Our Parshah gets its name from the praise given to Pinchas by G-d for taking decisive action in killing Zinri and his paramour and thus halting the plague. The commentators express various opinions about Pinchas’ action and its justification. One strong midrashic tradition is that Pinchas did not become a priest (he was later High Priest), until he killed Zimri. Only children born to Aaron’s sons after they were inaugurated into the priesthood counted, and Pinchas was born before. It was only Pinchas’ action that qualified him for this position by express Divine command. We may ask what it was that led to this change. Do we really want our religious leaders to engage in acts of violence, even in a good cause? While Pinchas’ action may have been necessary, how does it specifically qualify him for leadership? I think the answer lies in who Pinchas was and who he killed. Pinchas was, as we have seen, not part of the leadership of the people. He killed a prince of one of the tribes. Furthermore there is a tradition that his mother was a Midianite convert. It would have been a lot easier, and safer, for Pinchas to do nothing. He was not Moses and was not a priest. Why was it his role to deal with the situation when others did not? Yet he chose not to run away from responsibility but to embrace it.

That is what qualified him for leadership. He chose to face the challenge rather than running away from it. In modern Hebrew there are two phrases that succinctly encapsulate this idea. Rosh Katan and Rosh Gadol – ‘small head’ and ‘big head’. Rosh Katan essentially only looks at their limited role, does not see the bigger picture and runs away from extra responsibility. ‘Not my business’ is their motto. Rosh Gadol looks with a wider perspective, thinks out of the box and is not afraid to do what is needed. ‘After me’ is their catchphrase. Pinchas could have acted as a Rosh Katan, staying out of the ugly confrontation but chose to be a Rosh Gadol, thus qualifying himself to lead others. The Jewish world faces many challenges. These challenges are made worse by the fact that too many of our religious authorities act as Rosh Katan, choosing to play safe and not put their head above the parapet. Yet this was not the attitude of previous generations. Our greatest religious authorities understood that they were in their position to help others, even if it meant pushing the boundaries, refusing to cower behind a Halakhic fence. Even in our own generation, Rabbis like Ovdiah Yosef and Shlomo Goren were prepared to risk their reputations to do justice and solve difficult problems. Like Pinchas, they were Rosh Gadol. In a Jewish world where too many of our leaders are Rosh Katan, who will be our Pinchas?

Contemporaneous with the events related in the Parshah, the Israelites were unaware of them. They would not have seen or heard Bila’am, and only became aware of the incident through it being transcribed in the Torah. The question then arises, why is it in the Torah? Why was it considered important that we know about it? The first thing to note is that blessings and curses were not regarded as simply words but were thought to have a real effect on reality. Being blessed or cursed by the right person could change the trajectory of your life. Therefore, G-d turning Bila’am’s curses into blessings is as important as the plagues or the crossing of the Red Sea. It is thus mentioned in our Haftorah from Micah as evidence of G-d’s care for Israel. But the inclusion of this narrative in the Torah teaches us a more general lesson While some people contend that words do not matter, Judaism believes that they can be potent weapons for good or evil. This is especially true with regard to the issue of reputation. We are called upon by our actions to magnify G-d’s reputation – kiddush hashem – and not to profane it – hilul hashem. But this concern with reputation extends to the reputation of the Jewish people as a whole, the community and the individual.

While it is unhealthy to be overly obsessed with what people think of us, reputation does matter. A good reputation can open doors, facilitate friendships and enhance credibility, while a bad reputation, can deny us opportunities and cause people to turn away from us. How Jews are perceived by others and how our community is perceived is important to our safety and future. For example, if we continually talk about anti-Semitism or the Holocaust, people get the impression that Jews are people that everyone hates and wants to kill. There must be something wrong with them. Rather we need to talk up the contribution of Jews to society and the beauty of Judaism. The same is true when it comes to talking about our community. If we are constantly telling visitors that we are a dying community then no one will want to join us. If, on the other hand, we explain that we are a small but vibrant community with a lot to offer, then people will think we warrant a closer look. How we talk and what we say is always important but the story of Bila’am teaches us that how we present ourselves and how we are perceived by others is even more important. Reputation really does matter.

This Parshah begins the second half of the book of Numbers and we are transported forty years to the new generation about to enter the Land. It also marks the last chapter of Moses’ career. If we look at this stage of Moses’ life we can learn an important lesson for our own careers and life trajectories. In some ways, if we examine it from Moses’ point of view, it is a difficult period. In this week’s Parshah he loses both his brother and sister and is informed by G-d that he will not enter into the Land. While it is not mentioned specifically until later in the book, it is clear from the context that the previous generation whom Moses brought out of Egypt has gone. Moses is virtually alone of all his contemporaries and bereft of his brother and sister. He is dealing with a new generation that are significantly younger than him and that he knows he will not see complete their mission. It would not be surprising that Moses felt at this stage incredibly lonely and even dejected. Yet what is fascinating about this time in his life is what Moses does with it. He continues to lead the people while at the same time preparing them for the time when he will no longer be there. He leads the conquest of Trans-Jordan, arranges the future division of the Land and settles accounts with the Midianites. Most of all, he bequeaths us his magnificent orations in the book of Deuteronomy, which in many ways lies at the heart of the Hebrew Bible.

In doing all this Moses shows us how to deal with the sunset of our lives or careers. Despite being lonely and, in some respects, isolated, he leaves aside that which he will not be able to accomplish and concentrates on what he can yet achieve. In setting a clear goal for this final period of his life and career, he manages to zero in on what is truly important for him to do and thus manages to accomplish much and leave us all an unparalleled legacy. Moses’ dilemma at this time is one we will all face. When we know that our time in a position, career or in life, is limited and approaching its conclusion, we have a choice. We can choose to concentrate on what we have not achieved and now will never accomplish. We can feel lonely or isolated without those who helped us on the way and who now have gone. Or we can not dwell on the past but concentrate on the future, however limited. We can set ourselves clear goals that are achievable in the time remaining to us and that can form a lasting legacy. We can devote ourselves to providing for the future, even if we will ultimately not be part of it, and in so doing, enrich our present. We can learn from Moses that while the final period of our life can be lonely and sad, it does not have to be. If we follow his example, it can also be the most enriching and significant time of all.

