What Does it Mean to be a Jew
We have gathered here today on this winter’s Shabbat morning to celebrate with Jerome and his family as he becomes Bar Mitzvah. Today, Jerome leaves his childhood behind and begins the next stage of his life’s journey as a Jew, towards adulthood responsibility.
What does it mean to be a Jew? What does it mean to be an adult? What does it mean to be a young Jew, crossing the threshold into the domain of adult responsibility? Today Jerome is demonstrating his commitment to living his life as a Jew – essentially that’s what becoming Bar Mitzvah means. But what does it mean to live one’s life as a Jew?
Context is everything, of course. Here we are in a progressive synagogue, affiliated to a Jewish movement in Britain, known as Liberal Judaism. While celebrating the core rites of Jewish life, including Shabbat and the festivals, Liberal Judaism places its emphasis on the ethical teachings of Judaism and on the pursuit of justice and peace. For Liberal Judaism, everything a Jew does begins with a question about its ethical meaning and the ethical impact of our behaviour – which is why, for example, Liberal Judaism’s leaflet on Kashrut is entitled, ‘Ethical Eating’. What is more, for Liberal Judaism, rather than the individual’s actions being determined by communal norms, the individual is empowered to make informed choices about how to lead his or her Jewish life.
So, today is an empowering moment. Leaving his childhood behind, from today, Jerome is empowered to begin the process of making informed choices about how to lead his life as a Jew. Informed choices: a simple phrase – but the implications are more complex: Although Liberal Judaism is a distinctive stream within Jewish life it shares with all the other streams of Judaism a commitment to the centrality of education. In an important sense, today is a celebration of what Jerome has learnt so far about Judaism. A few moments ago, he led the service for us beautifully and confidently; in a short while, he will give a d’var Torah, his commentary on the week’s Torah portion, and read a section of the portion from the Sefer Torah, the scroll of the Five Books of Moses, which lies at the heart of Jewish life. Jerome’s preparation for today has largely centred on studying – and not just during the past six months when, with the assistance of his tutor, Andy Cable, he has focussed on studying the prayers of the service and his Torah portion; guided by all his teachers, including Melanie Rubin and Eileen Field, Jerome has spent the past eight years actively engaged in Jewish life and learning together with his fellow students here at Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue.
So, from this day forwards, Jerome has the power to choose. At the same time, an important part of his Jewish education so far has been about learning that in order for the choices he makes about his Jewish life to be Jewish choices, they need to be rooted in Jewish knowledge and experience – and emerge out of a commitment to lead a Jewish life.
As soon as I say this, the questions I raised earlier come to mind, and I feel bound to ask, what does it mean to lead a Jewish life? As I have indicated, Liberal Judaism provides some powerful answers – and as a constituent of Liberal Judaism, this synagogue creates a nurturing context for leading a Jewish life. But the reality is that, as Jews in the diaspora, unless we live in places like North West London, Jewish life is very fragile – and so utterly tangential to the mainstream society that we inhabit.
But then, even for those Jews who live in the midst of large Jewish communities, it is not obvious what leading a Jewish life involves. Last Monday night I returned from fifteen days in Israel – my time there framed by Israel’s war with Hamas in Gaza. Israel is continually referred to as a ‘Jewish state’. What does this mean? I know Jewish Israelis who do not live as Jews – and never step foot inside a synagogue. And yet, for some of these secular Israelis, just as for most religious Jews in Israel, it is axiomatic that they live in a state where the vast majority of the inhabitants are Jews. At the same time, I know other Jewish Israelis, both those who are religiously observant and those who are not, for whom living in a Jewish state is less about demographics and more about ethics; their sense of their ethical Jewish inheritance impelling them to reach out to those who are not Jews – to migrant workers, to Israeli Palestinians, and to Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza.
Israel is a complex place! It is a Jewish state in at least two dimensions; the demographic and the ethical – which are sometimes in conflict. To add to the complexity, Israel faces not only demographic and ethical questions at home, but also abroad: How different might be the current impasse between Israelis and Palestinians if Israel were not such a small state, a tiny minority in the Middle East; a nation that has spent most of the six decades of its existence fighting for its right to exist? Surely, the two minority peoples, Jews and Palestinians, would have found a way of acknowledging one another and living side by side if they were not surrounded by entrenched autocracies determined to maintain their power? Who knows? But the particularity of the Palestinian situation – both part of the larger Arab world and apart from it – only serves to add to the complexity; and that’s without considering the divisions between Hamas and Fatah, and between the Palestinians, who are citizens of Israelis, and the Palestinians, who as yet remain stateless refugees.
