http://www.thejc.com/news/topics/yom-kippur The taxonomy view with a depth of 0. en http://www.thejc.com/comment-and-debate/columnists/83887/a-pogrom-conducted-jews <p>You've probably had your fill of atonement for this year. You'd be forgiven if you didn't want to think of Yom Kippur for another 12 months. </p> <p>But, before we leave it behind, one last thought about what we just did. We stood and, in the Al Chet prayer, listed one-by-one those areas where we had fallen short. "We" is the operative word here, for this is no Catholic confession, alone and in private, but a collective act of atonement. We announce that we will put right what we have done wrong collectively, as a people. </p> <p>Now, maybe this is just a tired ritual, a parroting of words few of us understand for no higher purpose than to give us the soothing sensation of following tradition. But, if it means anything, then we need to look hard at what we as a people have done. </p> <p>Plenty of long-time JC readers will groan now in anticipation of my mentioning Israel. "There he goes again", they'll say. "Always banging on about Israel's treatment of the Palestinians." All right, I'll change the record. No talk about the Palestinians this time. Instead let's talk about Israel's treatment of those no one could seriously believe pose a security threat, those who have no record, past or present, of hostility to Israel. </p> <p>I'm speaking of the African asylum seekers who, out of desperation, have fled brutal societies for a chance of survival in the country that boasts of being the only true, open democracy in a region of oppression. These are people who have thrown no rockets at Israeli towns, who have no charter committed to Israel's destruction. So how are they treated?</p> <p>They are "a cancer in the body" of the nation, Likud MK Miri Regev declared at a Tel Aviv rally in May, a verdict later backed by 52 per cent of Jewish Israelis, according to a poll. Her audience certainly got the message, promptly running riot through the Hatikva neighbourhood - linger for a moment on that name - which is home to many African migrants. </p> <p>Amid chants of "Blacks out!", the mob smashed the windows of African-owned shops or cars, beating up any luckless migrant they chanced upon. The Telegraph reported on a group that rounded on a black boy on a bicycle, beating, punching and kicking him in the head while the police stood by and watched: "Other witnesses described a gang assaulting a mother carrying a young baby so violently she was forced to drop her child." If that were a Jewish neighbourhood, we know what word we would use: pogrom. </p> <p>Scan the headlines since and you see the pattern. Earlier this month, the Israeli immigration authorities jailed a newborn baby in a detention facility. They were taking their cue from Israel's Interior Minister who had vowed to make the lives of such asylum seekers "bitter until they leave". Should those refugees object, surely they could demand justice in the courts? Not necessarily. </p> <p>A new rule due to take effect this month was set to deny many migrants (and Palestinians) access to the courts, until, under pressure, the Justice Ministry threw it out. Meanwhile, an Israeli woman last week posted on her Facebook page a collection of photographs of African refugees in a park, referring to the men as "animals" and labelling the pictures "Night tour in the south Tel Aviv safari". </p> <p>Which of the 44 sins we listed so earnestly on Yom Kippur do we violate when we know of this and say little or nothing? Take your pick. Our sacred texts tell us repeatedly to welcome the stranger, for we too were once strangers. Why do we bother reciting these words if they no longer mean anything?</p> Columnists Yom Kippur 83887 story 70476 If the prophets could see Israel now 50724 Immigration now less popular in Israel You've probably had your fill of atonement for this year. You'd be forgiven if you didn't want to think of Yom Kippur for another 12 months. But, before we leave it behind, one last thought about what we just did. We stood and, in the Al Chet prayer, listed one-by-one those areas where we had fallen short. "We" is the operative word here, for this is no Catholic confession, alone and in private, but a collective act of atonement. We announce that we will put right what we have done wrong collectively, as a people. Now, maybe this is just a tired ritual, a parroting of words few of us understand for no higher purpose than to give