Prayer

Grand gestures in art and religion

Naftali Brawer — Mon, 13 May 2013 10:34:43 +0100

The Tate Modern's current retrospective of Roy Lichtenstein's pop art includes a series of 1960s paintings called "brushstrokes". In these paintings, the Jewish artist parodies abstract expressionists such as Jackson Pollock and Willem de Kooning who freely expressed their feelings through "action painting" by throwing, smearing or dripping paint on canvas. Lichtenstein parodies this by carefully recreating spontaneous expression in a highly disciplined, controlled and contrived way. Describing his work, the artist said: "Brushstrokes in painting convey a sense of grand gesture but, in my hands, the brushstroke becomes the depiction of a grand gesture."

This distinction between the grand gesture and the depiction of the grand gesture brought to mind the work of the 19th-century philosopher of religion and psychologist, William James.

In his 1902 book, Varieties of Religious Experience, James makes a clear distinction between the spontaneous religious experience of the founders of a religion - whom he calls religious geniuses - and that of the "ordinary religious believer" who comes later and "follow[s] the conventional observances":

"I speak not now of your ordinary religious believer, who follows the conventional observances… His religion has been made for him by others, communicated to him by tradition, determined to fixed forms by imitation, and retained by habit. It would profit us little to study this second-hand religious life. We must make search rather for the original experiences which were the pattern-setters to all this mass of suggested feeling and imitated conduct. These experiences we can only find in individuals for whom religion exists not as a dull habit, but as an acute fever rather."

For James, there is little value in this "second-hand religious life". It is the grand gesture of the original experience that is of genuine value, not - using Lichtenstein's brushstrokes as a metaphor - the reproduction of it.

To better understand James, let's take an example from our own Jewish tradition: prayer. According to Maimonides, the Torah obligates a Jew to pray daily. However, the words, text, structure and time of this daily prayer were not originally defined and it was left to each individual to express whatever spontaneous feelings welled up within:

As he explains in his Laws of Prayer: "There is an affirmative command to pray each day… but the number of prayers is not from the Torah, nor is the text of this prayer from the Torah. And prayer has no fixed time from the Torah… Rather, the obligation of this command is as follows: that a person plead and pray each day, and speak praise for the Almighty and then request his needs that he requires with petition and supplication, and then give praise and thanks to God for the goodness that He has bestowed upon him - each in accordance with his ability… Some pray once a day, others pray many times."

In Mishnaic times, there were no prayer books and even if there were, they would have been of little use to the masses that were illiterate. The role of the prayer leader, the Shaliach Tzibur, was to improvise. His function was to capture and articulate in elegant language what the congregation was feeling. Eventually, a skeleton structure for daily prayer - the Amidah - emerged. Over time this was then fleshed out with specific texts that became fixed. Times for prayer were also set. The result of all this is that when we pray today we do so within a fairly rigid linguistic and temporal "second-hand" framework.

James would say that the early form of prayer is the genuine religious experience, in as much as it was a spontaneous outpouring of a deeply personal experience of God. Like an abstract expressionist it was a "grand gesture". He would deem our highly regulated, fixed and structured prayer today, "second-hand" - or, to return to the art metaphor, a "depiction of a grand gesture".

It is interesting that the great Chasidic master, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev - who died when James was a young man - raised this very point in relation to prayer, which he felt had become stale and a matter of rote rather than an exciting, spontaneous outpouring of one's soul before God.

In a rich parable, as detailed in Samuel Dresner's biography, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak illustrates what happens when the original art form of prayer is replaced by a dull habit: "There once was a king who so loved music that he directed his musicians to play before him at a certain hour each morning… for many years all went well. The musicians delighted in playing each morning before the king, and the king delighted in hearing their music.

"When at last the musicians died, their sons sought to take their places. But, alas, they had neither mastered the art of their fathers nor had they kept their instruments in proper condition. Worse still, the sons no longer loved the king as did their fathers but set their eyes only upon the reward, blindly following their fathers' custom of arriving early each morning at the palace to perform. But the harsh sounds that emerged were so offensive to the ear that after a time the king no longer listened to their music… Still there were among the sons of the old musicians some who recognised that they were not worthy to play before the king. And they were determined to correct the situation. They set about the difficult task of relearning the forgotten art… Thus was their music received by the king with favour."

