Since hearing on Motzei Shabbat of
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks’ death, a feeling of great sadness has enveloped me, a
lump sits in my throat and tears tickle my eyes. In the following I hope to set
out what Rabbi Sacks meant to me, and why I, and so many others, are feeling
such a sense of profound loss. In this I will depart from Rabbi Sacks’ teachings
and rather than move from the particular to the universal, I will start with
the more universal elements and end with the particular.
Firstly, Rabbi Sacks was a great
teacher – I could sit captivated by his lectures for hours, or become immersed
in his books or his writings. In particular, he was a great story teller. But
not just for the sake of telling stories. Rabbi Sacks followed the example of
Bereshit, and told stories to make points vivid, so that they would not be
easily forgotten. In this he was a philosopher who made a case by giving
examples rather than by abstract reasoning.[1]
Thus we can easily recall the story of the man and the starfish on the beach
“to this one it makes a difference”[2],
or the visceral horror we feel when we hear of the Chinese man who chose to
save the communist official from the wreckage in an earthquake rather than his
own son. [3]
Alternatively, and with equal dexterity and effectiveness, Rabbi Sacks could
reveal the results of an experiment or study to make his point – from the
Robbers’ Cave study[4] to
the ideas of the algorithms Generous and Tit-for-Tat in cases of Iterated
Prisoners’ Dilemma[5]. In
all of these cases, the story stays in your mind – and the moral or ethical
point with it.
Additionally, Rabbi Sacks was a superb teacher of Torah. His reading of Torah was, I think, distinguished by two unique characteristics. The first was asking simple questions, often about what is unsaid on the actual page. This is a form of Midrash, developed and honed for our times. Thus, in this week’s parshat shavua, Chaya Sarah, on the description of Avraham’s serene death, Rabbi Sacks’ asks how that can be when he has received little, if not none, of all that was promised to him by God. The answer is, of course, both profound and relevant to all of us.
“Perhaps, though, the most important point of this parsha is that large promises – a land, countless children – become real through small beginnings. Leaders begin with an envisioned future, but they also know that there is a long journey between here and there; we can only reach it one act at a time, one day at a time. There is no miraculous shortcut – and if there were, it would not help. The use of a shortcut would culminate in an achievement like Jonah’s gourd, which grew overnight, then died overnight. Abraham acquired only a single field and had just one son who would continue the covenant. Yet he did not complain, and he died serene and satisfied. Because he had begun. Because he had left future generations something on which to build. All great change is the work of more than one generation, and none of us will live to see the full fruit of our endeavours. Leaders see the destination, begin the journey, and leave behind them those who will continue it. That is enough to endow a life with immortality.”[6]
The second, and more unique, approach was that of seeing the wood for the trees
– of finding meaning in the overall arc of the text, and not just in the
specific verses, chapters or even stories. This can be seen in Rabbi Sacks’ identification
of the chiastic structure, for example, of the books of Bereshit and Shemot as
the building of the Tabernacle echoes the creation of the world[7],
or of seeing the whole of Torah in this manner (history/future – present –
holiness – present – history/future).[8]
Or in seeing the lack of four dimensions of human responsibility in the stories
leading up to Abraham, and then (combining the two ideas referenced here)
Abraham taking responsibility for each of the four.[9]
Rabbi Sacks had an ability to step back and view the arc of the moral universe –
as he liked to quote from Martin Luther King - “The arc of the moral universe
is long, but it bends toward justice.” These factors, and others to be
discussed below, form the foundation of Rabbi Sacks’ masterful commentary on
the siddur and mahzor, and in particular the introductions to those works that
drew on all these themes. Additionally,
we must add that Rabbi Sacks frequently drew on findings in all areas of human
study in order to illustrate and explain points made in the Torah. Thus, to
give but one example, the command to not hate the Edomite or Egyptian is
explained by Iterated Prisoners’ Dilemma as mentioned above.[10]
This brings out another facet of
Rabbi Sacks that left us all in awe – his complete command of so many areas of
human knowledge. He could discuss and quote thinkers from all of history, as
well as the most up-to-date studies and books. He could, and did, use ideas
from philosophy, economics, biology, psychology and many more. We were left in
wonderment at the breadth of the sources that Rabbi Sacks brought. Many times,
having read the development of an idea that Rabbi Sacks brings, whilst nodding
along throughout, I found myself wondering how I could possibly convey such an
idea to others while being unable to bring the complete intellectual foundation
on which the idea rested. My rendition of such an idea would be merely a ‘pale
copy’ of the true idea which was both buttressed and embellished by such a vast
range of sources.