The Torah does not specifically mention the time period when the rebellion of Korach occurred and there are differing opinions on the matter. The most likely explanation is that this incident took place following the Sin of the Spies and its aftermath. This can be discerned not only by hints in the text but by the very fact of the rebellion itself. Before this moment, there had been complaints and demands but never a direct challenge to the leadership of Moses. Only following the sin of the Spies was such a thing conceivable. The reason is clear. Before this period Moses had always come through for the people. He had generally provided for their needs and defended them against the wrath of G-d. But now he was seen to have failed. While he may have deflected G-d from immediately destroying them, G-d had still decreed that that generation would die in the wilderness. This was a catastrophe from which Moses had not succeed in protecting them. Moses is thus seen to have failed and so now, for the first time, is open to challenge. Of course, the real fault for the catastrophe lies with the people themselves and their actions. Yet they choose to blame Moses and turn against him. It is easier for them to pretend they are the victims and place the blame on Moses than to take responsibility for their own actions. Unfortunately, this is a common phenomenon.

When you suffer because of your own negative behaviour it is far easier to pretend that everyone is against you than realise that your own actions have contributed to the situation. That, of course, would require change and it is so much easier to wallow in self pity. Unfortunately, of course, this attitude solves nothing and only makes the problem worse. Another reason for turning against Moses is that he provides a substitute for G-d. We have already seen this phenomenon before. The people are really angry at G-d for the end of their hopes and dreams but it is far easier to be angry at Moses, who is tangible and available to vent their anger upon. This is also not uncommon. Sometimes people in a community after certain crises or tragedies, turn on the Rabbi, finding an excuse to attack him. Yet they are really angry at G-d, but He is not so available and it is easier to vent ones anger upon a human leader than confront the emotional and psychological implications of being angry at G-d. What connects these behaviours is of course an unhealthy sense of victimhood and an even more unhelpful refusal to take responsibility for their own actions and confront their own real feelings. Unfortunately, such behaviour has dire consequences, preventing a healing process or taking steps to remedy the situation. It merely reinforces a negative situation and makes it worse. Only by ceasing to blame others, being honest with ourselves and taking responsibility for our actions, can we solve the problems that we face.

There is a famous contradiction in the story of the Sin of the Spies. In Deuteronomy, the people are represented as initiating the enterprise, while in our Parshah the initiative appears to come from G-d. The traditional way of resolving this paradox is by saying that the people asked for the mission and G-d then agreed. Rashi explains that when the people requested to check out the Land, G-d decided that if they did not trust Him, he would give them a possibility of making an error in order that they should not inherit it. In other words the mission of the spies was G-d’s negative response to the people wanting to investigate the Land. On the surface it seems a simple case of tit for tat. You did not believe Me, so I will arrange things so you end up forfeiting what I wanted to give you. Yet Rashi’s comment speaks a profound truth. The people’s very wish to investigate the Land meant they were prone to think they could never conquer it. Looked at realistically, how could a rabble of former slaves defeat thirty-one powerful city states. Looked at using normal political/military calculations, they could not. Only seen through the eyes of faith in the G-d who promised it, was it at all possible. In the same way, was it possible in 1897, when Herzl wrote ‘today I founded the Jewish state’, that one would come into existence fifty years later? But it did.

If we look at the history of the last century, we can perceive that every major world event has had the effect of strengthening the Jewish hold over and success in the Land of Israel. None of which could have been predicted or even seemed reasonable; much of which seemed impossible. But it happened. If those involved had based their calculations only on realistic projections, they never would have even begun. That was the real issue with spies and the significance of Rashi’s comment. Once they based their decisions on normal rationales and not on belief in G-d, they were bound to err and decide they could not conquer the Land. G-d merely agrees with them and postpones the project until the next generation. By making realistic calculation they had in effect made the enterprise impossible. The spies describe seeing giants and feeling like grasshoppers, which is how the giants regarded them. Jews, in comparison to the forces arrayed against us, will always by natural criteria be grasshoppers and if we use such criteria, so we will seem to ourselves and others. Yet with trust in G-d, we are in fact giants and will seem that to others, as we ourselves have seen. The choice we face today is the same as in the time of the spies: to be grasshoppers or giants.

After putting up for a while with the complaints and rebellions of the Israelites, Moses has finally had enough. He turns to G-d and asks to be relieved of this burden. He has two main complaints. One is that the people’s demands are unreasonable. He accuses G-d of expecting him to act like a nursing mother to the people and how is he supposed to provide meat for everyone in the desert? Secondly, he complains that dealing with all this is too much for one person and he would rather die than carry on like this. G-d answers his complaints with two different actions. Firstly, he instructs Moses to create a council of seventy elders that will help him. This becomes the genesis of the later Jewish high court and parliament, the Sanhedrin, which also had seventy members. G-d then acts to demonstrate to the people that their demands are unreasonable and not appropriate. They do indeed get the meat they demanded in the form of quails. But they are given so much and eat so greedily that they become seriously ill and many of them die. They thus learn, at least temporarily, to moderate their demands. What can this incident teach us about leadership and the relation between leaders and those over whom they have power. Firstly, that while singular charismatic leadership has its place, it is not by itself enough.

Sharing both power and the responsibility is far better. It prevents both the danger of a leader becoming out of touch and thinking they are indispensable. Being forced to listen to other opinions and compromise with other interests serves to create a far more healthy form of governance. Secondly, G-d’s dramatic rebuke of the people’s demands should teach us the limits of our expectations of our leaders. Politicians or the government should not be expected to be ‘nursing mothers’, as Moses complains that the Israelites expect of him. Not every problem can or should be resolved by government action. The population and society needs to also take responsibility for their own welfare. This is a lesson especially relevant for today. The massive and generally necessary government intervention of the last two years may have given people unrealistic expectations of what politicians are capable of doing. In the face of global forces out of their control, there is only so much any government can do, and people need to be made aware of this. In the end not everyone can get the level of assistance to which they feel entitled. It may be that the current crisis, like the incident related in the Parshah, will serve as a healthy corrective, forcing people to have more reasonable expectations in the future.

In the centre of the Parshah we have two teachings from which we can learn an important ethical lesson. Firstly, the Torah commands that certain people are to be excluded from the camp: the leper, those with certain bodily emissions and those who had contact with a corpse. From here and other places the Rabbis discerned what parts of the camp each group is to be barred from entering. What is interesting is that those with the most serious form of impurity, contact with a corpse, are only barred from the Sanctuary precincts themselves, while the leper is barred from the whole camp. Traditionally, leprosy in the Torah is understood as punishment for slander. Thus the leper must, unlike other impure people, be banned from the whole of the society his evil talk has damaged.