The early musicians in the parable represent the early generations of spiritually sensitive worshipers, for whom prayer was a first-hand, religious experience. The ignorant musicians who play with imperfect instruments, represent the vast majority of people in subsequent generations who approach prayer in this second-hand, superficial way. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak and his followers are represented by the small group of young musicians who try to re-learn the craft of their fathers amid the din and cacophony of the other tuneless musicians.

But is James justified in dismissing organised, structured religion as second-hand? Is there not something of value in the structure and formula even as its spontaneity is compromised?

The contemporary philosopher of religion, Charles Taylor, thinks James is too harsh. Taylor argues that, in order for the ideas and insights of religious geniuses to be handed down, there needs to be some conceptual and practical structure. How else can believers be organised to take action that flows from their faith?

Taylor goes further and argues that the corporate or collective religious life - a community of like-minded believers engaging in a common set of rituals and customs - is intrinsically valuable from a religious perspective. His framework is Christianity but if one applies his thinking to Judaism there is a further element that commends structure over spontaneity and that is the importance of halachah as a well-trodden path along which the observant Jew journeys.

Halachah does not involve "spontaneous" or acute religious fervour. It demands discipline and adherence to a fairly rigid structure of behaviour. In contrast to Rabbi Levi Yitzchak's parable emphasising the importance of individualistic expression in ritual there is a striking passage in Rav Soloveitchik's Halakhic Man that emphasises the importance of dry, steadfast, obedience of halachah at the expense of a God-intoxicated religious experience:

"Once my father was standing on the synagogue platform on Rosh Hashanah, ready to guide the order of the sounding of the shofar. The shofar sounder, a God-fearing Chasid who was very knowledgeable in the mystical doctrine of the 'Alter Rebbe,' Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Lyady, began to weep. My father turned to him and said; "Do you weep when you take the lulav? Why then do you weep when you sound the shofar? Are not both commandments of God?"

For "Halakhic Man", the Chasidic or Jamesian first-hand, spontaneous religious experience is at best unhelpful and at worst spiritual self-indulgence. The important thing is clinical adherence to the law. Religious fervour expressed through weeping, or dancing for that matter, has no place in his religious outlook.

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak and Rav Soloveitchik represent two poles within Jewish thought; spontaneity and structure. As with all polarities the key is not to chose between them but to hold them in creative tension. Structure without spontaneity is dull, hollow and uninspiring. Spontaneity free of structure is wild and leads to antinomianism.

Having said this, at the moment - at least within Orthodox Judaism - there is an unhealthy bias towards structure; an obsession with conformity and religious box ticking and not nearly enough attention to developing a heightened sensitivity to God. To paraphrase a colleague recently; it's time we stopped worshipping the shulchan aruch (code of Jewish law) and started worshipping God through the shulchan aruch. It is time we redress the balance by seeking deeper meaning in our rituals and infuse the meticulous practice of halachah with a deep sense of God–consciousness. In doing so we will renew our faith and thereby inspire the next generation.

Ritual focus risks losing the big picture

Dina Brawer — Fri, 22 Feb 2013 10:13:56 +0000

A couple of years ago I was having dinner with one of my closest friends, who has since passed away. She was not, strictly speaking, ritually observant although she was an extraordinarily charitable person and deeply concerned with the welfare of others. It was the last serious conversation we had - which might be why it remains etched in my mind. She referred to the fact that, unlike me, she was not religious.

I disagreed. I said that in certain respects I considered her to be more religious than myself. Religiosity, I explained, consists of two equally important relationships: Man-God and Man-Man. Granted, she neglected her Man-God relationship as defined by ritual observance, but she was deeply committed to that other important relationship. Who are we to decide which of the two merits the designation 'religious'?

Yet most of us are guilty of this bias. Try the following thought experiment. Your neighbour is in tears. Her son went off to Yeshiva in Israel for his gap year and now, she claims, he has returned 'crazy frum'. What does that term conjure up in your mind?

Most people would say it conjures up images of a young man who has become so religious that he will no longer eat in his parent's home, embrace female relatives, enjoy a night out at the cinema or even read secular books. Few would say it conjures up images of a young man who is so religious as to eschew pirate DVDs, refrain from purchasing products that make use of child labour or eat food that is sourced in an unethical way.

There are a number of reasons why this may be so.

