On this day, you were created

September 30, 2019October 3, 2019 levtaylor

On this day, you were created.

Although your body was born into this world at a different place and time, today is the day that you were created. This is the day that the part of you that makes you more than a body was born.

On this day, your soul was created. Our Creator had already formed light and darkness, separated water from land, built mountains and rivers, and introduced every living thing from the fruit fly to the tiger onto our planet. Then, on the sixth day, God created you. Today is the anniversary of the day when God crowned the completion of the world by making humanity.

You are already familiar with the story of the first human beings. They were created out of red mud and holy fire. Perhaps you do not yet know that, on this day, God also created every soul that would ever live.[1]

Back then, at the very beginning of our history, God took all the souls of everyone who would ever live around the Garden of Eden. Your soul saw how perfect the world could be, and your Creator instructed you.[2]

“This is the moral truth that I have established for all time,” God said to these souls. “You shall not kill. You shall not hurt animals. You shall pursue justice. You shall create a haven of love and honour.” And you, the part of you that absorbs truths that can’t be understood only with limbs and eyes and senses, took in those teachings.

When you were born, you may have forgotten what the Garden looked like. You may not remember the sound of the voice of your Creator. But ever since birth, your soul has clung to your body, reminding you of right and wrong.

That is, of course, just a story. Few Liberal Jews would say that it was an authoritative account of history. But this aggadic midrash, which appears in many rabbinic traditions, points to something that, to me, feels intuitively true. Our moral claims are real. When we say that murder is wrong or that love is right, we are not simply offering opinions about our personal preferences. We are describing transcendental facts about the universe.

There was a time when few people questioned that morality was real. While Greek philosophers and biblical prophets may have understood the origins of morality differently, or disagreed about their ethical applications, everyone agreed on a fundamental truth. Morality was meaningful.

Centuries of thought have sought to undermine that claim. Sociologists have argued that, instead, morality is simply a set of rules that human beings have developed to function in civilisations. Psychologists have shown that our brains are just machines responding to positive and negative stimuli. Many of the advancements in the name of science have reduced us to amoral automatons.

In contrast, Rosh Hashanah is an affirmation of a fundamental religious truth. This world was given to us as an act of love by the Source of all righteousness. We were born imprinted with an innate sense of how we can bring this world closer to Heaven, or to turn it into a living Hell. This ancient ritual embodies our tradition that humanity was created in the image of God, endowed by our Creator with a profound sense of right and wrong. That belief may not be provable, or even rational. It speaks to something that goes beyond reason.

When we blow the shofar, it is not supposed to sound pretty or musical. It is supposed to sound like an anguished cry. It is the wailing of all creation, calling on the soul to attention. It is a reminder of the truths we learnt in the Garden of Eden, long before our bodies were born.

I believe, I have to believe, that all people do have consciences. Against all evidence to the contrary, I want to believe that people do know good from evil, and do strive to choose good. I know that we don’t always. Most of the time, when we err, it’s because we have been too hurried or caught up in our own struggles to see that a more righteous path is possible. Sometimes we can all make mistakes from callousness or indifference.

But there is a type of evil that people can only do if they wilfully ignore their own consciences. There are evil acts that are cruel and calculated. Such acts can only be performed out of sheer moral nihilism.

It is with that in mind that I read news coming in from the USA. Across the Mexican border, the American president has built holding centres, where migrants seeking a better life are incarcerated. So terrifying are these spaces that some have dubbed them ‘concentration camps’.

We have seen videos emerge of dehydrated women crying out from glass boxes, yelling to journalists: “ayudame! Ayudame!” Help me. Help me. We know that the children in these camps have been denied beds. They are kept awake all hours, never granted the respite of darkness to sleep. Trump’s attorney general has denied that these children need toothbrushes or soap. They do not have adequate food. They have no access to lawyers.

One month ago, Trump’s administration announced that all these practices were legal. They did not even try to claim that these camps were moral. They simply stated that the people living in these camps deserved their suffering, because they were illegal. They crossed the border. They broke the law. These are the consequences for people who are no longer perceived to be human.

