Rabbi Freedman’s Shabbat Message

In a masterful essay on the festival of Sukkot, Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks z”l demonstrates that this festival, unlike the other Pilgrim festivals, has a dual character. Represented by the two distinctive commandments associated with the festival – the mitzvah of the Arba’ah Minim, known colloquially as ‘Shaking the Lulav and Etrog’, and the mitzvah of dwelling in a Sukkah, Rabbi Sacks suggests that they represent the two theological streams contained almost uniquely within Judaism: the universal and the particular.

On the one hand, he writes, Sukkot is the most universalistic of all festivals. The Arba’ah Minim remind us of the need for rain for without adequate supplies of fresh water all of the earth’s flora and fauna would wither and die. With this in mind the prophet Zechariah (see Chapter 14) predicts that there will come a time when all humanity will go up to Jerusalem and celebrate Sukkot. The Mishna in Rosh Hashanah follows the same theme and suggests that on Sukkot the entire planet will be judged in regards to the amount of rain that they will receive in the coming year (וּבֶחָג נִדּוֹנִין עַל הַמָּיִם). There could hardly be anything more universal than the belief that all life hangs in the balance during these festive days and that our prayers and actions can benefit all humankind.

At the same time, Rabbi Sacks suggested, Sukkot is the most particular of all our festivals. When Jews sit in the Sukkah, they recall Jewish history – not just the forty years of wandering in the wilderness, but the entire experience of exile. The Sukkah, a fragile, temporary booth, symbolizes the vulnerability of the Jewish people, who are all too often surrounded by large numbers of people dedicated to their destruction. It is under these circumstances that we plead for God’s special protection. Given that the Torah describes the Jews as עַם סְגֻלָה, a Treasured People, there remains in our psyche the firm belief that our prayers will be answered, for within Jewish theology there is no other people who have been blessed in this way to enjoy such a particularly close relationship with the Divine.
So Rabbi Sacks proposed, it is almost as if Sukkot were two festivals, not one.

As we embark again on our annual reading of the Torah, one might also bring the same discussion points to our study of Sefer Bereishit. If one analyses the Book of Genesis – rather like the Festival of Sukkot – we could argue that we have two books in one. Chapters 1-11 are of a universal nature. In the opening chapters we read about the creation of man and woman and of the innate dignity ascribed to each human being, the fact that each one is endowed with a Godly spirit; we then delve into the nature of human relationships and the urge to procreate, have children and form family units, even though such families often bring great tension in their wake. All of these ideas are found in this week’s sidra of Bereishit, while in next week’s portion of Noach, universal themes continue as human beings fail to live up to God’s expectations and evil in the form of violence and hubris cast a dark shadow over the world that God has created.

With the third parashah – Lech Lecha – the Book of Genesis changes from the universal to the particular, as one man, one family and eventually one people take center stage. From Genesis Chapter 12, Abraham enters the scene and suddenly the Torah moves away from the general to the specific – and from that point onwards, the focus of the Bible is on just one family and their story as well as their responsibility to uphold the highest levels of morality and decency in the hope that their example might teach the rest of the world how to behave. Just as Sacks wrote that it is almost as if Sukkot were two festivals, not one, so I believe we are entitled to say that Sefer Bereishit contains two books, not one.

As we read Parshat Bereishit, it is worth reminding ourselves of how Nahum Sarna in his Understanding Genesis described the purpose of these opening chapters, i.e. Genesis Part 1:

Whether the Hebrew Genesis account was meant to be science or not, it was certainly meant to convey statements of faith. As will be shown, it is part of the biblical polemic against paganism and an introduction to the religious ideas characteristic of the whole of biblical literature. It tells us something about the nature of the one God who is the Creator and supreme sovereign of the world and whose will is absolute. It asserts that God is outside the realm of nature, which is wholly subservient to Him. He has no myth; that is, there are no stories about any events in His life. Magic plays no part in the worship of Him. The story also tells us something of the nature of man, a God-like creature, uniquely endowed with dignity, honor and infinite worth, into whose hands God has entrusted mastery over His creation. Finally, this narrative tells us something about the biblical concept of reality. It proclaims the essential goodness of life and assumes a universal moral order governing human society.

In this respect Judaism is unlike and it could be argued, superior to its two daughter religions of Christianity and Islam. Judaism uniquely integrates universal and particular aspects, recognizing a single God for all humanity (universalism) while maintaining a specific covenant and distinct identity with the Jewish people (particularism). This is quite unlike Christianity and Islam, which are typically considered universal religions focused on the salvation and inclusion of all people through their respective faiths. Both Christianity and Islam emphasize a God whose love, mercy, and laws apply to all of humanity, providing the individual seeks salvation through the teachings of Jesus or Muhammad.