First, it is about metrics. It is easier to measure outward behaviours than to assess inner convictions. Take for example the CRP test used by Jewish Schools to determine admissions. Families are assessed primarily on synagogue attendance, which can easily be measured. Some of the more Haredi schools will assess families based on criteria such as commitment to regular Torah study, strict Shabbat observance, women's hair covering and the absence of television or internet in the home. All are easily identifiable outward behaviours. This excludes questions that might probe more elusive values and convictions such as integrity in the workplace, authenticity, social responsibility and respect for all human beings. One can identify at first glance someone who wears a head covering or is shomer Shabbat but not the individual who resisted the temptation to make a quick but unethical buck or treats an outsider with respect.

Secondly, we find ourselves being able to observe mitzvoth to an unprecedented high standard. For example, today's kosher kitchen is nothing like that of previous generations. Not only do we have separate dishes for meat, milk and another two sets of each for Passover. We have separate sinks, dishwashers and some may even have separate kitchens for Passover. Our grandmothers in the shtetel made do with far less. On Sukkot, an entire community would have shared a single etrog given the sheer expense of obtaining such an exotic fruit, whereas today any teenager can afford their own. Advances in technology have led to improved quality Tefillin, raising the standards of what is considered acceptable.

Our socioeconomics have led to inflation in the quality of religious observance. We no longer question whether something is kosher but rather how kosher it is.

Thirdly, we display an increasing tendency to focus on the detail at the expense of the big picture. The psychiatrist, neurologist and philosopher Ian McGilcrist argues that this is an effect of our 'divided brain' and the increasing dominance of the 'left hemisphere' that is detail-centric over the 'the right hemisphere' that has a more holistic outlook. This results in a greater concern for the 'How' over the 'Why'. This is evident in all aspects of life and Jewish observance is no exception.

The combination of metric driven criteria, socio-economics and left-brain mentality has led to a bias towards mitzvot with a Man-God or ritual component. Is this obsession with the detail of ritual observance at the expense of social based mitzvot a true reflection of authentic Judaism?

The biblical prophets would not agree. A cursory reading of the prophets reveals a Judaism with a deep concern for social responsibility, interpersonal ethics and morals. Isaiah (1:11-17) railed against the offering of sacrifices when unaccompanied by social justice: "What need have I of all your sacrifices [....] that you come to appear before Me, who asked that of you? Trample My courts no more. When you lift up your hands, I will turn my eyes away from you, though you pray at length, I will not listen. Your hands are full of blood. Wash yourselves clean, put evil doings away from my sight, cease to do evil. Devote yourselves to justice, aid the wrong, uphold the rights of the orphans, defend the cause of the widow."

Isaiah (58:3-8) also had strong views about religious fasting that did not induce a change in one's behaviour: "On the day of your fasting you do as you please and exploit all your workers. Your fasting ends in quarrelling and strife and in striking each other with wicked fists. You cannot fast as you do today and expect your voice to be heard on high [...] Is this not the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loosen the chains of injustice [...]and set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and provide the poor wanderer with shelter; when you see the naked to clothe them, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?"

H ad Isaiah lived today he might have addressed the hypocrisy of those who pray fervently on the Sabbath while on their way home from synagogue sowing communal discord. Or those who question the kosher provenance of the food in their mouths without giving so a thought to the gossip that comes out.

Isaiah's contemporary Micah is similarly concerned about social issues: "You have devoured my people's flesh; you have flayed the skin off them, and their flesh off their bones. And after tearing their skins off them, and breaking their bones to bits, you have cut it up as into a pot, like meat in a cauldron. Someday they shall cry out to the Lord, but He will not answer them; at that time He will hide His face from them, in accordance with the wrongs they have done."

While Isaiah and Micah (as well as others) decry the false piousness of the individuals fasting or offering sacrifices, they are not saying that the rituals in questions are not important. Rather, they seek to redress the balance between the pietistic practice aimed at God and the social justice that benefits fellow men.

Rabbi Avraham Joshua Heschel (1907-1972), described as a modern-day prophet, took a keen interest in the burning social issues of his day, such as the Vietnam War and the American Civil Right movement. He vehemently opposed the former and marched with Martin Luther King in support of the latter. He was driven by a deep sense of religious commitment. He later described marching through Selma, Alabama in support of Civil Rights as akin to praying with his feet.