How can we talk about these actions as anything other than immoral? If we reject the spiritual truth of moral realism, we leave these camps as a matter of opinion. Whether people should be held in these conditions becomes simply a matter of personal preference. Worse still, we can reduce it to clinical policy choices, with cost-benefit analyses of how worthwhile it is to give prisoners toothpaste.

It is not out of malice that I say I believe those running these camps know they are wrong. Quite to the contrary: it is an affirmation of their humanity. Any one of us can commit acts of evil. Sometimes we just need to be reminded that there is another way.

A Jewish group called Never Again Action have taken up that role. They are carrying out direct action to disrupt the functioning of the camps.On Tish b’Av, thousands of them marched for change. As Jews, they perform our people’s sacred task of being the moral voice to all humanity.

These Jewish activists rightly invoke the memory of Auschwitz with their slogan: “never again”. Our communal history teaches the dangers of holding people deemed “illegal” by dint of their existence in camps.

But these activists may also invoke the memory of Eden. As Jews, they may remember a time, on this day, when God brought their souls into the Garden, and taught them the difference between right and wrong. They can call on our centuries of tradition to remind world leaders of their moral obligations.

Many of their supporters have intoned that history will not judge Mr Trump kindly. But who is history, and why should we care what it thinks? Should the leaders of America only care that one day someone will write in a textbook that what they did was wrong?

I believe these appeals to “history” are really secularised versions of a truth that was once well-known: a moral force outside of time is judging us. God is judging us. God takes note of our deeds.

Even the Commander in Chief of the world’s greatest military will have to answer. No matter how powerful anyone is, the moral arc of the universe stands higher. The immutable force that teaches us the difference between right and wrong still takes note. And that force, our God, loves us enough to allow us to change.

Despite everything, I believe we all still want to do good. Even for those whose actions are hurting people today, there is still the chance to turn back. Everyone has it in them to turn away from evil and return to the natural state their souls knew when they were first placed in the Garden at the beginning of time.

This new year, may we commit ourselves to remembering what we learnt in Eden. May the sound of the shofar awaken all of our souls.

Shanah tovah. Happy new year.

I delivered this sermon at Lincoln Synagogue for Rosh Hashannah on Monday 30th September 2019.

[1] Pesikta deRav Kahana, Piska 23

[2] BT Niddah 30b

sermon

Can a dog have a bar mitzvah?

September 8, 2019October 3, 2019 levtaylor

The issue I want to talk about today may be controversial, but I know that you are not afraid to be challenged. It is, in any case, a question that is very dear to my heart. This question has been posed by many over the years, and I feel it is important that I give a serious and considered answer.

Can a dog have a bar mitzvah?

Last year, the ultra-Orthodox Israeli member of the Knesset, Mordechai Eliav, rebuked progressive Jews by saying “go bar mitzvah your dogs!”[1] I will be honest with you. I didn’t have much of a desire to carry out such a ceremony, but after that outburst, I really did. There was just something about the way he said it that made my contrary spirit think: I can’t wait to get the chance.

To the best of my knowledge, no such ceremony has ever been performed in a synagogue of any variety. There are, however, documented cases of such celebrations taking place in Jewish homes. These simchas have been lovingly dubbed “bark mitzvahs”. As I understand it, these usually take place when the dog turns 13 in dog years, which is at around their 3^rd birthday in human years.

But what does it mean to conduct such a ceremony, and why did the idea make Mordechai Eliav so angry? Surely he must know that, throughout history, dogs have been quite friendly to the Jewish people. According to the Exodus narrative, no dog barked as we were leaving Egypt, so we were able to sneak away in silence.[2]

Perhaps, within Orthodoxy, the idea is risible. Orthodox Judaism is primarily concerned with ritual observance and adherence to halachah. In Orthodoxy, the term “bar mitzvah” is interpreted to mean “liable for the commandments”. To them, becoming bar mitzvah is taking on responsibility for the 613 statutes codified by Maimonides. So we need to know whether a puppy that came of age could engage in such pursuits.

