When The World Fell Silent
Rabbi Mendy Lew, Stanmore, UK
As Shabbat ended last week, the terrible and tragic news quickly filtered through of the demise of former Chief Rabbi Sacks. In recent weeks, even as news of his wellbeing became more and more ominous, we continued praying for him and for his recovery. We hoped. We believed.
It was not to be.
Some years ago, he remarked that the possibility of death was not theologically challenging to him. He believed passionately that one’s journey in this world ends when G-d deems the individual as completing his, or her, unique mission. Not a moment sooner. Not a moment later. Last Shabbat, G-d summoned our beloved teacher, mentor and friend back home.
There has been understandable sorrow throughout the Jewish community, in this country and beyond. There has also been an outpouring of grief by non-Jews all across the world. His powerful arguments and reasonings in defense of goodness and integrity crossed all boundaries.
He was rightly acknowledged as a gifted orator and writer, whose writings and lectures profoundly touched all. He could capture any occasion and immediately put it in the right context and framework. His brilliant essays and wise words were highly sought after. In a world of confusion and disorder, his message resonated as the voice of reason and clarity, an expression of morality, and a call to justice.
His energy and spirit, his belief in the future, his embrace of modern technology, his ability to see others and to trust them, his fairness, his humility, his determination and his undoubted, extraordinary, talent and intellect were awesome, and enabled him to connect with all ages and all types. He saw the humanity in each person. Nothing else mattered.
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Standing by the coffin on Sunday, powerful emotions were swirling through my mind. Due to current government regulations, the crowd was sparse - limited to close family members and a number of communal figures. It would not be unreasonable, in normal circumstances, to have expected a mass gathering well into four figures.
It seemed most unfair, improper, disrespectful even.
At the same time, there was something intensely compelling. It was peaceful, quiet and calm. In some strange and mysterious way, the tranquil setting only served to amplify the greatness of the man. In the hushed gathering, one could focus on how a mere mortal could rise so majestically high.
It was specifically this emotional setting which prompted Rabbi Rosenfeld to break out into the moving melody from Psalm 63: “My soul thirsts for You”. Reminding us all of the epitaph for which Rabbi Sacks himself yearned - that he was one who thirsted for G-d.
Since we all innately believed that Rabbi Sacks was one of ours, it is easy to forget that he was also a private citizen. Away from the adoring crowds, the doting masses and the loving community was a man trying to be a good husband, father and grandfather. This was not lost on me during the funeral, where the family were granted their final opportunity to be alone with their beloved patriarch.
It is also what prompted a particular conversation between Rabbi Sacks and me to come flooding back.
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But, first, a brief history:
I feel privileged that Rabbi Sacks played an essential part in my life since my early childhood. Being close to my parents, there were many memorable interactions between Rabbi Sacks and Elaine, and my own parents and family.
In 1992, when I entered the Rabbinate in this country, I attended the customary interview by Rabbi Sacks - the newly installed Chief Rabbi. As I entered his office, I realized that our relationship was about to change - forever. My longstanding friend was about to become my teacher, my mentor and my guide.
It was not a downgrade. On the contrary. It deepened the existing bonds. It opened up a channel of communication, which would go a long way into helping mold me and shape me - utilizing my own unique gifts and talents.
Which brings me back to the particular interaction, which popped up during the funeral.
Chief Rabbi Sacks had been explaining to me the effect of a Rabbi on his congregation. He illustrated his point with the well-known prayer and song from the Yom Kippur Mussaf service: “Mareh Kohen” (the appearance of the High Priest).
The prayers on Yom Kippur afternoon describe in vivid and graphic detail the sublime and magnificent service of the Main Kohen in the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. There was high drama and awe-inspiring moments.
The highlight of the service was the Main Kohen’s entry into the Holy of Holies. The entire edifice was holy. Only select people could enter and perform. But the Holy of Holies, where the Holy Ark was placed, was of so sacred a nature that no one was ever permitted to enter, under penalty of Divine retribution. It was the chosen place, in this physical and material world, for G-d’s spirit to rest.
Yom Kippur was the exception. On this precious and sacred day, the Kohen Gadol was required to enter and pray on behalf of the people. In that tiny physical space - where Heaven and Earth literally come face-to-face - the Main Kohen would beseech and plead with the Almighty that the people should be granted forgiveness, and that the world should enjoy good health, stability and economic success.