Heschel was well aware of the tension between the detail-prone observance demanded by halacha and the lofty moral aspirations invoked by the prophets. He describes Jewish life as one of polarity in which opposite poles must be held in creative tension: "Jewish thinking and living can only be adequately understood in terms of a dialectic pattern, containing opposite or contrasted properties. As in a magnet, the ends of which have opposite magnetic qualities, these terms are opposite to one another and exemplify a polarity which lies at the very heart of Judaism."

The trouble with Heschel and the prophets is that they are simply not studied widely enough. Your average teenager returning from Yeshiva will have (hopefully) absorbed a good grounding in the mechanics of a Talmudic sugya (passage) and considerable detail of Jewish ritual law. The prophets, however, get short shrift. Even where their study does form part of the curriculum its place in the traditional Yeshiva is at best marginal.

The result is an unbalanced Jewish education strongly biasing one pole while neglecting the other. Is it any surprise that many Yeshiva or seminary graduates focus on the detail of ritual obedience at the expense of the bigger picture - namely how to be a mensch?

The problem is not only marginalisation of an important corpus of Torah but also a superficial understanding of the nature of halacha and mitzvot. The contemporary rabbi and philosopher Dr Nathan Lopez Cardozo explores this problem in a series of penetrating articles in which he argues that we have expelled God from our halachic practice. He decries what he sees as a lack of 'God-Consciousness' amongst many observant Jews, who are obsessed with ritual observance without experiencing the awesome presence of God. This is one of the reasons that some self-styled religious people can behave appallingly to others. The same God who commands adherence to the laws of Kosher forbids us to lie, cheat and gossip. When God is at the centre of one's Judaism it is easier to hold its inherent polarities in creative tension. When God is expelled from ritual and it is enacted for its own sake it becomes another form of idolatry.

Perfect balance is almost impossible to achieve. But we can go some way to redressing the current bias prevalent in Orthodox Judaism. Not by diminishing the importance of and commitment to the halacha and ritual but rather by bringing into sharper focus the social dimension of Judaism through an awareness that God is present in both.

We should be more accepting of other Jews whose early steps towards Jewish commitment are primarily Man-Man, while at the same time being a little more critical of our own confinement to the Man-God pole. Both are valid starting points. But we need to keep moving step by step towards greater balance and equilibrium.

In reclaiming the Man-Man dimension of Judaism as a valid religious experience we will inevitably open more access points to more Jews who seek a relationship with God and the Jewish people. At a time when our numbers are steadily decreasing this can only be a good thing.

Prayer that makes past present

Rebecca Abrams — Sun, 17 Feb 2013 09:00:59 +0000

Last year, I took part in a remarkable ceremony at the Rose Garden in Oxford, beneath which lies the medieval Jewish cemetery, abandoned in 1290 when the entire Jewish community of England was abruptly expelled by Edward I. We had gathered to unveil a plaque to commemorate the site and recite Kaddish for those buried there.

Despite the buses thundering by a few feet away and the inevitable rain, the sense of connection to these long-dead, long-forgotten Jews was palpable and deeply moving. This was the first time anyone had said Kaddish at their grave-side in over 800 years.

A few months earlier, I was in Kiev. We stood on the edge of the ravine where, in 1941, over the course of two days, 34,000 Jewish civilians were brutally murdered by the Nazis, and (again in pouring rain) we recited Kaddish. Surreally, as the words of the prayer drifted away through the trees, the sound of gunshots rang out. It was just teenagers letting off cap guns but the effect was chilling. A too-sharp reminder of what had happened here. Not that we needed reminding. We were there, after all, to remember.

But why do this remembering? What purpose does it serve? What good does it do?

My childhood was determinedly secular and the first time I heard Kaddish was at my grandfather’s funeral when I was 12. I understood precisely nothing of the Orthodox service. I was sad my grandfather had died, but more upset by the sight of my weeping mother and grandmother. Death was just what happened to old people, wasn’t it?

The years pass. You find you can no longer thread a needle, or read the small-print. You begin to understand how short life’s lease really is. And quite suddenly you start to appreciate the significance of remembering those who’ve died — not just your own personal losses, but the dead in general. It starts to make sense why we say this particular prayer so often, why we say the names of the dead aloud, not simply the names of our own dead, and not simply to ourselves.