As a consequence, those who choose to remain outside of Christianity or Islam are denied salvation, which is why these two religions are fundamentally evangelical and throughout history have harmed as many people as they have healed.

Judaism by contrast does not demand conversion of non-Jews – instead it offers a simpler route towards salvation for non-Jewish people, namely, the fulfilment of seven basic rules of life promoting civilized behavior – known as the Sheva Mitzvot B’nai Noach – The Seven Laws of the Sons of Noah – they are derived, not unsurprisingly, from these opening eleven universal chapters of Genesis. By including prohibitions against idolatry, blasphemy, murder, theft, cruelty and sexual immorality, as well as the injunction to establish an equitable system of law in one’s society, Judaism makes space for the non-Jew within that society. In this way peoples of different religious and ethnic backgrounds can live peacefully together.
One of the ramifications of Judaism’s approach towards non-Jews is that there is much scope within Jewish teaching for righteous gentiles. Dama ben Netina for example, is presented in the Talmud (Avodah Zarah 23b) as a righteous Gentile. In fact when Rabbi Eliezer was asked: to what extent must one honor one’s parents? He answered: Go and see what Dama Ben Netina, a non-Jew from Ashkelon, did for his father. The rabbis wanted to buy from Dama a jewel of extraordinary beauty and great value to replace a missing stone on the High Priest’s breast plate. The price was 600,000 gold coins. Dama’s jewels however, were kept in a locked chest and the key to the chest had been placed beneath the head of his father, who was sound asleep. Not wishing to disturb him, Dama declined the sale.
A year later, God rewarded him for this amazing demonstration of parental respect with the birth of a red heifer. Such an animal was extremely rare and as a Parah Adumah it could be used in the Temple for purification purposes. The rabbis offered a huge amount of money to purchase the animal, but Dama refused to take advantage of the situation and offered instead to sell it to the Jewish community for the same amount of money that he would have received for the precious stone had his father been awake. His extraordinary restraint and respect for his father became a classic example of the mitzvah of honoring one’s parents, leading to divine reward and recognition of his moral character by the Jewish sages.
Similarly, following World War 2, many non-Jews, who risked their lives to save Jews from Nazi tyranny, were recognized by the State of Israel as Righteous Gentiles. Nearly 30,000 people so far have been honored by the Yad Vashem for their courage and heroism – they are known as the Righteous among the Nations.
They include people like Swedish diplomat Raoul Wallenberg who led one of the most extensive and successful rescue efforts during the Nazi era, saving thousands of Hungarian Jews. Shortly after arriving in Budapest in July 1944, Wallenberg began distributing Certificates of Protection to Jews. He used every means at his disposal to establish hospitals, nurseries and soup kitchens, and to designate more than thirty safe houses that together formed the core of the ‘international ghetto’, through which up to 50,000 Jews were saved.
Then, to give one further example, there was Gino Bartali, one of the most beloved of Italian cyclists. He won the Tour de France in 1938 and 1948. His cycling achievements on the Alps and Pyrenees were legendary and earned him the nickname of “Giant of the Mountains.” Yet until recently, few knew that he risked his own life and his family’s lives helping to save hundreds of Jews during World War II.

In September 1943, Italian Cardinal Elia Dalla-Costa asked to meet Bartali. Dalla-Costa had been secretly aiding thousands of Jews seeking refuge from other European countries. The fugitives needed false identity cards. Dalla-Costa shared his plan with Bartali. Under the cover of his long training rides, Bartali would carry counterfeit documents and photos in the hollow frame of his bike. Bartali cycled thousands of kilometers between cities as far apart as Florence, Lucca, Genoa, Assisi, and Rome. Sometimes Bartali was accompanied by his training companions, who were unaware of his activities. When stopped at checkpoints, Bartali engaged the guards in conversation about cycling. He asked guards not to touch his bicycle, telling them that all the parts were adjusted in a special way to suit his racing style. By coincidence, shortly after he started his underground activity, Bartali was asked to hide a Jewish family whom he knew well. Giorgio Goldenberg, his wife, and their son hid in Bartali’s cellar until Florence was liberated.

Jewish teaching as well as Jewish history testifies to the fact that one does not need to be Jewish to perform a Kiddush Hashem – a sanctification of God’s Holy Name. Jews have never believed that they alone have a kind of monopoly on the performance of good deeds – the universal aspect of Jewish teaching, as expressed in the opening chapters of Bereishit, illustrate that non-Jews too can rise to the highest levels of ethical behavior.