Could a dog switch to a kosher diet? Certainly. There are plenty of kosher meats. In fact, every year, London’s Orthodox Beit Din publishes a list of approved pet foods. There are even brands dedicated to providing such snacks. Unsurprisingly, their price increases significantly around Pesach. According to this list, one can not only have a kashrut-observant chihuahua, but also a halachic hamster, guinea pig, rabbit, rat, goldfish, cat or budgerigar. Dr Dolittle would have no problem maintaining a kosher kitchen after all.

But could our canine friends observe any of the other traditional mitzvot? A Jack Russell terrier could not light shabbat candles. With the best will in the world, that is a task that requires opposable thumbs. Now, some dogs might be able to handle tefillin. The head tefillin could certainly fit on a Doberman, but can you imagine trying to place an arm tefillin on a Dachshund?

A dog might even be able to join in with traditional davening. I once led a Friday night service in East London that was attended by a Giant Schnauzer. When everyone rose for the Amidah, he rose too. When we sat for the psalms, he sat too. When we got up and bowed in Lecha Dodi to welcome the sabbath, yes, the dog bowed. He even covered his eyes when it came to the Shem’a. By the time we were reciting Aleinu, I realised that the dog was mumbling along to the prayers, following along in the Koren Sacks. I said to his owner: “this is incredible. Your dog could be a rabbi!” She said: “Tell that to him. He wants to be a taxi driver!”

If following commands is what it takes to lead a normatively Jewish life, surely that’s what dogs are best at. I am concerned, however, that even if a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel could be trained to follow most of the rules by command, she still would not be able to fulfil the mitzvah of transmitting these teachings to her puppies.

Enough speculation. I clearly do not have the necessary skills to assess a Dalmatian’s suitability for being called up to the Torah. I need to turn to our textual tradition. Thankfully, a book has already been written on this subject. In 2007, the Rabbis of the Boca Raton Theological Seminary published their definitive guide, ‘How to Raise a Jewish Dog’.

I had hoped that this would answer the important theological questions I am posing. As it quickly became apparent, however, this text was only applicable to the specific minhag of coastal North American Ashkenazi secular Jews. It advises dog owners, instead of saying no to your dog, ask him: “how can you do this to me? What did I do to deserve this? Is this my fault? Go on, you can tell me.” When your dog errs, the book suggests, remind him of everything you’ve done for him – and this is the thanks you get! And, of course, as a proud parent of a Jewish dog, you must make sure your pet knows not to mumble when he barks, cover his mouth when he sneezes and not to whine. Either ask for something or be quiet.

The truth is, however, that neither the secular approach nor the Orthodox one will help us ascertain whether any progressive British synagogue will have a Maltese poodle giving sermons from the bimah any time soon. For that, we have to understand what a bar mitzvah means in our own specific context.

When I first sit down to teach bat mitzvah students, I always begin by asking them: what do you think you need to do to become bat mitzvah? Usually, they will answer that they need to learn Hebrew, read from the Torah, give a drash, and learn the prayers. No, I say. She does not need to do any of these things. All she needs to do to become bat mitzvah in a progressive synagogue is turn 13. So, why then, do we spend with them a year learning Hebrew, Bible, theology, ethics, interpretation and how to politely gossip about the rest of the congregation?

Because, a progressive Jewish bat mitzvah is, first and foremost about choice. It is a young adult’s choice to make informed choices about what being Jewish means to them. They learn all this because they are becoming adults, and adults need to make decisions. They will need to decide how they read the Torah, how often they go to synagogue, what being part of a community means to them, and what role they want to play.

Above all else, our tradition teaches them how to make moral choices about participating in the modern world. Yes, Judaism speaks to the concerns of our society today. This week’s parashah contains a slogan that so perfectly summarises our values it may well be the international strapline for Progressive Judaism: tzedek, tzedek, tirdof. Justice, justice, you shall pursue.[3] Not the justice that can be blindly followed by adherence to commandments. Not the justice that you can achieve solely through creating culture. No. The Torah teaches that we must pursue the type of justice that needs to be reasoned, debated and pursued based on conscientious conviction.