Opera, too, used to wash over me. I listened largely untouched. But when I hit 40 and something weird happened. Madame Butterfly, La Traviata, it didn’t matter — by the end of Act I there were tears streaming down my cheeks. And a quick glance to right and left reassured me I was not alone.

Perhaps, like opera, the full power of Kaddish seldom touches us when we’re young. Only in mid-life do we begin to understand the value of memorials, whatever form they take. One of Ukraine’s greatest Jewish writers, Vasily Grossman, lost his mother in the Berdichev massacre. He memorialised her not through prayer, but in his magisterial novel, Life and Fate, and in a series of heartbreaking letters to her on the ninth and 20th anniversaries of her murder.

Of all forms of remembering, though, Kaddish has a distinct power and beauty. You don’t need to know what the words mean to be affected by the incantatory rhythms and repetitions, to sense that something ancient and awesome is being invoked. It’s called the prayer for the dead, but it doesn’t even mention death, for death is not really the point.

In Kiev and in Oxford I properly heard its simple, universal message for the first time. What these occasions brought home was the prayer’s unique two-way flow between past and present, its extraordinary ability to connect the living and the dead across time and space. We stand in the great flow of life, linked for all our differences by a common end, and the task is not that we die but how we live. It’s never too late to remember and reflect on that, even after 800 years.

Israel’s ‘Soviet’ prayer police

Geoffrey Alderman — Tue, 15 Jan 2013 10:39:53 +0000

Last month, Israeli police arrested worshippers at the entrance to the Western Wall in Jerusalem. The worshippers had committed a heinous crime: they had tried to pass through the gates leading from the plaza to the Wall itself wearing tallitot.

I should explain that they were all women. Their declared object was to join that section of female worshippers identified with the "Women of the Wall," an organisation that has for the past two-and-a-half decades held or attempted to hold monthly Rosh Chodesh services in the women's section.

Since last summer, women daring to participate in these services have been arrested practically every month, either for wearing tallitot or tefillin or, less explicitly, for "disturbing public order".

The arrests have generally not been followed by the laying of criminal charges. But, last October, Anat Hoffman, chairwoman of Women at the Wall (who was fined in 2010 simply for holding a Sefer Torah at the Wall) was arrested for the crime of singing at the Wall.

She was strip-searched, held overnight in police custody, and then issued with a restraining order banning her from visiting the Wall for 30 days.

According to Hoffman, the Jerusalem constabulary "checked me naked, completely, without my underwear. They dragged me on the floor 15 metres; my arms are bruised. They put me in a cell without a bed, with three other prisoners, including a prostitute and a car thief."

The constabulary has not contradicted this account, nor denied rumours that women are now searched at the entrance to the Wall, to make sure that they are not carrying tallitot or tefillin. This is of course precisely the sort of behaviour that one associates with the worst excesses of the Soviet era when Jewish visitors to the USSR were routinely searched for ritual objects, which were often confiscated.

Just in case any of you suppose, having read thus far, that I am therefore minded to side wholly with the Women of the Wall and wholly against the Jerusalem constabulary, let me assure you that I am not. Before I explain why, let me draw your attention to another arrest, not at the Wall itself but on the Temple Mount a couple of hundred or so yards away.

This arrest took place on January 1. On that day a man - Moshe Feiglin - was alleged to have attempted to engage in prayer on the Mount. Had he been a Muslim, or a Christian (or even, perchance, a heathen) the likelihood is that nothing untoward would have happened. But Feiglin is a Jew. He was followed on to the Temple Mount by an undercover security officer. And for the crime of attempting to engage in prayer (he was apparently spotted bowing his head) this Jew - not for the first time – was arrested. And this too, of course, recalls precisely the sort of behaviour that one associates with the worst excesses of the Soviet era when Jews in the USSR were routinely arrested simply and solely for the crime of engaging in Jewish religious worship.

Feiglin is a Likud activist. Some call him an extremist. His reported views on Hitler and Nazism do indeed leave me cold and, some years ago, he was banned from entering the UK. But even extremists have rights. His foray on to the Temple Mount was not his first and I daresay will not be his last. At the beginning of December, he was reported to have led a full prayer service on the Mount, without incident. Good for him.