All this brings me to one more person and a special anniversary that took place earlier this week. On October 13, 1925 a baby girl was born to an English Methodist couple in the market town of Grantham. Her parents, Alfred and Beatrice Roberts called their daughter Margaret. On marrying her husband Dennis in 1951 she became known as Margaret Thatcher. This week is the one hundredth anniversary of her birth. When one talks of non-Jews with a Jewish spirit, or as one might say – being adopted as an Honorary Jew – Margaret Thatcher fits the bill. In fact in my library is a book by Robert Philpot entitled Margaret Thatcher, The Honorary Jew: How Britain’s Jews helped shape the Iron Lady and her beliefs.
The title of this book is based on so many different factors of her life. In purely political terms, the constituency that she represented for 33 years, including 11 years as prime minister, was the north London suburban seat of Finchley, which happened to have the highest proportion of Jewish voters in Britain. Additionally her main political guru was Sir Keith Joseph. Born in London, to an influential Jewish family, his father Samuel Joseph became the Lord Mayor of London in 1942. Joseph joined the leadership of the Post-War Orphans’ Committee of the Central British Fund for German Jewry (now known as World Jewish Relief), before being elected to Parliament in 1956. In many ways he was the architect of Thatcherism.

Then there was the make-up of Thatcher’s Cabinet. At one point, a quarter of her cabinet were Jews. “That might seem natural today, but actually it was not,” Philpot says. “In 1955 there was not even one Conservative MP who was Jewish, and 30 years later, 25% of the ministers in her government were Jews.” Before Thatcher, Jewish politicians had been often sidelined, in accordance with the British tradition of social antisemitism. But Thatcher would have none of that. During her tenure, former conservative Prime Minister Harold Macmillan grumbled that Thatcher’s cabinet included more old ‘Estonians’ than old ‘Etonians’!

As for her attitude towards Israel, one of her Jewish cabinet ministers, Malcolm Rifkind suggested that Israel encapsulated many of Thatcher’s own values and persona: “Self-help, hard work and an interesting combination of stubbornness and enterprise.” Thatcher’s view of Israel was forged during her first visit to the country in 1965. Unsurprisingly given her deep Christian faith, she was deeply affected by, as she put it, being able to relive the Bible stories. But there was another “indelible impression” from that 1965 trip. Staying in the King David Hotel at a time that Jerusalem was a divided city (pre-1967) she spoke of Israel’s hand of friendship being extended to its neighbors in spite of its vulnerability. In line with her view of geo-politics she would also refer to Israel as the lone bulwark of democracy in a pretty unpleasant area.

Self-reliance was, of course, high on the list of Thatcherite virtues and it was to the Chief Rabbi Immanuel Jakobovits that she turned for moral support in this regard. He was often described as “Thatcher’s Archbishop of Canterbury” since she put her trust in him and his ethos much more than the Anglican prelate, supposedly the most senior religious figure in the country.
Perhaps, however, the universal Jewish spirit to do good that resided deep within her came from a much earlier time in her life. It was the result of a letter received on 21 January 1939. The recipient of the letter was seventeen year old Edith Mühlbauer, a young German Jewess who happened to be a pen-pal of one of Margaret’s sisters. The letter had been sent by Alfred Roberts with a form that allowed her to apply for a visa to enter Britain. Millions died in the Shoah but this one Jewish girl survived and that single act of chesed, made an enormous impression on Margaret Thatcher.

Half a century on, she delivered her most famous address on how her faith informed her politics. Speaking to the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland (1988) she claimed to speak as a Christian as well as a politician, but the speech hinted at the fact that “Judaism is the new creed of Thatcherite Britain”. The ennoblement of the human person, the dignity of labor, freedom to serve others under a benevolent government, self-help – all these ideas and many others under-pinned her political theology which ran parallel with Jewish teachings from the Hebrew Scriptures.
In the final analysis, she never forgot what one person can achieve. When nearly sixty years after the end of WW2 Edith Nokelby (as she had become) was traced to Sao Paulo in Brazil, Lady Thatcher commented: “What can one person do? That is the question that people so often ask. Never hesitate to do whatever you can, for you may save a life.” These words could have been taken directly from the Nevi’im (The Prophets) or from the Talmud. So while she may well have attended church every Sunday, she spoke as a Jew; she may have been officially an Anglican, but unofficially she became an Honorary Jew.

It is clear that the universal teachings found in Bereishit inspired and motivated her, along with countless others, who though not of the Jewish faith, remain moved by the Jewish spirit to bring godliness into the world, as well as to dignify the human form irrespective of gender, color or creed, of religious background or ethnic origin. Such people it seems have studied and absorbed the early chapters of Bereishit. Their actions forever remind us that Judaism is built on a dual structure. As Rabbi Sacks wrote in his book Future Tense:
Judaism has a universal dimension and particularistic one, neither of which negates the other. God has a general relationship with all humanity and a particular relationship with the Children of Israel. Rabbi Akiva expressed this, simply and beautifully, in his statement in Pirke Avot (3:14). ‘Beloved is humanity, for it was created in God’s image. Beloved are Israel for they are called God’s children.’

Shabbat Shalom
Rabbi David Freedman