The Torah continues by talking of the giving of certain offerings to the priest, followed by the ritual of the woman suspected of adultery. On this juxtaposition the Rabbis comment that if someone neglects the tithes due to the priests he will be forced to go to the priest with a case of adultery. This again reinforces the idea of the negative consequences of moral delinquency. The person who is not prepared to support those members of society worthy of assistance, will himself be forced into a situation where he needs assistance. He seeks to hoard his wealth and not contribute to the well being of the society to which he he belongs. His punishment is to be forced to expend that wealth in a public and humiliating way.

These two cases teach us an important and timely lesson. We are part of society and our interaction and contribution to that society are not only important for the health of society as a whole but also vital for our own well being. If we refuse to properly contribute to the community in which we live, or even worse, like the slanderer, engage in behaviour that damages that community, we will pay the price. We will suffer both financial loss and social humiliation.

The Torah this week thus teaches us a basic lesson. Selfish or inconsiderate actions that we might take as individuals can have an effect on the whole of our surrounding environment and in the end, return like a boomerang to negatively affect our own lives. We cannot escape the society we live in and we we thus to strengthen it, for in its fortification we ourselves become stronger.

The Festival of Shavuot is given two main names in the Torah. Hag Ha’Shavuot: the Feast of Weeks and Hag Ha B’ikurim: the Feast of First Fruits. Both are connected to Pesach through the counting of the Omer. In connection with that count, the Torah commands that we should count seven complete Sabbaths, using the word Shabbat. In other words Shavuot is the culmination of seven observances of Shabbat. Just as we noticed that the Jubilee year, after seven Shemitah years, was an extension and intensification of the ideas contained in the Sabbatical year, so Shavuot, coming after seven weekly Sabbaths should be an intensification of the concept of Shabbat. Indeed, we notice when reading the Torah that the concept of Shabbat is taught to the Israelites through the laws concerning the Mannah before the Giving of the Torah on Sinai. The basic concept of Shabbat is the acknowledgement of G-d as creator of the world. By refraining from our own creative activity, we recognise that the world is not ours to do with as we like but, as the Torah states with regards to the Sabbath of the land, we are but temporary occupants.

We are to desist both from exploiting the physical world we inhabit and the labour of our fellow creatures, whether human or animal. By doing so, we are to acknowledge that things exist not only for our benefit but in their own right as creations of G-d. This idea is basic to Judaism, which is why Shabbat is both contained in the Ten Commandments and was taught even beforehand. The Torah’s fundamental principle, contained in its many mitzvot, is precisely this concept of relinquishing ownership. Whether concerning our relationship with our nature, animals or humans, we are constantly taught to restrain our appetites and realise that not everything in the world is for our taking. Through both the ritual and social legislation of the Torah we are mandated to treat everything as having intrinsic rather than just utilitarian value. This is also the lesson of the First Fruits, whereby the farmer has to give away the choice fruits of his hard work, in recognition that nature is not there simply for his benefit. These are the lessons taught primarily by Shabbat and in order to properly absorb them, it is first necessary to observe seven Shabbatot before being able to accept the Torah which puts these concepts into practice.

The Shabbat is one of the most basic elements in Judaism. It is found in the Ten Commandments and is several times emphasised in other passages in the Torah. The concept of Shabbat is also extended to the Land with the institution of the Sabbatical year. Indeed the Torah labels the Shemitah year as ‘a Shabbat for G-d’. This expansion of the concept of Shabbat, however, is not limited to the Shemitah year. It is further expanded in two other institutions. One is the Counting of the Omer, which we are presently in the middle of. This consists of seven Shabbatot, seven times seven weeks, which culminate in the fiftieth day which is Shavuot. The Torah also institutes a similar concept with regard to the Shabbat of the Land, the seventh year. We are to count seven such years, making a total of forty nine years, with the fiftieth year being a Yovel, or Jubilee year. If we look at the regulations concerning this year, we can discern that they are an expansion of the ideas contained in the Shemitah. The rules surrounding the Sabbatical year consists of three main concepts. They are the non working of the Land, the remission of debts and the limit to Jewish slavery (though this latter rule is based on counting years from the time of sale). The Yovel or Jubilee year expands all three. Slaves, even before their seven years of service are up or if they have chosen to remain with their master after this period, are automatically freed with the advent of the Jubilee.

The Sabbath rest of the Land is extended to include the actual ownership of the Land. Not only must we desist from working the Land as a sign of G-d’s ultimate ownership, but we must give active expression to that ownership by transferring the Land back to its original possessor, thus stating by our actions that we have no ultimate ownership of it. In a similar way, the Torah concept of overall economic equality expressed by the command to remit monetary debts in the seventh year, is expanded to include ownership of property, which must also be ‘remitted’ in the Jubilee year. Other than the important lessons taught by the regulations themselves, we can learn something else from this system. The Torah does not impose its moral vision all in one go. Rather there is a progression from the weekly Sabbath, to the seven yearly Sabbath to the Jubilee, each stage progressively expanding the moral horizons of the people. We can utilise this idea to understand the thrust of Torah legislation in general, in issues such as slavery or women’s rights. The Torah does not make change overnight but sets a direction for later generations to follow. The moral thrust of this legislation is clear and enables later Sages to expand on it in the spirit of the Torah, thus continuing the progressive approach towards change of the Torah itself.

The first part of the Parshah deals with the special regulations concerning the priests. This includes restrictions on their behaviour, duties they are to perform and special rights that accrue to them. Included in these rules are restrictions on priests with certain physical disabilities taking part in the Temple service. This includes both clearly visible disabilities such as lacking a limb but also less obvious blemishes in the eyes. This restriction jars harshly with us today. Our society, in theory at least, does not accept restricting people simply because of a disability and thus how should we approach these rules in our Parshah? Firstly, of course, we need to understand them and the context, both textual and historical, in which they appear. The first thing to note is that these regulations impinge on neither the restrictions concerning, or the rights accruing to, the priests. A disabled priest is, for example, still forbidden to defile himself with a corpse except of his close family. He also is specifically included in the privilege of receiving and eating the priestly dues, including from the sacrificial offerings. His disability only prevents him carrying out the duties of a priest in the sacrificial service. We should also note that these regulations appear in the same section that forbids the sacrificing of blemished animals. Indeed many of the disabilities are the same for both. This can serve to provide an insight into the reasoning behind these rules.