The Women of the Wall are also extremists. They have a gender agenda, not all of which I (an Orthodox Jew) find palatable. But, again, even extremists have rights. I cannot in all conscience understand why wearing a prayer-shawl should amount to a crime. If Anat Hoffman and her colleagues wish to don tallitot and tefillin, then that is surely their business.

The arrest of Feiglin for praying and of Hoffman for wearing were gross violations of freedom of worship. Prime Minister Netanyahu has asked Jewish Agency chairman Natan Sharansky to find a solution for non-Orthodox women's groups wishing to pray peacefully at the Wall. He should also be asked to investigate the prohibition on Orthodox men wishing to pray peacefully on the Temple Mount.

Time to put the poetry back into our prayers

Rabbi Dr Jeffrey Cohen — Thu, 30 Aug 2012 15:48:14 +0100

I love both English and Hebrew poetry, especially sacred Hebrew poetry, which has a very long tradition stretching back to the Bible.

Prose is the medium of everyday speech. Poetry, on the other hand, with its rhythms and cadences, its innate economy of expression and rich and allusive vocabulary, powerfully engages both the emotions and the intellect, stirring one’s spirits in response to its beauty and enabling the reader to penetrate to the very core of its ideas.

Poetry is Judaism’s preferred medium of expression. Open any Hebrew Bible and one finds that all its words are endowed with musical notes, indicating that it was clearly intended to be chanted, like a song or poem. Attend any synagogue and you will hear the Torah scroll being read to a lyrical chant, with all the rhythms of a poem.

It is the same with the siddur and machzor. The distinguishing feature of a synagogue service is that it is led by a chazan who sings the service melodiously. Indeed, one of the main developments within Orthodox synagogues over the past 30 years has been the introduction of a vast repertoire of new and lively niggunim (melodies) for most of the hymns and prayers, a trend largely inspired by the late Chasidic musician, Shlomo Carlebach, who died in 1994.

The worshippers, likewise, do not merely “recite” the prayers; they also “sing” them; and it is not unusual — especially in smaller, less formal, Orthodox congregations — to hear individual worshippers so ecstatically involved in their prayers that their voices are raised above all those around them. In the larger, more formal, Anglo-Jewish congregations, on the other hand, that is generally regarded as exhibitionism.

The poetic basis of the prayer book becomes obvious when we consider that over one half of it constitutes individual psalms or verses selected from the biblical Book of Psalms. Of the other half, most of the Hebrew hymns and prayers, even including the apparently formulaic blessings, are also endowed with a rhythmic, poetic quality.

As a retired congregational rabbi, I have long been aware that there is a significant proportion of regular worshippers whose Hebrew reading is, to put it delicately, rusty. How, then, can spirituality be nurtured in a situation wherein one’s siddur and machzor are not merely closed books, but, in some respects, a source of embarrassment?

So, one of the main objectives of this project was to provide those who could not comprehend the Hebrew text with a user-friendly paraphrase of the major prayers and hymns, written in rhyming English poetry and in a style that, hopefully, they would find inspirational, devotional and informative. This can rarely be achieved by reading even the best of translations, inevitably confined by literalness and set as a crowded printed page.

Prayer is not meant to be mumbo-jumbo. It was clearly intended to be a personal, urgent and spiritually-satisfying exercise of approaching the Almighty and exercising our minds and emotions to express our love of and dependency on Him. Understanding what we are saying is, therefore, essential; and hence the value of these works.

My purpose is certainly not to replace the siddur and machzor, but rather to enhance the liturgical experience. My target readership is anyone with the urge to participate in the act of prayer; anyone for whom the prayer book is, as yet, too challenging, but who nevertheless seeks a stimulus for religious contemplation; anyone who would like to inject some spirituality and meaning into his or her home, especially on a Sabbath or festival, and any synagogue that would like to place into the hands of occasional visitors a devotional manual that conveys more than a flavour of what the congregation is praying at any given moment.

Educators may also find some benefit. Given the very demanding and varied subjects on the Jewish studies curriculum, fluency in Hebrew reading may not be achieved by all pupils. A school or cheder assembly that follows the lines of a regular synagogue service may also prove too challenging for many.
The introduction of these poetic and devotional readings, on the other hand, may well add interest, relevance and inspiration. A place may also be found for them as a starting-point for lessons on the subject of prayer and liturgy, and also among youth groups, especially at schemes where full services are not held.