us the soothing sensation of following tradition. But, if it means anything, then we need to look hard at what we as a people have done. Plenty of long-time JC readers will groan now in anticipation of my mentioning Israel. "There he goes again", they'll say. "Always banging on about Israel's treatment of the Palestinians." All right, I'll change the record. No talk about the Palestinians this time. Instead let's talk about Israel's treatment of those no one could seriously believe pose a security threat, those who have no record, past or present, of hostility to Israel. I'm speaking of the African asylum seekers who, out of desperation, have fled brutal societies for a chance of survival in the country that boasts of being the only true, open democracy in a region of oppression. These are people who have thrown no rockets at Israeli towns, who have no charter committed to Israel's destruction. So how are they treated? They are "a cancer in the body" of the nation, Likud MK Miri Regev declared at a Tel Aviv rally in May, a verdict later backed by 52 per cent of Jewish Israelis, according to a poll. Her audience certainly got the message, promptly running riot through the Hatikva neighbourhood - linger for a moment on that name - which is home to many African migrants. Amid chants of "Blacks out!", the mob smashed the windows of African-owned shops or cars, beating up any luckless migrant they chanced upon. The Telegraph reported on a group that rounded on a black boy on a bicycle, beating, punching and kicking him in the head while the police stood by and watched: "Other witnesses described a gang assaulting a mother carrying a young baby so violently she was forced to drop her child." If that were a Jewish neighbourhood, we know what word we would use: pogrom. Scan the headlines since and you see the pattern. Earlier this month, the Israeli immigration authorities jailed a newborn baby in a detention facility. They were taking their cue from Israel's Interior Minister who had vowed to make the lives of such asylum seekers "bitter until they leave". Should those refugees object, surely they could demand justice in the courts? Not necessarily. A new rule due to take effect this month was set to deny many migrants (and Palestinians) access to the courts, until, under pressure, the Justice Ministry threw it out. Meanwhile, an Israeli woman last week posted on her Facebook page a collection of photographs of African refugees in a park, referring to the men as "animals" and labelling the pictures "Night tour in the south Tel Aviv safari". Which of the 44 sins we listed so earnestly on Yom Kippur do we violate when we know of this and say little or nothing? Take your pick. Our sacred texts tell us repeatedly to welcome the stranger, for we too were once strangers. Why do we bother reciting these words if they no longer mean anything? Thu, 27 Sep 2012 16:35:52 +0100 Jonathan Freedland 83887 at http://www.thejc.com http://www.thejc.com/videos/lifestyle-videos/im-glad-you-prayed-a-high-holy-days-tune <p>Boyband The Wanted get the Jewish-makeover treatement with this Yom Kippur reworking of "I'm glad you came". </p> Lifestyle videos Yom Kippur Thu, 27 Sep 2012 12:48:01 +0100 Jennifer Lipman 83935 at http://www.thejc.com http://www.thejc.com/blogs/anna-sheinman/yomkiptoptips-top-tips-fast-jc <p>The fast is never easy. To make it that bit more bearable, I’ve asked those bastions of Jewish knowledge – the JC staff – to share their top tips on how to make it through. Here’s what they came up with.<br /> <b><br /> Jennifer Lipman, comment editor <a href="https://twitter.com/jenlipman">@JenLipman</a>:<br /> “Never wear a watch. All you’ll do is sit there looking at the time, it won’t help the 25 hours go faster!”<br /> </b><br /> Gerald Jacobs, literary editor:<br /> “Take a break, go home, get out a good book and read horizontally. It’s important that you’re horizontal.”<br /> <b></p> <p>Cathy Forman, community editor:<br /> “Never sit next to a hypochondriac in shul.”<br /> “Also, we know a couple who sleep in and go to synagogue for 2pm, so they’ve only got 6 hours left.”<br /> </b><br /> Simon Round, features writer (and former food editor) <a href="https://twitter.com/simon_round">@simon_round</a>:<br /> “I’d recommend food with a low glycaemic index like barley, lentils and oats, for slow release energy, as well as protein to stop you feeling hungry. A chicken and lentil dahl with brown rice would be a perfect meal to start the fast. Eat as much as possible.”