Offering blemished animals to G-d is seen as an insult. As the prophet Malachi decries centuries later, would you offer it to your ruler and would he accept it? In the same way, in a society that saw disability as a blemish and devaluing somewhat the individual, having disabled priests offering the sacrifices would have been seen as an insult to G-d. And considering the views of that society, this would indeed have displayed an attitude of contempt for the Divine service. The fact that we today would feel the opposite is to our credit and clearly in keeping with the general spirit of the Torah, but that was not the society the Torah was dealing with when these laws were given. It may indeed be that in the Third Temple, these laws will be modified to reflect modern sensibilities. Meanwhile, we should understand them in their context and learn from them the important principle that underlies this whole section of the Torah: What you give to or for G-d is not second best and should not be treated as if it is. Judaism and Jewish life deserves just as much attention and resources as other areas of our lives and that is the real message of our Parshah.

‘You shall be holy because I the Lord your G-d am holy’. This charge to be holy at the beginning of the Parshah and its relation to the many mitzvot that follow, has been given various interpretations by the commentators. Famously, Nahmanides regards this verse as an exhortation to go beyond the rules set out in the Parshah and ‘sanctify yourself in what is permitted to you’. Just as G-d, as it were, was holy by stopping the positive work of creation and sanctifying Shabbat, so we are to refrain from doing even those things they may be permitted to us, in order to sanctify ourselves. While this idea may seem overly burdensome to many of us, who may regard the restrictions placed on us by the Torah as more than sufficient, this idea has important resonances for our current situation. The government has removed most of the covid restrictions that were placed on our lives. Nevertheless, the strong recommendation is that we should continue with some of the practices that have kept us safe during the past two years. This is especially true of the wearing of face masks, which while no longer legally required, are recommended still to be worn in places such as shops, public transport and other public meeting places.

Now while it is true that face masks do protect the wearer somewhat, their main purpose is to protect others, at which they are relatively effective. Thus the main reason we should continue with this practice is not for our own sake but out of consideration for others. That thinking and respecting the needs of our fellow humans is of course a thread running through the social legislation we read in our Parshah, summed up by the injunction ‘love your neighbour as yourself’. While the idea of being holy by going beyond the letter of the law is often applied to ritual matters, it is even more important when dealing with relations with our neighbours. In the issue of wearing face masks, therefore, we have a perfect example of ‘sanctifying ourselves in what is permitted to us’. Yes, this practice is no longer a legal requirement. But surely by continuing to follow it, and thus showing consideration and care for others, we are practically fulfilling the injunction of the Torah to be holy. It is fascinating that today simply by looking at people’s faces in the supermarket or the synagogue we can see who is practically fulfilling the injunction of the Torah to aspire to be holy.

The book of Leviticus has a clear order to its many injunctions. We firstly have the regulations concerning the sacrificial service followed by laws of personal holiness such as kashrut and issues of purity and impurity. Following this we have laws concerning holiness of sexual relations, general integrity and right conduct in everyday life, the special regulations concerning the priests and the holiness of time found in the Festival Cycle, followed by the holiness of the Land and the Sabbatical and Jubilee years. One would therefore expect the special sacrificial service of Yom Kippur to be found either in the instructions concerning sacrifices at the beginning of the book or, more probably, appended to the instructions concerning the festivals. Instead it is found right at the centre of the book, after the laws of kashrut and impurity and before the ‘holiness code’. Why is this ceremony placed especially here? I think that the placement of Yom Kippur at the centre of the various laws of personal holiness carries an important message. Indeed Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are also at the centre of the list of festivals in this book, Pesach and Shavuot on one side and Succot on the other, which is also the way we divide the aliyot when we read this section of the Torah. Why does Yom Kippur have to be central to both the other festivals and the other mitzvot in general?

The essence of Yom Kippur, as stated at the end of the account we read this week, is the idea that on this day G-d will forgive us. Atonement will be made for all our sins both of commission and omission and a new start made. This idea is both basic to Judaism and our very ability to keep the Torah. G-d created humans imperfect and they therefore will constantly fall short of what the Torah requires of them. Therefore G-d instituted the ability for us to repent, change our ways and begin again. This process finds its crescendo in Yom Kippur, on which G-d promises us He will make atonement for us, enabling us to begin anew. The importance of this idea to the observance of the rest of the Torah can be found in the rather strange traditional Christian idea that the Torah was given to Jews as a punishment as it can never be possible to be fully kept and Christianity came to liberate people from this terrible yoke. In contradistinction, the Torah promises us that we can indeed fulfil its precepts and if we fail sometimes it gives us a day on which we can be forgiven and begin again. Thus Yom Kippur, in an important respect, enables the possibility of keeping the rest of the Torah, and the section describing its central ceremony is thus rightly placed at the heart of the book of Leviticus and its laws.

The essential ritual mandated by the Torah for the night of the 15th of Nisan is the eating of the Pesach sacrifice, offered during the afternoon of the 14th. Since the destruction of the Temple, we no longer have the possibility of carrying out this ritual and indeed much of our present Seder can be seen as the attempt of the Rabbis to compensate for this lack. While today people are sometimes not so sure about slaughtering and eating an animal as part of a religious ritual, the bringing of the Pesach sacrifice is regarded by the Torah as essential to identification with the Jewish people. Therefore, even though we are presently unable to perform this ritual, we should examine its purpose and meaning then and now. The Jews who left Egypt were essentially passive observers in their liberation, except for this one thing. They were commanded to kill and eat a lamb, the god of Egyptians, and publicly smear the blood on their door-posts. They thus took action to demonstrate that the rules of the Egyptian state held no meaning for them and they no longer felt bound by its ideology or its laws.

In that moment they ceased to become slaves and became free. In the same way as, for example, those Berliners who physically danced on and then destroyed the Wall, showed that the strictures of the totalitarian state could no longer contain them and thus liberated themselves. That was the meaning of the Paschal lamb then and it is its meaning for us today. Every generation has to understand that to be Jewish is to reject the right of an unjust or oppressive regime to rule over us or others and to, if necessary, take action against that state. Every year we must learn anew that freedom is not achieved without action. Especially this year we must contemplate that as our freedom is again threatened by tyrants, it is not enough to merely show sympathy or leave an empty chair at the Seder (as has been suggested). Rather we must do, and especially urge our governments to do, much more to actively support those fighting for both their freedom and ours. That determination should be the substitute for the Pesach sacrifice at our table this year

The two Parshiot on either side of Pesach this year both contain a set of animals, one of which is killed and the other of which is set free. In this week’s Parshah the initial purification of the leper is obtained by a ceremony including birds, one of which is killed and the other set free. In the Temple ritual for Yom Kippur, which we read about the week after Pesach, we similarly have two goats. One is sacrificed and its blood sprinkled inside the Sanctuary, while the other is, in the original rite in the desert, set free to wander. (Later on in settled country it was thrown over a cliff. In the midst of reading about these pairs of animals we commemorate the most important sacrifice of the year, the Paschal sacrifice. This is of course singular and sacrificed and eaten, not set free. Is there a connection between all these three sets of animals and their respective fates? If we look at the two sets of animals where one is killed and the other released, we can see the symbolism in this action. In the case of the leper, the leprosy is, as it were, placed on the live bird and removed from the leper. In the case of the two goats of Yom Kippur, as well, the sins of the people are placed on the live goat which is then set free. In these cases the negative situation of the individual or the nation is removed from them on to the animal and sent away. The release of the bird and goat also symbolise at the same time the release of the person or nation from their affliction or guilt.