But it is not my main purpose today to address the complexity of Palestinian identity. On the occasion of Jerome’s Bar Mitzvah we are all challenged – not just Jerome – to think about the complexity of Jewish identity, the commitments and the choices we do or don’t make. Of course, it is a particularly challenging time to be considering all these questions – in the immediate aftermath of the war between Israel and Hamas. We feel deeply troubled by the conflict. We fell defensive. The attention of the world has been focussed on Gaza, and concern for the Palestinian people has translated, not only into anger at Israel, but also into attacks on Jews in the diaspora. Our hearts break for the people of Gaza, held hostage by Hamas, who have borne the brunt of Israel’s single-minded determination to stop Hamas firing rockets into Southern Israel. We are horrified by the scale of the casualties and the destruction – and also fear for Israel, as Hamas, equally determinedly repairs the tunnels, with Iran at the ready to supply more arms; ever more sophisticated weapons. First S’derot, Ashdod, Ashkelon; then B’eir Sheva: next Tel Aviv? Where will it end? It will end when the talking starts – but at the moment it is very hard to look beyond the seemingly unending conflict, mired in hatred and despair.
In this week’s Torah portion we read that when Moses returned to Egypt to tell the slaves of their impending liberation they were unable to listen to him because they were suffering ‘from a shortness of spirit’ – mikotzer ru’ach (Exodus 6:9). Spirit – ru’ach – which also means ‘wind’: the spirit, like the wind should roam free. But, enslaved in Egypt – Mitzrayim – which means a ‘narrow place’, the slaves’ spirits, too, felt trapped and restricted; completely overwhelmed by their plight, the Israelites could not listen to Moses’ message of freedom. And so it is with the Israelis and the Palestinians – and also with us. Although the circumstances are different, like the slaves groaning under Egyptian bondage, we have spent far too long trapped in a narrow place of unending conflict to be able to summon up the hope needed to see a way out; the possibility of an exodus from the morass of fear and violence.
So, what do we do? The slaves needed convincing that their crushing plight would end – hence the plagues. We have endured and witnessed enough plagues raining down like barad – like the hail Jerome will tell us about shortly, when he reads from the scroll. We need signs of hope. Perhaps President Obama, with his fresh spirit and his wisdom, with his confidence and imagination, will help us to identify the signs of new life. Perhaps, young people, like Jerome, full of hope and good will for the world, may also play their part in helping to create new possibilities for liberation, justice and peace; for a future when, in the words of one of the ministers at President Obama’s induction, tanks are beaten into tractors – and just as important: when the resources used to construct bombs are directed to the building of homes and schools and hospitals.
When I asked you, Jerome what it means for you to be a Jew, to become Bar Mitzvah and to be part of this congregation, which has been your second Jewish home for so many years, you told me some interesting things: For you, being a Jew is: ‘A way of expressing my beliefs about the world while being part of a community’. Very significantly, you understand that you are a human being, who is also a Jew; for you, being a Jew doesn’t set you apart from the world, it connects you to the world. That’s why you also told me that while ‘becoming Bar Mitzvah means becoming a more understanding member of the community’, it also means: ‘stepping through a door to see the world from a different angle’. And the world is very important to you. In your own words, you ‘care most about the planet around me’ and ‘express this by making my views on issues heard’ and ‘by protecting the environment’. You are also clear about your hopes for the future and the task before you – as you put it: ‘I would like to help make a world where people are more equal and people can fulfil their potential’.
Jerome: it is clear that you are a very committed Liberal Jew, who has no intention of treating the occasion of the celebration of your Bar Mitzvah as a moment when you receive a shul-leaving certificate! It is up-lifting for us to know this – for your family, for your community – up-lifting, because your commitment and idealism reminds us that at its core, being a Jew is about making a commitment l’chayyim – to life and to the future. Before I end, I would like to share with you the words of French Jew, Edmund Fleg, who, living from 1874 to 1963, witnessed the key upheavals of Jewish life in modern times. This is what he said about being a Jew:
I am a Jew because the faith of Israel demands of me no abdication of the mind.
I am a Jew because the faith of Israel requires of me all the devotion of my heart.
I am a Jew because in every place where suffering weeps, the Jew weeps.
I am a Jew because at every time when despair cries out, the Jew hopes.
I am a Jew because the word of Israel is the oldest and the newest.
I am a Jew because the promise of Israel is the universal promise.
I am a Jew because, for Israel, the world is not yet completed; human beings are completing it.
I am a Jew because, for Israel, humanity is not created; human beings are creating it.
I am a Jew because, above the nations and Israel, Israel places humanity and its unity.
I am a Jew because, above humanity, image of the divine Unity, Israel places the divine Unity and its divinity.
Edmund Fleg was born a Jew, but he also chose to be a Jew and to live as a Jew. Jerome: May you, like him, always find good reasons to choose to be a Jew and to live as Jew; and may the achievement of this day, inspire you – and inspire all of us – as you continue your journey. And let us say: Amen.
Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah
Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue – Adat Shalom Verei’ut
24th January 2009 – 28th Tevet 5769