From Rabbi's Cohen translation of Adon Olam:

Master of the Universe
Who alone was king,
Before His decision
To make anything.
The prayer of man,
Though lowly in station,
Became the crown
For His coronation...

Into His hand
I commit my soul,
During sleep
And waking hours.
Fearlessly, I live my life,
Confident
In His great powers.

translated by
Rabbi Dr Jeffrey Cohen

Thousands join debate on dangers of internet

Marcus Dysch — Thu, 02 Aug 2012 13:16:19 +0100

A conference to discuss steering young strictly Orthodox Jews away from online dangers is expected to attract up to 6,000 people.

It is understood that “addiction to the internet” is being cited in an increasing number of cases coming before various London batei din. They include marriage break-ups and incidents of parents and children clashing over the amount of time youngsters spend online.

The Union of Hebrew Orthodox Congregations has hired Alexandra Palace in north London for next month’s event. High-profile speakers are due to attend from Israel, the US and Belgium.

A member of the conference’s organising committee said: “They will be condemning the internet. It is used for so many bad things. At the press of a button you can end up with porn and all sorts of stuff. The rabbonim want to protect the community. People should not have access to it.”

A similar event in Mill Hill, north west London, last month attracted 1,800 people. Delegates discussed whether some aspects of modern technology, including internet-enabled devices, could be considered “kosher”.

Rabbinical authorities accept that the world wide web cannot be “banned” in its entirety, and instead intend to issue guidelines for safe, limited internet use. The conference is expected to identify passwords and filters which community members will be encouraged to adopt when using the internet.

“Maybe we will decide to use passwords that only the parents know and then the children will not access such material,” said the organiser.

Around 3,000 strictly Orthodox men from the UK celebrated a special event at London’s Royal Festival Hall on Monday evening. The Daf Yomi Siyum marked the end of a seven-and-a-half year cycle of daily Talmudic studies.

The event featured a seven-tiered stage. Organiser Mark Curtis said it had been difficult to find a large enough venue during the Olympics but that the evening had been “pretty cool and very successful”.

Satmars told to demolish shul in family home

Jessica Elgot — Thu, 29 Mar 2012 18:50:35 +0100

A planning inspector has ruled that a Satmar synagogue built in a family home in Stamford Hill must be demolished.

Satmar leaders must also pay Hackney Council the costs of a public inquiry into the planning violation because the appeal was "unreasonable".

The Bethune Road property had been extended and converted without planning permission. Satmar Ltd was served with an enforcement notice giving it three months to demolish the extension, which the council says was ignored.

Hackney disputes the synagogue's contention that the extension has been in place for 10 years.

Planning inspector Jean Russell was told the synagogue was also a family home, but concluded there was no "private flat" in the building and "the sole primary use was as a place of worship", with up to 50 people visiting on Shabbat. Singing and prayers could be heard by neighbours and the extension caused an "unacceptable loss of outlook and daylight" in neighbouring houses and gardens.

Awarding costs, Ms Russell said the appeal by the Satmar community was made "in the hope that the true information regarding the extension would not come out". Satmar Ltd is believed to be considering challenging the enforcement notice in court.

A Hackney spokesman explained that "the owners have six months to comply. Should they fail to do so, the council will prosecute them.

"For a challenge to a decision to be successful, the High Court would need to be satisfied that the inspector made an error in law. If a mistake has been made, and the High Court considers it might have affected the outcome of the appeal, it will return the case to the planning Inspectorate for reconsideration. The High Court would not make a decision itself."

Site launched to link global Jewry in recovery prayers

Jennifer Lipman — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 15:09:44 +0100

A teacher whose sister battled leukemia has developed a website for Jews around the world to unite in prayers for a speedy recovery.

Shira Kalish, from Long Island, came up with the idea of "linking the Jewish community through chesed (lovingkindness)" when she witnessed the response to her sister's illness.

Darielle Rabe, who was 33 and pregnant for the third time when she was diagnosed last year, is now in recovery after a bone marrow transplant.

During Darielle's treatment, people rallied around, creating prayer groups, challah-baking circles and making meals for the family.

"People were sending emails, texting, going on Facebook, making calls, and there were ten lists going at the same time," said Ms Kalish. "It was all over the place.