However Rabbi Sacks did not have a
dry philosophical outlook. We have mentioned above his predilection for using
stories. Additionally, he understood the power of music – “There is an inner
connection between music and the spirit. When language aspires to the
transcendent and the soul longs to break free of the gravitational pull of the
earth, it modulates into song… The history of the Jewish spirit is written in its songs.”[11]
This was stressed on a practical level, as advice for inspirational parenting[12]
, or in the release of albums combining Divrei Torah and songs to accompany the
siddur, or to celebrate Israel.[13]
Furthermore, Rabbi Sacks saw and felt poetry. Thus, for some examples, he saw poetry in the first song of Adam when he was presented with Eve, the soul soaring at the sight of the other:
“We actually see him wake up and see a woman for the first time. You know what he does at that point. He says the first poem on record: ‘Zot ha’pa’am – This time [I have found] Etzem mi’atzamei – bone of my bone Basar mibasari – flesh of my flesh Lezot yikarei ishah – she shall be called ‘woman’ Ki mi’ish lukahah-zot – because she was taken from man.’ We see, we feel, his joy of discovery. We actually are seeing through the immense significance of one human being.”[14]
Or in his commentary on the siddur on the phrase
“אבינו אב הרחמן המרחם רחם עלינו Our Father, compassionate Father, ever compassionate, have compassion on us – with its twofold repetition of “father” and threefold mention of compassion in the space of six Hebrew words is one of the most concentrated expression of the love and trust we feel for God.”[15]
Moving to a slightly more
particularistic view, this incisive use of the full wealth of modern study
discussed above also exemplified the extent to which Rabbi Sacks was a role
model for us, growing up in the Modern Orthodox (or Religious Zionist) world. We
believed in combining Torah Ve’Avodah as a synthesis – and here was our Rabbi
Sacks, who bestrode the world like a colossus with knowledge of Torah on the
one hand, and complete immersion in the modern world on the other. If for a
moment others doubted or criticised our studies or academic pursuits – we could
always turn to the figure of Rabbi Sacks for inspiration.
As a young adult in the Modern
Orthodox world in England in the 1990s, Rabbi Sacks’ thought, always expressed
so profoundly and so eloquently, reflected, amplified and clarified what we
believed in. Indeed, at this time I can no longer say how much Rabbi Sacks’
thought reflected what we already believed and held to be true, and how much we
believed or held things to be true because of Rabbi Sacks’ thought.
Born after Israel’s miraculous
victory in the Six Day War, a clear Kiddush Hashem for all those who chose to
see it, we were members of a generation who no longer felt the need to hide
their Jewishness. We knew that we were different, that we were not part of the
mainstream English world – and yet we were not trying to keep out of sight. In
this respect, Rabbi Sacks provided for us a role model – as an orthodox Jew, a
Rabbi, but someone who mixed with kings and princes, who spoke with leaders of
nations, but on his terms. How our hearts filled with pride when we heard of
Rabbi Sacks meeting the Queen or speaking to the Prime Minister. We didn’t have
to stay in the shadows when Rabbi Sacks took the limelight.