I teach a regular cheder class. Recently, I overheard the students, unprompted, discussing whether they would participate in the Youth Climate Strike. Across the country, school students have been leaving school to protest against the destruction of our planet by corporate greed and government inaction. Their debates were informed and wise. They each discussed the respective attitudes of their schools, parents and peers. They talked about the repercussions if they participated and the possible consequences if they did not. They shared their best understanding of the scientific, moral and political concerns involved.

And I marvelled. No dog could ever have such a conversation. Most 12 year olds would not engage like this. Whatever conclusions these students came to, only a religion school that centred informed choice and civic conscience could generate such discussions. This is our Judaism. And that is why, no matter what criticisms Mordechai Eliav wants to throw at us, I am proud to be a progressive Jew.

Shabbat shalom.

jewish dog

I gave this sermon at Three Counties Liberal Judaism for Parashat Shoftim on 7th September 2019. An earlier version of this sermon misattributed the offending remarks to Stav Shafir, who in fact had been defending Reform Jews, for which I apologise.

[1] https://www.haaretz.com/israel-news/.premium-ultra-orthodox-mk-to-reform-jews-go-bar-mitzvah-your-dogs-1.5820653

[2] Ex 11:7

[3] Deut 16:20

article · judaism · social justice · Uncategorized

Tikkunistas

September 1, 2019October 3, 2019 levtaylor

Tikkunistas. That’s the word that some Orthodox Jews have derisively given us. The first part “tikkun” is a reference to “tikkun olam”, the centrepiece of Progressive Jewish theology since the 1970s. In English, it means “repair of the world”, pointing to a belief that our world is broken and that we, as Jews, are tasked with fixing it.

The suffix “istas” is, I assume, a nod to Latin American protest movements, like the Sandinistas, Nicaragua’s anti-colonial rebels, made famous in Britain by punk band The Clash.

It is meant to be an insult. Personally, I think it’s a great compliment and an elegant summary of what I believe. You see, I was raised with two religions: Judaism… and Marxism. Both my parents were socialist trade unionists. Most of my earliest memories are of protests, pickets and petitions.

Now, a proper communist family would be avowedly atheist, but somehow, even as a five-year-old, I was adamant I wanted a religion. Grudgingly, my parents took me along to Reading Liberal Jewish Synagogue, praying to Lenin that I’d soon grow out of it.

Unfortunately for them, I fell in love with Liberal Judaism. I loved the songs. I loved the prayers. I loved the discussions. And the food. Oh, the food.

So I became bar mitzvah and kabbalat Torah. I got stuck in. In all honesty, socialism and Progressive Judaism seemed very similar to me as a child. Both were about social justice. Both were based in grassroots communities. Both were building towards something wonderful.

This continues to be my Judaism: the Judaism of social justice. A Judaism of food, community and song. A few years ago, I came to the realisation that if I didn’t invest in preserving this Judaism, it ran the risk of disappearing. So I applied to Leo Baeck College and, to my surprise, they accepted me onto the rabbinic training programme.

For the last two years, I looked after Manchester Liberal Jewish Community. It was a privilege to be with people as they explored their Judaism. Having spent my twenties working mostly in the charity sector as a campaigner, doing rabbinic work has felt like nothing short of finding a calling.

When I came to the inaugural service of Three Counties Liberal Judaism in July, I felt instantly at home. The community is clearly so warm, so engaged and so full of optimism for its own future. I share wholeheartedly in that optimism.

With the year ahead, we will no doubt face challenges as these communities merge into one, but these are also great opportunities. A community that never changes can grow stale. This shake-up gives us the chance to look together at how we pray together, support each other and build community. It may even enable to heal a little corner of our world.

I wrote this as an introduction for my placement at Three Counties Liberal Judaism, based across Gloucestershire, Herefordshire and Worcestershire.