<br /> <b></p> <p>Sharron Livingstone, travel editor:<br /> “You’ve got to get into the spirit of the day. Think about what you’re doing, and meditate on where you are and where you want to be this time next year.”<br /> </b></p> <p>Angela Kiverstein, supplements editor:<br /> “We think of it as a marathon, so we have a big bowl of pasta with cheese sauce to start us off. It fills you up.”<br /> “Also make sure whatever you eat doesn’t have too much salt, it will only make you thirsty.”<br /> <b></p> <p>Zoe Winograd, reporter:<br /> “Don’t drink coffee for a few days before, it will help with the headache.”<br /> </b></p> <p>Danny Caro, sports editor <a href="https://twitter.com/DjCaro">@DjCaro</a>:<br /> “If you’ve got to make food for children, make it in advance.”<br /> “I always like to go for a walk in the park and collect conkers.”<br /> <b></p> <p>Jamie Masters, sports reporter <a href="https://twitter.com/Masters_JamesD">@Masters_JamesD</a>:<br /> “Don’t think about the football results. It won’t make them come any faster.”<br /> </b></p> <p>Sandy Rashty, reporter <a href="https://twitter.com/SandyRashty">@SandyRashty</a>:<br /> “On your way, don’t walk down the high street, all the adverts for food are just too much to deal with.”<br /> <b></p> <p>Jenni Frazer, news editor:<br /> “Fast on meat, break on fish – isn’t that what everyone does?”<br /> </b></p> <p>And finally, Marcus Dysch, reporter <a href="https://twitter.com/MarcusDysch">@MarcusDysch</a>:<br /> “Don’t make a fuss, just get on with it!”</p> <p><i>Have you got a YomKipTopTip? Let us know by posting it below.</i></p> <p>Follow Anna Sheinman on Twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/AnnaSheinman">@AnnaSheinman</a>:</p> http://www.thejc.com/blogs/anna-sheinman/yomkiptoptips-top-tips-fast-jc#comments Yom Kippur Tue, 25 Sep 2012 11:43:47 +0100 Anna Sheinman 83592 at http://www.thejc.com http://www.thejc.com/comment-and-debate/comment/82853/let%E2%80%99s-listen-isaiah-and-share-our-bread-hungry <p>My grandparents escaped from Europe to America for a life free from persecution and poverty. Yet, after one generation, I went back, crossing the Atlantic in the opposite direction for a year of study that became a lifetime. </p> <p>I was privileged to have been part of the social activism of 1960s' America. But, by the decade's end, optimism had given way to despair that our efforts to create a more just world had not materialised. I left a country that was still recovering from the poison of McCarthyism, was rife with conflict over Vietnam and with a black population still denied access to the "American Dream". </p> <p>I also left an America where Jews, religious and secular, played a disproportionate role in many of the social movements. The Britain I moved to was a country that had institutionalised outstanding social provision through the creation of the welfare state yet, paradoxically, I found that the Jewish community was not as overtly involved in issues of social justice. </p> <p>Fast-forward 40 years and Britain looks to me like a very different place, with government-steered austerity cuts to state services. The Institute for Fiscal Studies expects the cuts will cause the number of children growing up in poverty to rise by a staggering 400,000 children by 2015. The UK's largest network of food banks, the Trussell Trust, has in the past three years doubled the number of people it feeds. </p> <p>These cuts will have a disproportionate effect on our most vulnerable, who are less able to cushion themselves. Almost half of young black people are now unemployed, while half of older Pakistani and Bangladeshi people live in poverty. Asylum seekers and refugees will also be severely affected by the 60 per cent cuts to the advice services and groups that help them integrate. </p> <p>While I don't want to give in to pessimism, I find it frightening that the bulk of the cuts are still to come. The effects may be hidden from view (save for people begging on our streets), but this makes them no less devastating. And this pressure to compete for scarce resources could lead to increasing tension between communities as they vie for an ever diminishing share of the cake. </p> <p>Our community is not immune. In 2011, the Institute for Jewish Policy Research found that, of the 50,600 Jewish children recorded in the 2001 census, 3,800 lived in overcrowded accommodation and 2,500 lived in social housing; 4,300 lived in households where no adults were employed. </p> <p>Hackney's Charedi community is worst hit but the report also referred to areas like Barnet and Redbridge. According to Hackney Council, 90 per cent of housing claimants affected by cuts are Charedi. Meanwhile, Norwood recently revealed that its case-load had increased by 20 per cent since 2011 as a result of the economic situation.