Relatedly, Rabbi Sacks gave us reasons to be proud of our Judaism. While Orthodox Rabbis had previously shone within the four cubits of the Orthodox world, Rabbi Sacks shone beyond. One of the central tenets of his thought, and the basis for much of his action, is that Judaism has vast amounts to teach the world. He set out to teach everyone in the world, irrespective of race, colour, or religion. But not just to teach – to teach Torah! In the year 2000, Rabbi Sacks gave an address in Windsor Castle to an audience including Prince Philip. Rabbi Sacks began his lecture by acknowledging the unique experience of growing up in a castle. Such a prince or princess would learn the history of their home and the expectations, protocols, morals, and obligations that came along with it.
“Jews don’t own buildings like Windsor Castle”, he continued, “We are not that kind of people. But we own something that is, in its own way, no less majestic and even more consecrated by time. The Jewish castle is built not of bricks or stone, but of words. But it too has been preserved across the centuries, handed on by one generation to the next, added to and enhanced in age after age, lovingly cherished and sustained. As a child I inherited it from my parents, as they had inherited it from theirs. It is not a building but it is nonetheless, a home, a place in which to live. More than it belongs to us, we belong to it; and it too is part of the heritage of mankind.”[16]
Rabbi Sacks told us that as Jews we had something that was even more important, even more impressive, than Windsor Castle – and we took note and held our heads high. We could learn and follow his lead –
“And I just add, as my commentary on Jewish life, that do not think that those who live behind high walls, a self-imposed ghetto, are necessarily the strongest Jews. The strongest Jews who those who are able to live without those high walls. Confident in their faith they can engage in dialogue with other people’s faith – or other people’s culture.”[17]
Rabbi Sacks, following in the footsteps of Avraham Avinu, was a knight of our
faith carrying it out into the world for all to learn from.
However, Jewish pride raises the issue of our relationship with the world. How should we interact? How and why are we different? What does it mean to be the chosen people? We were proud to be Jews – but were we really different, special? Here too, Rabbi Sacks gave us the answer. His answer, most fully elaborated in “The Dignity of Difference” was that Jews taught the world to honour those who are not like them. We were always a small people, a tiny minority – and yet we continued to exist, to be unlike everyone else, so that everyone could learn to treat the “other” as they would themselves want to be treated. Judaism is one version of monotheism, which has much wisdom to teach the world, but was intended only for Jews. Other religions also have their place.
“[T]hat is what Judaism came into the world to protest against. Judaism is God’s protest against empires. God says it is not so. No people is entitled to force its beliefs on any other people. ‘Down here, in the world that I made, there are many cultures, many faiths, many civilisations – each of which was made by Me, each of which therefore has its own integrity, its own gifts to humanity, its own contribution to make its own voice, its own language, its own character. I want,’ says God, ‘to communicate that truth to the world. Therefore I will choose one people, a small vulnerable people, not particularly righteous – in fact, very often particularly bolshie – and I will command that people to be different to show the world the dignity of difference. The reality of difference.’”[18]
“The proposition at the heart of monotheism is not what it has traditionally been taken to be: one God, therefore one faith, one truth, one way. To the contrary, it is that unity creates diversity. The glory of the created world is its astonishing multiplicity: the thousands of different languages spoken by mankind, the hundreds of faiths, the proliferation of cultures, the sheer variety of the imaginative expressions of the human spirit, in most of which, if we listen carefully, we will hear the voice of God telling us something we need to know. That is what I mean by the dignity of difference.”[19]
We also struggled with faith and science, Bible and evolution. Here too Rabbi Sacks simply dissolved the problem. Science asks how, while religion asks why.
“To put it at its simplest: science takes things apart to see how they work. Religion puts things together to see what they mean. And we need them both, the way we need the two hemispheres of the brain. Science is about explanation, religion is about interpretation. Science analyses, religion integrates. Science breaks things down to their component parts; religion binds people together in relationships of trust. Science tells us what is, religion tells us what ought to be. Science describes; religion inspires, beckons, calls. Science practices detachment; religion is the art of attachment, self to self, soul to soul. Science sees the underlying order of the physical world. Religion hears the music beneath the noise. Science is the conquest of ignorance. Religion is the redemption of solitude.”[20]
We believed strongly in what is known as Tikkun Olam – we felt injustice and needed to fight it. Rabbi Sacks taught us that we were hearing the call of the Torah, imbued in us from the days of Abraham.