Thus the same act both removes the problem from and sets the affected person free. When we come to the Paschal sacrifice, we see that there is only one animal and that is sacrificed and eaten. Missing is the second animal that is let free. This has a simple explanation. Instead of an animal being set free to symbolise the release of the people from their affliction, in this case slavery, the people themselves are set free. This is the ultimate pair if you like, explaining why the eating of this sacrifice is, along with circumcision, regarded as the most important positive commandment in the Torah. What can this narrative of sets of animals tell us? Maybe, that if we are faced with difficult situations or difficult people, there are differing ways of dealing with the situation. In some cases one has merely to deal with the situation by working on yourself dealing with the negativity causing the problem, symbolised by killing one of the pair of animals. Sometimes, especially when faced with difficult people or bad influences you have to remove the problem from yourself, like sending away the animals. But in the hardest cases, even that is not sufficient. Sometimes you are in a situation that you can only deal with by you removing yourself from the source of the problem, as the Jews had to physically leave Egypt in order to free themselves from Egyptian influence, whether material or spiritual. What to do in each case will depend on the person and the situation but the Torah in these texts gives us the tools to deal with the problem and so free ourselves

This week we read three different sections of the Torah dealing with different aspects of holiness in time. Firstly, we read at the beginning of the Parshah of the obligation to circumcise a male child on the eighth day after birth. Then we read, in the second scroll, the additional offerings of Shabbat and Rosh Hodesh, two different aspects of holy time. This is emphasised in the third reading dealing with the establishment of the calendar and the festival of Pesach. In these three different mitzvot we can see on the one hand holiness within time as distinct to holiness beyond time, holiness in nature and holiness beyond nature and various gradients of human involvement. Starting from Shabbat, we have holiness within time, the regular seven day cycle with which G-d created the world. Yet this seven day cycle is connected to no natural phenomena and is something beyond the natural world. Furthermore it has no human involvement, happening every seven days no matter what. The next aspect of holy time is that of the calendar, Rosh Hodesh and the Festivals. On the one hand, this is something that is connected to nature, the appearance of the new moon. As such it also has the aspect of holiness within time, not beyond it. Lastly, it requires human involvement, ‘this month shall be for you’, the Jewish people decide which day is Rosh Hodesh and which not. Finally, the mitzvah of circumcision is one which takes us both beyond time and nature, occurring on the eighth day (beyond the seven day cycle), and being an action that improves or fixes the natural body.

It is also the mitzvah requiring the most human involvement, physically changing our bodies. We can see these three mitzvot, then as providing us with differing ways to approach G-d. The weekly Shabbat we receive as a gift from G-d, without a connection to the natural world and without human involvement. On Shabbat we are required to stand back from nature and refrain from interfering in G-d’s creation. This enables us, on a weekly basis, to experience holiness within time. Rosh Hodesh and the festivals, on the other hand, are intimately connected to nature, through the cycles of the moon and to human action, by our proclaiming of each New Month. Thus we are able to experience G-d’s presence both in nature and history. Circumcision combines these aspects. On one hand, it exceeds even Shabbat in occurring on the eighth day, thus reaching beyond the confines of time. It also transcends the connection to nature and history of the festivals, requiring human action to improve on nature. It thus demonstrates how we can not only find holiness within time and nature but by performing G-d’s will even rise above them to reach into eternity. Thus the various Torah readings we read this Shabbat provide us with differing routes to holiness and various ways of approaching G-d.

The ritual of the Red Heifer is designated as a hok or a statute. This is traditionally interpreted as meaning a law whose reason is not readily apparent or does not make sense. So the ritual of the Red Heifer purifies the impure but all those involved in its preparation themselves become impure. Indeed, this mitzvah is regarded as the example par-excellence of this type of law. Yet the commentators mention a few other laws that come into this category, including the laws of kashrut, which we also read about this week. The designation of various animals or categories of creatures as kosher or not kosher is regarded in some ways to be arbitrary or not readily apparent. In both cases these laws are regarded as Divine decrees to be followed despite, or indeed because of, their defying rationality. Yet this explanation is not as simple as it seems. The various laws of kashrut are certainly amenable to understanding and various commentators, both traditional and modern, have endeavoured to do so. They have given various explanations for the types of animals forbidden for consumption and other aspects of the kosher laws. Even when it comes to the classic example of a statute, the rite of the Red Heifer, explanations have been given and understandings offered. We thus need to interpret the idea of hok and what it teaches us in a slightly different way.

If we look at the laws of kashrut, a clear explanation for them is given by the Torah itself at the end of the Parshah. We are to make a distinction between pure and impure animals because we are to be distinguished from among the nations. We are to become holy by observing these rules because G-d is holy and we are His people. Thus according to the text, these laws have two main functions, to distinguish Jews from other nations and to raise us to another level of spirituality. In that context the precise reason for the designation of certain animals as pure or impure is less important. In a similar fashion, the ritual of the Red Heifer has as its main purpose to purify the Jewish people and orient them to a religion of life not death. By making a dead body the most defiling object and creating such a complicated and expensive rite for purification from contact with it, the Torah is marking a clean break from the death cults of the pagan world, especially of Egypt. In this context, the precise reason for the details of the ceremony are less important. Thus by calling something a statute, we are not saying it cannot be explained, rather emphasising its true meaning and purpose. The same is true of the rest of the Torah. While, we can and indeed should seek to find rational explanations for the mitzvot, we should never lose sight as to their primary purpose of spiritualising our existence and bringing us closer to G-d.