</p> <p>"If all the afflictions in the world were assembled on one side of the scale and poverty on the other, poverty would outweigh them all," teach the sages, in Exodus Rabba. The Reconstructionist rabbi, Richard Hirsh, explains that, in the Talmudic period, tackling poverty was seen as being too complex a job to be left to individuals or private groups - something surely true today. </p> <p>As Jews, we are taught that every one of us has a duty to give tzedakah out of the necessity to do justice. "A person is held responsible for the sins of their family, or of their community when they fail to use their influence for the correction of wrongs." </p> <p>Since I started the Jewish Council for Racial Equality in 1976, I have witnessed a growing interest in our community in making this teaching a reality. It did itself proud in creating a Jewish coalition to "Make Poverty History" in 2005. The same imagination, resources and effort now need to be channelled into a new campaign.</p> <p>We have made a good start, with superb projects such as the New North London Synagogue centre for asylum seekers and Alyth Gardens' drop-in for refugees. Finchley Reform and Finchley Progressive synagogues have run homeless shelters. But more is needed, and such laudable examples must go hand-in-hand with a robust response from our community, be it through the pulpit or from our organisations. </p> <p>A positive and distinct Jewish voice offering a vision of a better society must be heard loud and clear in the New Year. Isaiah commands us to "share your bread with the hungry". On Yom Kippur, this should be our resolution, our commitment and our passion.</p> Comment Yom Kippur Charity 82853 story My grandparents escaped from Europe to America for a life free from persecution and poverty. Yet, after one generation, I went back, crossing the Atlantic in the opposite direction for a year of study that became a lifetime. I was privileged to have been part of the social activism of 1960s' America. But, by the decade's end, optimism had given way to despair that our efforts to create a more just world had not materialised. I left a country that was still recovering from the poison of McCarthyism, was rife with conflict over Vietnam and with a black population still denied access to the "American Dream". I also left an America where Jews, religious and secular, played a disproportionate role in many of the social movements. The Britain I moved to was a country that had institutionalised outstanding social provision through the creation of the welfare state yet, paradoxically, I found that the Jewish community was not as overtly involved in issues of social justice. Fast-forward 40 years and Britain looks to me like a very different place, with government-steered austerity cuts to state services. The Institute for Fiscal Studies expects the cuts will cause the number of children growing up in poverty to rise by a staggering 400,000 children by 2015. The UK's largest network of food banks, the Trussell Trust, has in the past three years doubled the number of people it feeds. These cuts will have a disproportionate effect on our most vulnerable, who are less able to cushion themselves. Almost half of young black people are now unemployed, while half of older Pakistani and Bangladeshi people live in poverty. Asylum seekers and refugees will also be severely affected by the 60 per cent cuts to the advice services and groups that help them integrate. While I don't want to give in to pessimism, I find it frightening that the bulk of the cuts are still to come. The effects may be hidden from view (save for people begging on our streets), but this makes them no less devastating. And this pressure to compete for scarce resources could lead to increasing tension between communities as they vie for an ever diminishing share of the cake. Our community is not immune. In 2011, the Institute for Jewish Policy Research found that, of the 50,600 Jewish children recorded in the 2001 census, 3,800 lived in overcrowded accommodation and 2,500 lived in social housing; 4,300 lived in households where no adults were employed. Hackney's Charedi community