“[God] needs our help. That is why He chose Abraham. Abraham was the first person in recorded history to protest the injustice of the world in the name of God, rather than accept it in the name of God. Abraham was the man who said: “Shall the Judge of all the earth not do justly?” Where Noah accepted, Abraham did not. Abraham is the man of whom God said, “I have chosen him, so that he will direct his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord by doing what is right and just.” Abraham was the father of a nation, a faith, a civilisation, marked throughout the ages by what Albert Einstein called “an almost fanatical love of justice.” I believe that Abraham is the father of faith, not as acceptance but as protest – protest at the flames that threaten the palace, the evil that threatens God’s gracious world. We fight those flames by acts of justice and compassion that deny evil its victory and bring the world that is a little closer to the world that ought to be.”[21]
If we ever felt disappointment in Rabbi Sacks, it was in what we saw as his failure to weigh in on divisive topics in the Jewish community. We wanted to hear his clear lucid voice of reason cut through the smoke and flames of emotive dialogue. Yet, very often, he refrained. At the time, we felt that we were missing his leadership. However, I think now that this merely shows how caught up we are in the moment, while Rabbi Sacks continued to see the big picture. Rabbi Sacks did not enter these disputes because ultimately there was nothing to be gained from them. This was a principle of his from his earliest writings:
“Small things have divided us, and in dividing us have made us small… If Torah is not allowed to speak with its true stature, then the rabbis and teachers we produce will not have their true stature. And if Torah is ideologized, politicized, and used to deligitimate other Jews who also believe in and care for Torah, then it will bring not peace but conflict to the world… For the challenge is not about right, left or center, but about smallness or greatness. Will Orthodoxy see itself forced into defensiveness by assimilation and secularization? Will it retreat yet further into its protected enclaves, while the rest of the Jewish world disintegrates? Will it build an ark for itself like Noah while the rest of Jewry drowns? Or will it see itself challenged by this unique moment to lead the Jewish world? For that is the challenge. To make sure that every child has a Jewish education, as intellectually demanding and inspiring as the best secular education. To teach us how to be Jews in our secular involvements as well as in our private lives. To teach us what it is to create a society, in the golah and especially in Eretz Yisrael, based on ‘compassion, justice and righteousness, because these are what I desire, says God.’ To teach every Jew, left, right and center, to find his or her place in the Torah. Above all to rise above the smallness and recapture the greatness of Torah that once inspired every Jew by its grandeur, its compassion, its sheer nobility: the Torah written in fire, given in fire, the Torah that set Jewish souls on fire.”[22]
Rabbi Sacks rose above these disputes, and set Jewish, and non-Jewish, souls on
fire.
For all the reasons above, many feel
close to Rabbi Sacks. Yet, I feel a special closeness, as do many of my
friends, despite the fact that I did not have a personal connection with him. This is because for us Rabbi Sacks was not just a blazing star in the
firmament of Jewish thought – he was our Rabbi. He grew up in England, as did
we, and attended the same schools as us or our friends, went to the same
colleges and universities as us and our friends, and supported the same
football teams as us and our friends. He loved Bnei Akiva and viewed any
meeting as being “home ground”, surrounded by friends – and not just because
his children attended the movement. He was always happy to come and address us,
and we were delighted to have him. Furthermore, we grew with Rabbi Sacks and
his thought. We started with him at Traditional Alternative seminars, and then
in his first works, which dealt more with the Jewish world. For Gimmel Machane
in Bnei Akiva which is about the ideology of the Movement, we simply took Rabbi
Sacks’ book “Crisis and Covenant” and endeavoured to teach a different chapter
every day. To know Rabbi Sacks and his thought was to know the zeitgeist of
Bnei Akiva UK. As we had questions – Rabbi Sacks provided the answers. As we
read or learnt Rabbi Sacks, we understood what we stood for. As Rabbi Sacks
developed more fully ideas that were only nascent in his earlier works, he
expanded our understanding of ourselves. For this reason, I find it nearly impossible
to give a Dvar Torah without quoting Rabbi Sacks – the ideas that are so
central to my self-understanding derive in great part from his thought.