One of the offerings discussed in the Parshah is that of the Todah, or Thanksgiving offering. This could theoretically be brought at any occasion when the worshipper felt a need to thank G-d for some positive event in their life. However, as mentioned below, the Rabbis restricted the obligation of bringing of this particular offering or of saying the Ha’gomel in the synagogue blessing to four specific cases. Those who have been travelling by sea or through the wilderness or have been sick or in prison are to bring a Todah or say Ha’gomel, on their safe arrival or deliverance. The Rabbis learnt these cases from Psalm 107, which mentions each of these incidences of peril and deliverance, followed by the instruction that those rescued or recovered should thank G-d for His mercies. What is fascinating about this source is the context in which these four cases are placed. While, in terms of ritual practice, anyone in this situation needs to bring an offering or say Ha’gomel, the individuals mentioned in the Psalm are placed in a specific historical context. Psalm 107 is the last of a series of psalms dealing with Jewish history from Creation to Redemption. Psalm 106 dealt with the disobedience of the Jewish people and their exile from the Land and ends with a plea for the ingathering of the exiles. Psalm 107 deals with this process, talking of the redeemed of Israel whom G-d has rescued from the four corners of the earth. It ends with restoration of the barren land to prosperity.

In the middle lie these four cases of peril and deliverance. Thus, in the context of the Psalm, these individuals are people returning from exile to the Land of Israel and their peril and deliverance are part of the historical process of Redemption. For this reason, as mentioned below, this Psalm is said in many communities on Yom Ha’atzmaut. What is interesting is that the Sages took these cases from their historic context and widened their scope to include any individual, who was in danger and survived. This underlines a basic concept of Jewish thought. Historical events in Jewish history, whether past or anticipated in the future, serve not only as sources of instruction for the nation but for individuals. By contemplating the lessons of the various events that have shaped being Jewish, Jews can derive lessons not only as a collective but also as individuals. Thus the story of Pesach can teach us how to emancipate ourselves from the things that enslave us and hold us back, while the events commemorated by Succot can instruct us on the correct attitude to, and use of, material possessions. As we celebrate Purim the characters and actions of Mordechai and Esther have much to teach us not only as a nation but also as individuals, on how to live as politically active and identify as Jews in a non-Jewish society. Thus history for Jews is not only about commemorating the past but drawing lessons for the present and future.

One of the eight garments of the High Priest is the robe. Famously, the robe contains bells in order ‘that his voice will be heard when he goes into the holy place’. The commentators provide varying explanations of this verse and the reason for the bells. The Hizkuni regards them as required for the sake of the people. The people should hear the bells when the High Priest enters to perform the service and thus know the time of the service and direct their hearts to heaven. Nachmanidies has a more mystical explanation. He connects this verse to one in the passage detailing the service on Yom Kippur. There it is written that ‘no man shall be in the tent of meeting when he enters the holy place until he leaves’. The bells are to signal to everyone, including the angels, that the High Priest is going in to serve G-d and everyone should thus vacate the place leaving him alone with G-d. These two explanations may seem to be contradictory. On the one hand, the people are meant to be connected with the service of the High Priest performed in their name. They should also presumably pray at the time he is serving. Yet, on the other hand, the High Priest is to be left so totally alone with G-d that even the angels must leave when he arrives.

This paradox however, lies at the essence of Jewish prayer. Prayer in Judaism is at one and the same time both communal and private. The mitzvah of ‘praying with the community’ consists at its heart of ten or more men praying the silent Amidah together. While without a minyan the value of the prayer is considered less, yet this is not public prayer in its normal sense. Jewish law also mandates that it is forbidden to pray in such a way that you can be overheard by your neighbour. We at one and the same time pray privately in public; with our neighbour but alone before G-d. This dichotomy goes to the very heart of Jewish spirituality. Judaism is not a religion of individuals but of a nation. Our connection to the Divine is, essentially, through the medium of being part of the Jewish people. Yet as part of that people, we all stand individually responsible before G-d. We are all responsible for each other yet we cannot escape the consequences of our individual behaviour. We stand before G-d as part of his people; yet can have an intimate personal relationship. This is the dual nature of Jewish spirituality, symbolised by the bells of the robe of the High Priest and actualised every time we pray together as a community

One of the themes that runs through the instructions for the building of the Tabernacle is that of unity. Several times it is stated that the Tabernacle should be one or should form a united structure. This idea, however, has two distinct applications. When it comes to the outer structure of the Tabernacle various components are to be put together to create a united structure. So when it comes to the coverings or the wooden structure the separate pieces are joined together ‘in order that the Tabernacle should be one’. However, when we turn our attention to the interior furniture, we find that a different concept is in play. For both the Ark Cover and the Menorah the Torah is clear that the various parts of the vessels are not to be made of different pieces which are then put together. Rather they are to be hammered out from a single block of metal. All their various parts shall come ‘from out of it’. We thus seem to have two different concepts of unity connected with the construction of the Tabernacle. One is to take distinct separate items and join them together to make a coherent whole. The other is to fashion different components of an artefact out of an existing united structure. We could call the first model the co-operative model, where various pieces cooperate to make something greater than themselves. The second model we could perhaps label basic, where the coherence of the distinct components emerges out of a base structure. If we apply these themes to human affairs we can therefore discern two distinct paths to achieving human cooperation and harmony.

One is to different people with different ideas to cooperate on a certain project or undertaking, using compromise in order to enable them to achieve a consensus for their mutual benefit. The other, which is more difficult, is to seek to create a meeting of minds on common idea or value, through which people can achieve their own goals, while benefiting the collective. The distinct activities thus emerge out of a common goal. Which one of these models is most useful is suitable? That depends on what you wish to achieve. In the realm of practical affairs, such as trade, for example, the cooperative model seems more appropriate. People or nations can be brought together to cooperate for their mutual benefit and thus create a form of agreed unity. When, however, it comes to values or the ideas underlying society or the world system, this model falls short. People coming from different value systems will find it hard to reach mutual agreed norms that enable them to cooperate. Rather we need to go to the core of the issue and attempt to find values that everyone agrees on. Once those values are made part of a general consensus cooperation between different entities will be assured by the common base of values that unite them. One of the basic problems with the universal enforcement of human rights is the lack of agreement of what rights should be considered basic. If we could reach a base agreement on that, then everyone could be truly held to the same standard. Thus the Parshah provides models of unity that are as relevant today as then.

Parshat Mishpatim in a regular year is normally also Parshat Shekalim, so the Haftorah reflects that occasion. However in a leap year the Haftorah is chosen to reflect the themes of the Parshah. Of the many issues covered in the law code of this section, the one chosen to be reflected in the Haftorah was the release of Hebrew slaves after six years. The passage is taken from the book of Jeremiah and tells of the last months of the Jewish monarchy of Judah. The Babylonians are besieging the city and the people in desperation to elicit Divine aid, make a covenant to obey the instructions of the Torah and release their Jewish slaves, which they had obviously not been doing. No sooner, however, had the Babylonians broken off the siege to go and deal with the Egyptian army, the people renege on their promise and re-enslave those they had released. Jeremiah is dispatched to warn them of the inevitable consequence of their actions, the return of the Babylonians and the destruction of the city and the enslavement and exile of its population. It is interesting that this passage was chosen to highlight the laws of the Parshah. Possibly, it was simply a readily available story with a direct link to a regulation in the Parshah. Yet I think there is a deeper thematic connection that explains and amplifies a message found also in the Parshah. The laws we are presented with are not merely suggestions of good practice but vital components of how a Jewish state is meant to operate.