is worst hit but the report also referred to areas like Barnet and Redbridge. According to Hackney Council, 90 per cent of housing claimants affected by cuts are Charedi. Meanwhile, Norwood recently revealed that its case-load had increased by 20 per cent since 2011 as a result of the economic situation. "If all the afflictions in the world were assembled on one side of the scale and poverty on the other, poverty would outweigh them all," teach the sages, in Exodus Rabba. The Reconstructionist rabbi, Richard Hirsh, explains that, in the Talmudic period, tackling poverty was seen as being too complex a job to be left to individuals or private groups - something surely true today. As Jews, we are taught that every one of us has a duty to give tzedakah out of the necessity to do justice. "A person is held responsible for the sins of their family, or of their community when they fail to use their influence for the correction of wrongs." Since I started the Jewish Council for Racial Equality in 1976, I have witnessed a growing interest in our community in making this teaching a reality. It did itself proud in creating a Jewish coalition to "Make Poverty History" in 2005. The same imagination, resources and effort now need to be channelled into a new campaign. We have made a good start, with superb projects such as the New North London Synagogue centre for asylum seekers and Alyth Gardens' drop-in for refugees. Finchley Reform and Finchley Progressive synagogues have run homeless shelters. But more is needed, and such laudable examples must go hand-in-hand with a robust response from our community, be it through the pulpit or from our organisations. A positive and distinct Jewish voice offering a vision of a better society must be heard loud and clear in the New Year. Isaiah commands us to "share your bread with the hungry". On Yom Kippur, this should be our resolution, our commitment and our passion. Fri, 21 Sep 2012 12:57:39 +0100 Edie Friedman 82853 at http://www.thejc.com http://www.thejc.com/comment-and-debate/comment/82849/on-yer-bike-its-time-atone <p>As someone who falls somewhere between the Israeli labels of secular and traditional, my US Jewish roots are steeped in synagogue attendance. Growing up in America, I had to attend shul to be an affiliated Jew, especially on the High Holy Days. Chanting prayers in a language that I didn't understand, I may not have loved it but that's the way it was.</p> <p>Years later, I made aliyah to Tel Aviv. Tel Aviv on Yom Kippur is incredible. As the city's energy slows to a crawl on Kol Nidre, cars are replaced by bikes and pedestrians until not a single moving vehicle remains in sight. By the time shul services have finished, the streets are packed with people, especially children of all ages who take over every available metre of the road. </p> <p>I believe that if you feel Shabbat in Jerusalem 10 times more intensely than you do in Tel Aviv (that is, you feel the contrast between Shabbat and the weekdays), then you feel Yom Kippur 100 times more in Tel Aviv (my numbers are rough mathematical estimates).</p> <p>While the Jerusalem streets feel like a ghost town on Yom Kippur, it's not so different from any other Shabbat. Tel Aviv on the Day of Atonement is a sight to behold that comes round only once a year. But every Yom Kippur, as I walk around the city in awe, I can't help wondering: what does spending the day riding bikes have to do with the actual meaning of Yom Kippur? To take it to the absurd, if everyone were to start eating sushi and having hula-hoop contests on Shavuot, while it might be really fun, would it add to or take away from the festival itself?</p> <p>A friend once told me that "people celebrate it in their own ways and it's nice for so many people to do something together". Many (most?) of these bike-riders and outdoor types aren't repenting, apologising to others, or thinking about what they want to do differently in the coming year.</p> <p>My perspective is surely rooted in Jewish guilt about what we should be doing. I don't want to judge or look down on non-religious observance (especially as, well, I'm not the most religious guy around and to each, his own) but let's just say it wasn't riding bikes that ensured our survival over thousands of years. If, God forbid, there is not an Israel tomorrow (or more realistically, if Israelis simply move abroad), how will we pass on our heritage to the next generation? Every demographic study shows our numbers in decline. Those of us in Israel may have the luxury of not worrying about these things like our counterparts in the diaspora, but isn't it important to pass on something besides "it's Yom Kippur, grab your helmet"?