Upon his safe exit, the people would look at him intently - ‘Mareh Kohen’. They waited expectantly on his reassurance that the coming year would be a good one. For them, their families, and for the Jewish people. And indeed for the entire world.
Rabbi Sack’s point was that while the people looked at the kohen Gadol in awe and admiration, they were also trying to assess his inner mood. Was he optimistic, confident and hopeful - expressed with a smile and a calm demeanor? Was he worried and concerned - reflected by the opposite?
‘Mareh Kohen’ - the appearance of the Kohen - according to Rabbi Sacks was vital to the confidence and mood, and the mental wellbeing, of the people. His positive and upbeat body language would remove any anxiety and help to raise their spirits.
Knowing how much it meant to the masses, the Kohen always made a point of carrying himself with joy. His portrayal of confidence and optimism would go a long way in ensuring that the people kept their sanity and focused on their own personal growth and opportunity.
In the excellent Koren-Sacks Yom Kippur Machzor (page 900) Rabbi Sacks concludes this point as follows: “At critical moments the appearance of the leader shapes the mood of the nation.”
All those years ago, he reminded me of this point. The Rabbi is the face of the congregation. He is the leader of his particular ‘nation’. If he remains upbeat and confident, the community follows suit. This remains the challenge to any Rabbi in what can often be a very lonely place.
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A year or two after that interaction it was my turn to ask Rabbi Sacks a follow-up question. A personal one.
“At critical moments the appearance of the leader shapes the mood of the nation.” I wanted to know if, away from the public eye, this also applies to the man of the house?
Behind closed doors, a husband’s mood will determine if it’s a happy abode, or one filled with dread and gloom.
A father’s countenance when he enters the home will either bring soothing and calm to the children, or fear and terror.
Does the man of the house have a responsibility to what goes on in his private space? Does he have a moral obligation to always be upbeat, calm and pleasant so that the home is a warm environment in which one can flourish, develop and grow?
Rabbi Sacks gave me one of his irrepressible smiles. He didn’t need to say another word. The implication was clear: the inner sanctity of home life is, in many ways, even more vital for a mood to be set.
In the Holy of Holies - which is marriage - the High Priest, the husband, must utilize intense sensitivity, compassion and kindness if the sacred edifice and space is to remain firm, strong, warm and loving.
As a father, he must be equally gentle and compassionate in the home so that the children can live healthily, in an atmosphere of love and embrace, and to be fortified with emotional stability.
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That interaction came flooding back to me on Sunday.
The world knows and acknowledges how much Rabbi Sacks was a leader for our time. How he almost singlehandedly lifted individuals, communities and societies by his sheer presence, confidence and belief.
The world knows how much our own High Priest found the inner resolve and motivation to help our lost generation find its equilibrium and balance. To elevate us on his journey of optimism and belief.
The world accepts how much toil and tears he invested for our future. That the traditions of the past be fused with modernity to create a model looking forward with confidence and faith.
Because Rabbi Sacks believed that: “At critical moments the appearance of the leader shapes the mood of the nation.”
On Sunday, the second part of the equation was laid bare for all to see. Especially with the moving and powerful words by his younger daughter, Gila, who shared a little of the warm and cozy climate at home. How much they benefitted from him being their father - away from prying eyes.
Yes, Rabbi Sacks was indeed a High Priest to his family - creating a loving and warm home where marriage, affection and love could sparkle and glow, and where their children could find the space to develop and grow.
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When a loved one passes away, the mourner needs to summon up the strength to appreciate the loss, and to value the contribution of that individual to one’s life. How much effort and toil is dispensed to allow the journey of life to unfold.
When a Chief Rabbi passes away, we as a community must do the same. To summon up the strength to appreciate the loss, and to value the contribution of the Chief Rabbi to one’s life. How much effort and toil he dispensed to allow our religious and spiritual journey to unfold.
The best and most appropriate manner to remember the great man, Rabbi and friend is to grow in our learning - and in our Jewish identity.
We should also actively work towards becoming good role models to others, and especially to those in our immediate circle. To be kind, caring, understanding and loving. To be fair and honest, with love, sweetness and compassion.
After all: “At critical moments the appearance of the leader shapes the mood of the nation.”
May the family of Chief Rabbi Sacks find true comfort and consolation. May we as a community find the same.