The firebombing of four Hatzola ambulances in London was an act of unspeakable hatred that has left many across our community feeling deeply upset, angry, concerned and vulnerable. This is not just because of the heinous nature of the attack itself, but also because it follows so many similarly violent attacks on Jewish communities around the world over recent weeks. It seems that a momentum is building and it is hard to know where to turn.
I recently came across the text of an impassioned Pesach sermon given by one of my illustrious predecessors, Chief Rabbi Joseph Hertz, more than 100 years ago. That too was a time when anti-Jewish hatred seemed to be gathering in an unstoppable momentum. The Nazis had not yet come to power, but the trauma of the First World War, together with the severe economic and social dislocation that followed, created a toxic climate of scapegoating and suspicion.
Across continents, from the US to the USSR, “Numerus Clausus” policies restricted Jewish access to universities and professions. The notorious forgery The Protocols of the Elders of Zion circulated widely. The polarising wounds of the Dreyfus Affair still festered, and antisemitic violence and boycotts were becoming ever more common.
In that fraught moment, Chief Rabbi Hertz turned to a striking Midrash: As the Children of Israel stood trapped between the advancing Egyptian devil and the deep blue sea, we are taught that four factions emerged. One group despaired and advocated casting themselves into the waters rather than a return to slavery. Another resolved to fight, even in the face of overwhelming odds. A third urged complete surrender, while a fourth argued for “crying out against them” or in Chief Rabbi Hertz’s preferred translation, “echoing their battle cry”.
These responses, he suggested, mirrored the choices confronting Jews in the 1920s: surrendering identity, compromising it, blending into the surrounding culture, or standing firm.
It was the last of these that he urged his community to embrace. Jewish survival, he argued, was something worth fighting for. And how should this battle be waged? “Israel’s defences are spiritual defences,” he declared, “…therefore, by spreading Jewish knowledge and religious instruction, we are training Israel’s sons and daughters to stand their ground against every force…”
With the benefit of hindsight, those words are both inspiring and painful to read. We now know that for millions, spiritual resilience alone could not withstand the full force of Nazi barbarism. Chief Rabbi Hertz’s prescription was not wrong, but history revealed that something essential was missing from it.
That missing dimension would arrive barely two years after he passed away. With the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948, the Jewish people recovered something denied to them for nearly two millennia: the capacity for self-determination and, with that, self-defence.
The Jewish story, so long marked by vulnerability, was transformed. Faith would remain our foundation, but no longer our only line of defence.
At the edge of the sea, when Moses cried out to Heaven for guidance, the Divine response was extraordinary and unexpected: “Why do you cry out to Me? Tell the Children of Israel to get moving!” This was a time for action. And indeed, it was only when the people took the first steps into the waters that the miracle occurred and the sea parted.
Pesach teaches us a profound and enduring truth: faith does not absolve us of the responsibility to act with courage. Our deep bitachon (trust in the Almighty) must be accompanied by our own hishtadlut (efforts). Ultimately, Hashem helps those who help themselves.
There is no greater evidence for this than the State of Israel. As David Ben-Gurion famously observed, “In Israel, in order to be a realist, you must believe in miracles.” Against impossible odds, a tiny nation has flourished, reviving a language, building a vibrant democracy, and achieving extraordinary feats in science, medicine, technology and culture. Its very existence is remarkable; its enduring strength even as war continues to rage, is nothing short of astonishing. Veritable miracles are taking place before our eyes very day.
However, tragically, hatred once again threatens Jewish lives both in Israel and on the streets of major cities around the world.
But we are not in the 1930s nor the 1920s. Today the Jewish people are no longer powerless. We have numerous genuine friends. We are not without a voice, nor without the means to defend ourselves. We have returned to our Jewish national home. We possess both the spiritual inheritance that sustained us for millennia and the physical capacity to secure our future. Within hours of the attack on Hatzola, police and fire services had acted immediately to protect us. Our government had committed to funding replacement ambulances. Our astonishing community and its many friends had raised astronomical sums to better protect us in future. The shul damaged by the attack was open for services. Our community rose to its feet once again and stands taller than ever.
Chief Rabbi Hertz, invoking our biblical name “Israel” to refer to the Jewish People, called upon his generation to stand their ground. Were he with us today, he would surely issue the same call, but with a far more resounding confidence. We, the Children of Israel, live. The State of Israel stands. As we face the significant challenges of the future, filled with pride, grounded in faith and sustained by a courageous, unshakeable resolve, may we be blessed with peace, security and prosperity for us all.
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