</p> <p>But here's what my friend was trying to get across. I'm not in the diaspora. Whereas the Jewish identity I grew up with was defined by religious observance, I'm now living as part of the Jewish nation in a way that I never could do outside of Israel. I grew up with Yom Kippur as a religious commemoration. </p> <p>In Israel, very few things are solely religious. When Israel liberated the Western Wall in 1967, it wasn't only a religious moment. It was a national victory after 2000 years of exile. I like that I live in a country where my Jewish identity is defined not only by religious observance but also by culture, language, community, and so much more. </p> <p>Could Israeli society be a little more well-versed in our history, texts, and religion? Sure. Is the broad spectrum of religious observance a natural, expected, and overall meaningful thing in a Jewish state? Definitely. </p> <p>Now, when I walk down Tel Aviv's highway, amazed by its rare emptiness, I try to let it enhance my spiritual and religious experience, not detract from it. As for others? I guess it's up them to figure it out. </p> Comment Yom Kippur 82849 story 80607 Fury over Tel Aviv's ‘Boris bike’ rentals on Yom Kippur As someone who falls somewhere between the Israeli labels of secular and traditional, my US Jewish roots are steeped in synagogue attendance. Growing up in America, I had to attend shul to be an affiliated Jew, especially on the High Holy Days. Chanting prayers in a language that I didn't understand, I may not have loved it but that's the way it was. Years later, I made aliyah to Tel Aviv. Tel Aviv on Yom Kippur is incredible. As the city's energy slows to a crawl on Kol Nidre, cars are replaced by bikes and pedestrians until not a single moving vehicle remains in sight. By the time shul services have finished, the streets are packed with people, especially children of all ages who take over every available metre of the road. I believe that if you feel Shabbat in Jerusalem 10 times more intensely than you do in Tel Aviv (that is, you feel the contrast between Shabbat and the weekdays), then you feel Yom Kippur 100 times more in Tel Aviv (my numbers are rough mathematical estimates). While the Jerusalem streets feel like a ghost town on Yom Kippur, it's not so different from any other Shabbat. Tel Aviv on the Day of Atonement is a sight to behold that comes round only once a year. But every Yom Kippur, as I walk around the city in awe, I can't help wondering: what does spending the day riding bikes have to do with the actual meaning of Yom Kippur? To take it to the absurd, if everyone were to start eating sushi and having hula-hoop contests on Shavuot, while it might be really fun, would it add to or take away from the festival itself? A friend once told me that "people celebrate it in their own ways and it's nice for so many people to do something together". Many (most?) of these bike-riders and outdoor types aren't repenting, apologising to others, or thinking about what they want to do differently in the coming year. My perspective is surely rooted in Jewish guilt about what we should be doing. I don't want to judge or look down on non-religious observance (especially as, well, I'm not the most religious guy around and to each, his own) but let's just say it wasn't riding bikes that ensured our survival over thousands of years. If, God forbid, there is not an Israel tomorrow (or more realistically, if Israelis simply move abroad), how will we pass on our heritage to the next generation? Every demographic study shows our numbers in decline. Those of us in Israel may have the luxury of not worrying about these things like our counterparts in the diaspora, but isn't it important to pass on something besides "it's Yom Kippur, grab your helmet"? But here's what my friend was trying to get across. I'm not in the diaspora. Whereas the Jewish identity I grew up with was defined by religious observance, I'm now living as part of the Jewish nation in a way that I never could do outside of Israel. I grew up with Yom Kippur as a religious commemoration. In Israel, very few things are solely religious. When Israel liberated the Western Wall in 1967, it wasn't only a religious moment. It was a national victory after 2000 years of exile. I like that I live in a country