In this, I can only quote what Rav Aharon Lichtenstein said of his teachers –
“What I received from all my mentors, at home or in yeshiva, was the key to confronting life, particularly modern life, in all its complexity: the recognition that it was not so necessary to have all the answers as to learn to live with the questions. Regardless of what issues--moral, theological, textual or historical--vexed me, I was confident that they had been raised by masters far sharper and wiser than myself; and if they had remained impregnably steadfast in their commitment, so should and could I. I intuited that, his categorical formulations and imperial certitude notwithstanding, Rav Hutner had surely confronted whatever questions occurred to me. Later, I felt virtually certain the Rav had, so that the depth and intensity of their service of God was doubly reassuring.”[23]
For me, when I had questions, Rabbi Sacks had the answers. Even when I didn’t
understand the answers, I could rest assured in the fact that Rabbi Sacks, so
far sharper and wiser than myself, had considered the issues and reached a
conclusion.
Rabbi Sacks said that he never lost faith in God, but sometimes he doubted his faith in man. Regarding his cancer, he said
“I adopted exactly that attitude. So on both occasions I felt, if this is the time Hashem needs me up there, thank you very much indeed for my time down here; I’ve enjoyed every day and feel very blessed. And if he wants me to stay and there’s still work for me to do, then he is going to be part of the refu’ah [healing] and I put my trust in him. So there was no test of faith at any point—just these simple moments at which to say, ‘b’yado afkid ruchi’ [‘In his hand, I place my soul’]. That was my thought. And since we say that every day in Adon Olam, I didn’t feel the need to write a book about it. It was for me not a theological dilemma at all.”[24]
For himself, based on his relationship with God, he had absolute acceptance.
For the state of the world, for others, he believed in absolute responsibility.
In this too, Rabbi Sacks
mirrors Avraham Avinu, who does not protest the command for the Akedah, and yet
argues vigorously, and indefatigably, for the people of Sedom.
Rabbi Sacks was the Abraham of our generation. He was a knight of faith, teaching the world the beauty and wisdom of Judaism – ויקרא שם בשם ה' א-ל עולם he called out in the name of God, Master of the universe. He protested the palace in flames, and called on all of us to do likewise.
“We encounter God in the face of a stranger. That, I believe, is the Hebrew Bible’s single greatest and most counterintuitive contribution to ethics. God creates difference; therefore it is in one-who-is-different that we meet god. Abraham encounters God when he invites three strangers into his tent.”[25]
He was truly נשיא אלקים אתה בתוכנו a prince of God in our midst.
ואיננו כי לקח אותו האלקים
Rabbi Sacks can rest in peace, like
Abraham, knowing that he has made a start. It is up to us to continue.
[1] Based
on Avishai Margalit, see To Heal A Fractured World p. 11
[2] To
Heal a Fractured World, p. 72
[4] The
Home We Build Together, p. 175
[7] The
Home We Build Together p. 138,
[9] To
Heal a Fractured World, p.133-147
[15] The
Koren Rosh HaShana Mahzor, Ashkenaz, p. 368
[16] The
Chief Rabbi’s Haggadah, pages 7-9
[19] The
Dignity of Difference, p. 21
[22]
Orthodoxy confronts Modernity, p.140-145
[23]
https://jewishaction.com/religion/faith/the-source-of-faith-is-faith-itself/
The Source of Faith is Faith Itself, Harav Aharon Lichtenstein, The Jewish
Action Reader-Volume 1,Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America, New
York 1996.
[25] The
Dignity of Difference, p. 59
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