Failure to observe these laws is not only a moral offense but undermines the basis of society and will lead to actual consequences in the real world. The Parshah itself occasionally states this in forceful terms. We are admonished not to oppress the widow and orphan and warned that if we do so, G-d will destroy us, and our wives will be widows, and our children orphans. It is this idea, of course, that is given life dramatically in the Haftorah. The people disregard the law of the Torah obligating them to release their slaves, so they themselves will be overcome by the enemy and themselves become slaves. They proved untrustworthy by breaking their promise to G-d and their fellow Jews. G-d will therefore break off his rescue of them by means of the Egyptians, who will return home, leaving the Babylonians free to return and take Jerusalem. Their breaking of the laws of Mishpatim led to real and tragic consequences for the whole nation. By choosing this passage as the Haftorah for this week, the Rabbis were teaching us an important lesson. Social justice is not a luxury or something nice to do. It is an integral part of the structure of a state, especially a Jewish state. Failure to adhere to the norms set out in this weeks Parshah will inevitably lead to the disintegration of the national polity. In a time of renewed Jewish sovereignty, it is a lesson worth heeding.

Following the Revelation at Sinai, the people approach Moses and ask that he become an intermediary between them and G-d. While they now understand that G-d can speak to humans, it is not an experience they wish to repeat. Moses tells them not to be afraid and that G-d has come: נַסּ֣וֹת אֶתְכֶ֔ם which either means to test them or to elevate them. In this context, one could say that here the word means to elevate. G-d spoke to the Jewish people in order to raise them up and bring them close to Him by means of the Torah. Yet many of the commentators take a different approach. They see the word as implying some sort of test, one, which by being afraid of the Revelation, the Jews in some way failed. Even though the Torah seems to indicate that G-d was not displeased by their awe of Him, a strong midrashic tradition maintains that Moses, at least, was. If we combine the two meanings of the word נַסּ֣וֹת, we can maybe gain a deeper understanding of this idea. The Idea of the Revelation was to elevate the people and bring them closer to G-d. The test was whether they would be able or want to continue with this closeness. The answer, in this case, was no. Essentially, they answered ‘it was nice and nice that it was’. They reacted with fear rather than desire. It is true that hearing the voice of G-d is an awe inspiring experience that produces a certain necessary fear of G-d, and it is this that G-d is seen approving of.

On the other hand to remain at that level needs something more. It needs a passion for G-d and Torah and it is this that the Midrash finds lacking. While Moses certainly agrees with G-d that being in awe of the Divine is a worthy trait, in the people’s fearful reaction to G-d’s Revelation, he senses that an opportunity has been lost. A possibility of a different type of relationship based on desire and passion, rather than only duty and awe, has been squandered. This understanding of this passage is extremely important for these generations. In the past, much emphasis was put on fear of G-d and ideas of reward and punishment. This was especially true in many of the philosophical and mystical works of the Middle Ages. It reflected the religious context of the time. Today, however, such admonitions simply do not speak to people. Jews will not be cowed or frightened into keeping the Torah: they need to be seduced. A Judaism without passion simply based on tradition or fear of consequences has no appeal today. One based on commitment and love born of understanding is what people will connect to. That attitude to Torah, indeed, is the basis of the Messianic age. By instilling in our generation a passion for Torah based on knowledge, we are not only saving Judaism for the future, but reclaiming the opportunity lost by our ancestors when they recoiled from the original Revelation.

There are two main stories that make up the Parshah this week. One is the crossing of the Reed Sea and the other is the arrival of the Manna. These narratives may seem on the surface very different but actually are connected by an underlying theme. In both the Crossing of the Sea and the laws regarding the Manna, the Israelites were required to put their trust in G-d. As they stood by the shore of the sea with the Egyptians behind them, they had to have the faith to go forward into the sea at Moses’ command, trusting that something would happen to save them. With regards to the Manna, they were required to not leave anything over for the next day, trusting that the Manna would return in the morning. In a similar vein they had to believe that the Manna would not fall on Shabbat and prepare food for the next day on Friday. Admittedly, this was easier, as they had already received a double portion for Shabbat. In all these cases, they had to trust the assurances of Moses, speaking in the name of G-d, that things would work out. This was not easy. According to tradition it took one individual to take the plunge before the sea split and the others followed. In both cases concerning the Manna, there were people that did not listen to Moses and kept over some Manna or went out on Shabbat to look for it. It is interesting that the Parshah begins with the requital for such trust.

Joseph believed that the Jews would eventually leave Egypt and asked that his remains be taken with them when they did. We are told how indeed when they left, Israelites did take Joseph’s bones with them. One wonders whether Moses, when the people had doubts about the future, pointed to these bones as evidence that trust in G-d actually pays off. If we look at these two main narratives in the Parshah we see that one deals with a moment of supreme national crisis while the other concerns far more mundane, though no less important, matters of sustenance. This juxtaposition teaches us an important lesson. It is easier sometimes to trust in G-d during major crises, like war or serious illness. The acute nature of the event leads to a stripping away of our normal illusions and often enables us to see more clearly where our true support lies. To do this in daily life, in such matters of earning a living, can be much harder. That is maybe why, in the daily Amidah, before we get to the requests concerning the large things like the ingathering of the exiles or the rebuilding of Jerusalem, we ask for things like health and sustenance. Once we trust G-d to help us with the basic things of life, we may be more able to have hope concerning the greater, national, issues. And once we trust G-d in our daily lives we may also merit to see His redemption universally.

The story of the Exodus reaches its climax. All the Firstborn of Egypt are killed and the Jews are finally freed. Egypt lies in ruins, its people traumatised. It is this event that we are bidden to remember everyday and celebrate every Pesach. Yet should we be celebrating an event that caused a whole nation to suffer? In the rather peculiar stage rendition of the film ‘Prince of Egypt’, the writers have Moses apologising for acting as he did at the request of a brutal divinity. In a complete distortion of the text and history, the victims are turned into criminals and the persecutors into the oppressed.