where my Jewish identity is defined not only by religious observance but also by culture, language, community, and so much more. Could Israeli society be a little more well-versed in our history, texts, and religion? Sure. Is the broad spectrum of religious observance a natural, expected, and overall meaningful thing in a Jewish state? Definitely. Now, when I walk down Tel Aviv's highway, amazed by its rare emptiness, I try to let it enhance my spiritual and religious experience, not detract from it. As for others? I guess it's up them to figure it out. Fri, 21 Sep 2012 11:42:08 +0100 Benji Lovitt 82849 at http://www.thejc.com http://www.thejc.com/lifestyle/lifestyle-features/82826/nw-jew-yom-kippur-%E2%80%94-it%E2%80%99s-all-about-eating <p>One of the disadvantages of being a regular shul-goer is that the rabbi knows me. This means that I am, at this time of year, guilt-tripped into volunteering my time as a steward when extra help is needed to guide members around. Members who can’t remember from one year to the next where the gentlemen’s entrance is, for example. </p> <p>As a steward, I am also required to mediate between members fighting over a seat. Mr Levy turns up toward the end of the avodah service, as he does every year, just as he turns up half way through mussaf on Rosh Hashanah, the only other time he comes to shul, and starts raising merry hell because somebody is using the seat his family has “owned” since 1957. The fact that the building is filled to the gunnels and has been for three hours doesn’t diminish Mr Levy’s fury that someone is in his seat when it should have been left vacant until, and in case, he decided to saunter in. </p> <p>“Do you know who I am?” he asks, rhetorically.</p> <p>“I assume that’s a rhetorical question,” I reply.</p> <p>“My family has been associated with this synagogue since before the war,” he smugly informs me.</p> <p>“Is that right? Well, I’m sure the shul is very grateful for your fees, especially as it appears you demand very little in return,” I smile and politely ask the squatter to move for fear that Mr Levy will decide to start coming on a weekly basis in order to ruin my life.</p> <p>Then there was the gentleman with the mobile phone. </p> <p>“Sir, could I ask you to turn your phone off please?”</p> <p>“I’m just phoning my brother — I won’t be a minute.”</p> <p>“Sir, I really must insist. It’s not appropriate to be using a mobile phone in synagogue on Yom Kippur. If you must make a call, please will you go outside the shul gates to do so?” </p> <p>“What would be the point of that? My brother is outside now, I’m calling him to let him know where I’m sitting so he can join me. If I go out I’ll lose these seats.”</p> <p>Leaving aside this unpleasant duty I look forward to Yom Kippur. Why? Because I love eating and YK is all about eating. Not only do we book-end the day with large meals, hurriedly eaten in order to perpetuate the ingrained Jewish paranoia that “you never know when the next meal is coming”, but we think about it all day long in between. It is truly the foodies’ festival.</p> <p>Our rabbi is no exception. He’s a portly fellow who clearly loves his seudah shlishits. Three years ago his morning sermon was all about chocolate pudding. Then in the afternoon he elucidated on the book of Jonah, spending an interminable hour twisting and turning his way through various obscure talmudic tractates, kabbalistic incantations and gematria calculations in order to convince his flock that Jonah was swallowed by a kosher fish. Included in his treatise was a long and detailed section describing the laws of kashrut and how he likes his salmon served. It was clear from looking around the room that several congregants were looking distinctly queasy by the end.</p> <p>After he finished I quietly took him to one side.</p> <p>“Rabbi,” I tentatively ventured, “would you mind if I offered you a little feedback?”</p> <p>“Of course not. Are you playing the part of Greg Wallace?”</p> <p>“Ha ha,” I politely forced. “It’s just that I think you might have planned your sermons today a little more sensitively. That’s all.”</p> <p>“Why?” he asked with a large dollop of surprise. “What did I do wrong?”</p> <p>“Judging by the number of congregants that rushed out during the sermon, I think you probably should have given them the dessert after the fish course, not before.”</p> Lifestyle features Yom Kippur 82826 story http://www.thejc.com/files/Choc cake.JPG Chocolate pudding — food for thought in synagogue