Pesach Anniversaries and the Hope for a Better Future

Every Pesach we celebrate the Exodus from Egypt – the liberation of the slaves from bondage, circa 1300 years BCE. But this Pesach, we mark two other significant anniversaries as well.

The first of these is an anniversary that has implications for all humanity. Yesterday evening, before we began the Erev Pesach service and our communal seder, we marked the anniversary of the blessing of the sun, which occurs once in every twenty-eight years. Just as we mark the new moon with blessings, since Talmudic times, it has been customary to mark the return of the sun to the place in its cycle that it occupied, according to Jewish tradition, during the week of creation. We read in the Talmud, tractate B’rachot, 59b:

Our Rabbis taught: He who sees the sun at its turning point (t’kufah) ... should say: Blessed is He who performs the act of. And when does this happen? Abaye said: Every twenty-eight years when the cycle begins again and the Nisan (spring) equinox falls in Saturn on the evening of Tuesday, going into Wednesday.

So, the beginning of the 28 year cycle always falls on Tuesday evening, that is, the beginning of the fourth day of the week – the day on which, according to the account in Genesis chapter 1, the sun, moon and stars were created – although Birkat Ha-chamah, the blessing of the sun is actually recited on a Wednesday morning (when the sun is actually visible). However, since Birkat Ha-chamah follows the solar cycle, while the Jewish calendar follows, for the most part, the lunar cycle, the Hebrew anniversary of the blessing of the sun every twenty-eight years varies widely: in the past 400 years, Birkat Ha-chamah has been said as early as the 27th of Adar II (in 1701) and as late as the 26th of Nisan (in 1785 and 1869).

Because the Gregorian date also varies slightly, with a day added to the end of February every four years, the date for Birkat ha-chamah has also shifted each century. In the 19th century the anniversary was marked every twenty-eight years on April 7th. It then switched to April 8th when there was no February 29th in the year 1900. After 2100, it will switch to April 9th.

So, the blessing of the sun is recited every twenty-eight years – just once in a generation. For this reason, it can be seen as an opportunity for each succeeding generation to pause and reflect on the state of the world, human affairs – and, indeed, the planet. According to the dating established in Talmudic times, yesterday, on April 8th, the 207th twenty-eight year cycle of the sun began. At a time when we are witnessing troubling climatic changes across the globe, it feels very appropriate for us to reflect on the power of the sun, and the myriad ways in which our domination of the planet and exploitation of its natural resources has precipitated global warming. On 8th April 1981, when the 206th cycle began, the developed nations, at least, were feeling very optimistic – quite gung-ho, in fact – about the prospects for continuing prosperity and global well-being. As we look towards the next cycle that will commence on 8th April 2037, I imagine many of us can’t help fearing the worst: What state will the world be in by then? Will we have managed to make the changes necessary to begin to break the cycle of our destructive habits, so that the earth has a chance to thrive once more, and we can once again bless the sun with a full heart?

I will leave you with that question as I turn to that other anniversary – much smaller and more particular, and yet one that has important implications for the future of one small place on the earth, which has had special significance for the Jewish people since the days of Abraham and Sarah: Israel. One hundred years ago, on April 11th 1909, during Pesach, the city of Tel Aviv began to take root on the sand-dunes just north of the ancient port-city of Jaffa. Tel Aviv, the first modern Jewish city; the symbol of the re-birth of the Hebrew speaking nation; of an utterly new, modern, Jewish people – turning away from the past, from our history of persecution, looking forwards with hope to future life.

Let me share with you a short reflection I wrote during my sabbatical in Israel two years ago, whilst staying for a month in Tel Aviv:

Tel – Aviv

Tel Aviv

A few very minor

Hills

But

Essentially

Flat

So why Tel (Mount) Aviv?

In 1909

A group of Jewish residents of

Jaffa

Purchased plots

Beyond the

Arab city’s limits

III

Standing on the sand

Legend tells that

They distributed them by

Drawing ‘sea-shell’ lots

They named their

New neighbourhood

Tel Aviv

After Nachum Sokolov’s

Translation of

Theodore Hertzl’s visionary book

Altneuland (Oldnewland)

Tel – a mound of ancient ruins

Aviv – spring; re-birth

And so

As old and new were

Brought together

Europe

Found a

Home

In the Middle East 21

(Monday 19th February 2007, Rosh Chodesh Adar)

Yes, Europe found a home in the Middle East – and, ironically, there in the centre of the eastern sea-board of the Mediterranean, the gate-way to the Middle East, you will find a thoroughly modern European city – now designated as a World Heritage Site, because it houses the largest collection of modernist buildings in the world. As I reflected on another day during my stay in Tel Aviv:

The White City

Tel Aviv

First

Modern

Jewish

City

Built on the sand

Between sea and sky

To fulfil the

Ideal of the

New

Free

Hebrew-speaking

Jew

The perfect setting for

Modernist architecture

And so

How very fitting that

The Bauhaus School

Shut down by

The Nazis

In 1933

(After just

Fourteen short years)

Should find a

Jewish home

Here

And flourish

Unimpeded

As never before

III

The White City on the

Eastern sea-board of the

Mediterranean

Right in the middle of the

Middle East

Bauhaus

Capitol of the

World 36

(Friday 2nd March 2007)

I’ve seen the photo of the would-be inhabitants of the not-yet built first modern Hebrew city, standing on the sand-dunes, where the plots for building were assigned to each family by casting sea-shell lots. The picture hangs in the entrance of the modest building on Rothschild Boulevard, where David Ben Gurion declared the establishment of the new Jewish state on 14th May 1948 – now known as Independence Hall. How simple and innocent it all looks: A happy group of people standing on the empty sand dunes in the sun one hundred years ago this Pesach. But, of course, photographs can often been misleading: a snap-shot of a moment, of a place on the sand. Meanwhile, less than a mile down the road: Jaffa; the ancient biblical port that has been home to another people for several centuries.

