for that day to come, but that we have to build it. Over this festival period, let us take inspiration from the pioneers of the past and take steps towards achieving those dreams.

tamara bunke — Tamara ‘Tania’ Bunke, Jewish-Argentinian revolutionary

This play was an interesting experiment in alternative ways of doing sermons. I wanted to deal with the reality of Hanukkah with all its violence. Most Jews know that the story of Hanukkah has some horrible undertones, but don’t deal with the reality that stories of violence, struggle and martyrdom in Jewish history are not just a blip from the Second Temple Period. Stories of martyrdom are certainly problematic, but I want to have conversations that deal with those tensions, rather than glossing over them.

[1] Based on the words of Sophie Scholl, 21-year-old leader of the anti-Nazi non-violent resistance in Germany

[2] Based on the words of Rosa Luxemburg, German socialist and anti-war activist

[3] Based on the words of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, civil rights activist in 1960s USA

[4] Based on the words of Tamara Bunke, Latin American revolutionary

[5] Based on the words of Larry Kramer, USA AIDS and gay rights activist

[6] Based on the words of Joe Slovo, South African anti-apartheid activist

[7] Based on 2 Maccabbees 7

[8] Based on the words of Netta Franklin, British Jewish suffragette

I won’t let you go until you bless me.

Bless me anyway.

Prior Walter is wrestling with an angel. He is dying. Many of his friends have died. It’s the 1980s, New York, and he’s living with HIV. This is the climax of my favourite play, Angels in America.

An angel has come and delivered a prophecy. He does not want it. The prophecy tells him that everybody needs to stop moving around so much and making so much noise. It tells him to stop modernity. He refuses. He tells the angel to take her prophecy back.

I won’t let you go until you bless me. Free me! Unfettter me! Bless me or whatever, but I will be let go.

The angel refuses.

Bless me anyway. I still want my blessing. Even sick. I want to be alive.

Eventually, the angel relinquishes and accepts back the prophecy.

This exchange sheds so much light for me on this week’s parasha. Jacob wrestles with an angel, and receives a new name: Israel, one who struggles with God. He prefigures a new people, a people who will struggle with God. A people who will not blindly follow God but will enter a two-way relationship, fraught with conflict. A people who will not slavishly enact rules of tradition, but who will fight over them and grapple with them.

Encapsulated in this story, I find the essence of Judaism: a process of struggle; with ourselves, with our society, with meaning itself. I like this in Judaism. I love the idea that Judaism is an approach to struggle. Whereas other religions talk about being saved from struggle or releasing the individual from the cycle of struggle, Judaism embraces it. Life is a struggle, it says, let’s get stuck into it. Let’s fight with ourselves, let’s fight with our society, let’s fight with God.

I like this version, because I’m good at fighting. I grew up in a very political house and spent most of my formative years involved in activism. I’m good at saying what’s wrong with the world and setting out to change it.

But this is not all of what that story is about. I’ve embraced the conclusion, but I’ve neglected what it took Jacob to get there. Yes, Jacob becomes one who struggles with God, but he gets there by telling the angel: I won’t let you go until you bless me.

I won’t let you go until you bless me.

Jacob’s starting position is not conflict. Jacob’s starting position is that he wants to be blessed. He wants to get the best thing possible out of this situation. He has run away from his home and his brother Esau. Now, he has run away from his uncle Lot. Jacob has got into fights with everyone. Jacob is fighting with his own conscience.

But when he is fighting with the angel, he doesn’t set out to win. He can’t physically overpower an angel. He can’t intellectually overpower an angel. By definition, these creatures are stronger, more enlightened, closer to God than human beings. All Jacob can do is ask for a blessing. All Jacob can do is realise that he has to make the most out of the situation he is in. Only when he realises this, and discovers that it’s not about winning, does Jacob find release and receive his blessing.

Over the last few months, I’ve realised how important it is not just to struggle, but to know when you can’t win; not just to fight against the bad, but to bless it too. In our morning prayers, we thank God who creates the darkness and the light, the good and the bad. All of it comes from God. Sometimes all we can do is resign ourselves to it, and ask the bad to bless us anyway.

Last year on Lag B’Omer, my friend went into hospital with liver failure. My boyfriend has known him for years. We spent months waiting for him to receive a transplant and hosting his family while he recovered. It looked like he was on the mend, and he had started working again at his job in the library.

About five weeks ago, he was rushed to hospital again. His liver was failing and other organs were at risk too. He has been in hospital, in an induced coma, on life support, since then. A week ago, the doctors told us that if he did not receive a matching organ by Thursday – today – that it would be too late to perform a transplant.

These last few weeks have made our house a strange place. It’s been filled with friends and family coming to stay, hoping for his recovery. We’ve filled the place up with laughter and tears – and, of course, prayers.

That’s all anyone can do when faced with a problem that is impossible to fight against. All of us have been helpless to decide whether he can receive a transplant or not. Whether he lives or not has been in the hands of amazing NHS doctors and nurses, but mostly it’s depended on that Great Being way beyond anybody’s understanding or control.

So I’ve had to learn a new skill: to bless it anyway. Everyone in our house has found ways of praying, at home and in the hospital. We’ve prayed hard for a recovery, while accepting that what might happen is way out of our hands. Life is complicated, fragile and inexplicable. What exactly it is that keeps it going or ends it we’ll never quite know. I have had to try to find new ways to bless the Source of all the good and all the bad in the world. That’s easy when things are good, but harder when things are bad.

On Sunday morning, our friend went into surgery for an organ transplant. Twelve hours later, we heard that the operation had been successful. That doesn’t mean he’s fine yet. It will be another week before he wakes up. The road to recovery is long, and there is no telling what will come next. But we will bless it anyway. We will say to him, to God and to this shitty situation: bless me anyway. I won’t let you go until you bless me.

I won’t let you go until you bless me. I won’t let you go until you bless me.

I won’t let you go

angels in america I gave this sermon at shacharit on Thursday for Leo Baeck College. At the time, I included more names and personal details, which I’ve edited out for this version. I wanted to share with my fellow students what had been happening over the past few weeks.