Putting aside the rather weird thought processes of some West End script writers, is it not true that our freedom did .involve the suffering of the Egyptians? Could not G-d have arranged things some other way, such as miraculously transporting all the Israelites out of Egypt. This question is even more pertinent when it comes to the possession of the Land of Israel, which involved the conquest of the Canaanite cities or other such events in Jewish history, such as Purim, which involved slaughter of thousands our enemies. The simple answer is that G-d works through humans in achieving His purposes. If the Jews are to be freed or have a land, as far as possible natural means need to be used. This does involve the suffering of our enemies but that is simply the way the world is set up. Indeed, G-d ideally wants us to be instruments of our own redemption, even if it involves us getting our hands dirty.

This was actually true in during the Exodus as well. Even though the Israelites were not capable of physically fighting at that stage, they were required to resist. This was a basic component of the paschal sacrifice. Earlier, when speaking to Pharaoh, Moses had explained the need to travel to the wilderness by the negative reaction of the Egyptian population to the Israelites sacrificing sheep, which the Egyptians held sacred in front of them. Yet that is precisely what G-d now commands the Israelites to do. They are to emphasises the powerlessness of the subdued Egyptians by flaunting in their eyes the ability to wound their most sacred religious feelings with impunity. Thus the Jews, also, must take part in the fight against the Egyptians.

>All of this teaches us an important lesson. If we wish to have freedom, security, justice, this things cannot be won without a fight and in that fight people will get will get hurt. In a lot of the public discourse today there is a naivete about what it takes to keep us safe in our beds at night. We expect the security forces to keep us secure but don’t care to look to closely at the methods required to achieve this. Judaism by the story of the Exodus, Purim and other events puts it right in front of our faces and forces us to take ownership of it.

The introduction to the Parshah has been the subject of great controversy, especially in the modern period. In it, G-d tells Moses that he appeared to the patriarchs as El Shaddai or G-d Almighty but his name Hashem or the ‘four lettered name’, was not made known to them. Commentators have struggled with this verse, as the name Hashem is used frequently in the patriarchal narratives and even by the patriarchs themselves. Modern biblical criticism has seen traditionally this verse as proof that the Torah was written by several authors who used different Divine names, so the author of this narrative must have been different to the author of the texts in Genesis that used Hashem.. Contemporary scholars have generally rejected this division of the Torah based on names of G-d, but the difficulty still remains.

Rashi interprets the statement as signifying that G-d made promises to the patriarchs using the name G-d Almighty, but the fulfilment of those promises, signified by the name Hashem, they did not experience. He now, however, going to fulfil these promises, which is why He is revealing Himself by this ‘four lettered name’. If we examine this issue more closely, we can see that the text itself supports this type of approach. If we analyse the narratives in Genesis we can see that that the name most commonly used in G-d’s revelations to the patriarchs is indeed El Shaddai, especially to Abraham. Later G-d normally introduces himself as the G-d of the fathers, as he indeed initially does to Moses. Only once, does G-d Himself use the name Hashem when talking to a patriarch, and that is at the ‘Covenant of the Pieces’, when specifically presaging the exile and redemption in Egypt. Indeed, the few times the patriarchs address G-d by the ‘four lettered name’,it seems to be in the context of recalling G-d’s promises to them, such as when Jacob is facing his confrontation with Esau and prays for Divine assistance.

Thus we can see that Rashi’s comment and other traditional explanations of this verse are both based on grammatical analysis of the word ‘made known’ and a close reading of the texts in Genesis. They did not need to introduce fanciful concepts of different authors based on different Divine names, something that a close examination of the text simply doesn’t support. This highlights a general problem with classic modern biblical criticism. It asks good questions, most of which however been already asked centuries earlier. The answers, however, are rubbish. As Hertz points out, if the meaning of the verse ids actually that G-d is revealing a new name unknown to the patriarchs or presumably to their descendants, how will that help Moses in his mission. It directly contradicts his earlier worry about the people not knowing G-d’s name!

Rather, biblical critics came up with a seemingly simple theory which in reality doesn’t work and solves nothing. The traditional explanation, on the other hand, is based on a close reading and understanding of the text and, if understood properly, provides a good explanation of the verse. This is but one example of the unsatisfactory nature of classic biblical criticism and the need to take it the a very large grain of salt.

In the synopsis of the Exodus story from Deuteronomy which we read on Seder night, it is written וַיָּרֵ֧עוּ אֹתָ֛נוּ הַמִּצְרִ֖ים which is normally translated as ‘the Egyptians were evil to us’ but actually can be better understood as the ‘Egyptians made us seem evil’. This can be seen at the beginning of our Parshah when Pharaoh suddenly declares the Israelites are a security threat and therefore need to be dealt with. Persecution always begins with delegitimisation. As it was in the first exile of the Jewish people, so it has been throughout history. Jews have learnt the hard way that words can kill. While these verbal assaults have taken various force, none has been more damaging or lasting than that perpetuated by Christianity.

It is impossible to conceive of the litany of physical assaults on Jews over the centuries, including the Holocaust, without the delegitimisation of Jews and Judaism by Christianity. This goes back to the gospels, where Jewish leaders and often Jews in general, are portrayed as the enemy. The most insidious feature of this delegitimisation is the wholesale identity theft of Judaism by Christianity. Not only are Christians now the new Israel and Jews rejected, but Jewish texts and narratives are misread to support the story.

This can be clearly seen in the nativity story where a passage from Isaiah is wilfully mistranslated to create a virgin birth and the story of Moses and the Exodus is used to manufacture the tale of Herod (another Jewish villain), seeking to kill all the male babies (sound familiar) and the holy family fleeing to Egypt, in a re-narration of the Egyptian slavery. Thus are Jews rejected and Jewish stories made Christian. Despite the welcome rejection by mainstream Christian denominations, especially Catholics, of this identity substitution, the Christian assault on Judaism continues unabated. Not only does intense Christian missionary activity specifically targeted at Jews continue uncondemned by mainstream churches, but it uses exactly the same type of identity theft pioneered in the gospels.

A brief search on the internet will discover Christian Haggadahs, Rabbis, Parshah talks and so on. None of this has anything to do with genuine Christian identity but is a method of suborning Judaism and authentic Jewish life. This of course has recently culminated in the uncovering of ‘deep sleeper’ Christian missionaries disguised as Orthodox Jews. A religion that has to stoop to using secret service tactics to win converts cannot have very convincing arguments. If the Churches are serious in their rejection of supersessionism, then all this must be roundly condemned and fought. If not, then Christian professions of friendship are just that, and Jews are justified in believing that nothing much has changed since the nativity stories were written.