The tale of Arab-Jewish relations in Jaffa, of fragile connections and conflict, of the impact of the Zionist dream on the city, is re-told by Adam LeBor in his book, City of Oranges. Arabs and Jews in Jaffa (Bloomsbury, 2006). On another occasion, I will, perhaps, tell you more about this fascinating book, which explores its themes through portraits of Jaffa families, Arab and Jewish – or, perhaps, it might be a candidate for the Book Club. In the meantime, suffice it to say that following the Balfour declaration of 1917, the Arab inhabitants of Jaffa rioted, and the Arab riots of 1921, 1929 and 1936 came to Jaffa, too. Of course, Jews have lived in the land continuously since the destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans in 70CE – albeit in ever-reducing numbers. But Jews have not been the only inhabitants: nomadic Bedouins, poor farmers – both Christian and Muslim: Until 1918, the land on the eastern sea-board of the Mediterranean was under the jurisdiction of the Ottoman Empire for centuries. So, despite the photograph depicting the empty dunes – which were, indeed, quite empty – the land surrounding it was not.

And now it’s 2009: Tel Aviv has expanded way beyond its modest beginnings. It is, indeed, a vibrant, modern, noisy, urban metropolis: edgy, dynamic, secular, hard-edged – and yet, so charming – ha’ir b’li hafsakah – ‘the city without a break’, as the slogan goes. Here’s another of my sabbatical reflections – a brief light-hearted homage:

City without a break

In ‘the city

Without a break’

You can

Take a break

At any time

Day or night

If 4pm

Doesn’t suit for

Coffee and cake

Why not go for

4am

Instead

(Friday 16th February 2007)

Tel Aviv is the fun capitol of Israel, ‘the bubble’, as it is now known, where it’s inhabitants can live, for the most part, as if

Gaza was not a few miles down the road – albeit, Hamas doesn’t yet have rockets that can reach it – and the West Bank, sealed off now behind the Security barrier, was not a short car-ride away to the east… Of course, Tel Aviv also has an underside: crime, prostitution, migrant foreign workers doing the jobs that Israelis don’t want to do – all the standard goings-on of modern city life anywhere in the world. But Tel Aviv isn’t anywhere in the world – and its founders were hoping to create a bright, new environment fit for bright new Jews… They just didn’t put the other inhabitants around them into the equation.

I’m sounding a cynical tone. I don’t mean to. The truth is I’m rather sad. I love Tel Aviv. Despite everything that has happened since the would-be residents stood on the sand and cast their lots, I love what the ’white city’ – albeit off-white now, and crumbling – stands for still: hope; a new beginning. And so, on this first day of Pesach, the festival of liberation and renewal, I would like close with a vignette that does, if you think about it, a little, have a ring of hope about it:

Last week, as some of you know, I went to Israel for three days. I was attending the wedding of Emanuel, the eldest son of my closest cousin, Richard. Richard and I, our birthdays just nine months apart, were best friends when we were children. He went to live in Israel thirty years ago.

Emanuel is a handsome twenty-five year old; a serious young man, who is studying engineering at the Technion in Haifa, he is also full of fun. Emanuel’s favourite football team is Liverpool, because his mother, Drora, whose family are Yeminite Jews, studied as a PhD. Student at Liverpool University each summer, while Emanuel was a child. Anyway, Emanuel is delightful – and so is Keren, the young woman, who has become his wife – whose parents have Morrocan Jewish roots. She is also studying at the Technion.

Jewish identity is multi-faceted in Israel. But the point of this little story is not to tell you about my cousin’s son, Emanuel and the varied origins of Israeli Jews. Instead I want to tell you about another Emanuel I met the day after the wedding when I was sitting in a café in Tel Aviv – as one does – with my cousin, Joy, who made aliyah three decades ago now. This Emanuel is a waiter and the son of foreign workers from Thailand. His parents only have resident permits because they are not Jewish, but he and all his brothers and sisters were born in Israel and are Israeli citizens. This Emanuel is studying at Tel Aviv University. I asked Emanuel what he feels about Israel. He told me that he feels, both, Asian and Israeli – but actually, more Israeli: ‘Of course, I have my complaints, but this is my home. I was born here. I went to school here’, he said in English, in response to my questions. He also told me that, fluent in Ivrit, he doesn’t speak his parents’ native tongue. And then he added: ‘I am worried about the new government – and Avigdor Lieberman – I love Tel Aviv, this is my home and I want to be able to keep living here.’

I’m also worried about the new government – and the lack of any progress towards reaching a peaceful and just settlement of the conflict between Israelis and Palestinians. But this Thai Israeli Emanuel gave me hope: Perhaps, in the future Israel will come to celebrate its diversity; perhaps by the time Jews next bless the sun in twenty-eight years time, mutual recognition and respect between the State of Israel and the State of Palestine will be the order of the day. At the moment it seems unlikely, but can the people of the Exodus; the people who have survived persecution for millennia, and who even managed to survive the Sho’ah, really give up on tikvah, hope? As we remember the Exodus each year, may we also remember to remain the people of hope. And let us say: Amen.

Rabbi Elizabeth Tikvah Sarah

Brighton & Hove Progressive Synagogue – Adat Shalom Ve’reiut

Pesach – 9th April 2009 – 15th Nisan 5769