"One Thursday night while I was kneading challah dough, I said that there had to be a better way of organising everyone's efforts."

From that moment of inspiration, Tziporah's Nest was born.

The site officially launches this Thursday, and new features are still being added.

Users can sign up free and create a campaign for a loved one or join an existing one and co-ordinate efforts in four areas, challah-baking, prayers, nourishment (meals) and tzedakah for families who are struggling with medical bills.

Email updates are sent out to those who are signed up to the campaign and there is also the option to send condolence cards.

"When a friend or family member is diagnosed with a serious illness, often, the feeling of helplessness is one that becomes overwhelming.

"Our instincts tell us we need to help, yet we often don't know what we can and should do," said Ms Kalish.

"The beauty of this website is that even someone in London, or Israel, who happens to be baking challah for Shabbat, can log on, and join a campaign to do chesed for a friend or stranger on the other side of the world."

How do you get a new nose? Use your head

Marcus Dysch — Thu, 26 May 2011 13:52:26 +0100

It may not have been a nose job in the traditional sense, but the story behind 109-year-old Meir Korner's new nose is quite remarkable.

Surgeons in his home city of Haifa were forced to amputate because of a tumour - and immediately rebuilt it using skin from his own forehead.

Mr Korner insists he has lived so long thanks to a daily routine of rest, prayer, and trips to the beach. For more than 60 years he has enjoyed regular walks along the shore.

But those strolls in the sunshine came back to haunt him with the tumour.

The operation took place at Haifa's Rambam Health Care Campus, the only Israeli hospital to perform the procedure, which takes just an hour under local anaesthetic. A procedure called forehead flap rhinoplasty involves skin from the patient's head being folded across the remaining portion of the damaged nose.

Dr Yitzchak Ramon, senior plastic surgeon, said: "Nose reconstruction is a real challenge, yet just days after the operation it looked like nothing had happened to the patient's nose."

Mr Korner is determined that the reconstruction will not change his lifestyle.

He said: "The doctors say this happened because of the sun, but I don't think I have to stop going to the beach. I look and feel good because of the doctors and because I do what I love.

"The Almighty promised me many years on this earth, and the moment I can, I will return to the sea - with sunscreen."

Blitz bombing victims are remembered

Bernard Josephs — Thu, 19 May 2011 15:22:13 +0100

Faded photographs of smiling young Londoners shortly before their lives were cut short are all that remains of victims of one of the capital's worst wartime disasters.

Most were in their prime as they and their children crowded into a public air-raid shelter in a block of flats in Stoke Newington, only to die when a 550-pound bomb scored a direct hit, reducing their refuge to a pile of smoking rubble.

Seventy years later, relatives and friends exchanged pictures of some the 160-plus victims - many of them Jewish - as they were remembered at the unveiling of a plaque on the site of the block in Coronation Avenue.

Some harboured vivid memories of the bombing on October 13, 1940. Rene Broider, now 89, recalled spending several nights in the Coronation Avenue shelter.

But on the night of the attack, she and her husband decided to go to her sister-in-law's house in Clapton.

Returning home the next day, "I just stood and cried. I thought there but for the grace of God… It was a devastating sight."

Images of the destruction had stayed with her and she had been reluctant to attend the commemoration for fear that it might "open up wounds".

Another recounting a fortuitous escape was 90-year-old Eleanor Kennedy, who had tried to gain entry to the shelter but was turned away because it was full. "I consider myself very lucky. Those people never stood a chance," she said.

Israeli doctor Melvyn Brooks came to London for the plaque unveiling by BBC broadcaster and local resident George Alagiah. Dr Brooks had lost an aunt in the bombing. "She was only 30. I pray that nothing like that will ever happen again.

"It is for the present generation to remember but my generation is not in a position to forgive," he said. For him, the ceremony had been "a kind of partial closure".

Dr Brooks recited kaddish during the ceremony, which featured readings by schoolchildren and addresses by Jewish, Christian and Muslim ministers.

Prayers were also said for the victims on Shabbat at Walford Road Synagogue. Project Manager Camilla Loewe said the plaque unveiling was only part of the remembrance. The next stage would be to gather information and funds for a book about the disaster.

"We discovered that after all these years, there are still a lot of people with a personal connection to the event who have unanswered questions. To our surprise, our campaign has been able to ease the burden for some," she added.