Blogger’s Note: Before we begin –  a spoiler alert: This story has a happy ending. However, to get the full effect as experienced by those who lived this story, try to forget this fact as you read it.

Routine blood tests a month and a half ago returned a sharply increased PSA. (For those few of my readers who are neither men above a certain age, nor women married to men above a certain age, a high PSA is an indicator of prostate cancer. In one of those quirks of nature that make internal medicine so fascinating for practitioners and so nerve-wracking for those they practise on, a high PSA is neither a necessary nor a sufficient indicator of cancer, but it is, as these things go, pretty reliable.) Certainly, as these things go, my level was about four times as high as it needed to be to raise a reddish flag.

A visit to my urologist followed fairly quickly, with all of the usual attendant indignities. (For those few of my readers who are neither men above a certain age, nor women married to men above a certain age, let me just say that a family blog is not the place to elaborate on those indignities.) When the urologist referred me for a prostate biopsy, things didn’t sound good. When he learnt that the hospital was demanding an MRI as a pre-requisite for the biopsy, despite my having undergone an MRI less than two years ago, he was, frankly, annoyed at what he saw as a completely unnecessary delay. His annoyance, to be honest, didn’t make Bernice and I feel any happier.

However, we were able to arrange the MRI fairly quickly. The scan was analysed in reasonable time as well, and we were then, and only then, able to schedule the biopsy, which I had a month ago. We were told to expect the results in four-to-six weeks, which, of course, meant that we would receive them only once we were in Portugal. This didn’t really worry us, since we knew that we could schedule appointments as easily from Portugal as from Israel, and our ever-increasing familiarity with scheduling medical appointments strongly suggested that we would be back home before any earliest appointment we would be able to schedule.

Our family doctor then advised calling the lab after three weeks.. This was good news! A shorter waiting time for the results was obviously better, and to receive the results when we were at home, and to have a chance to digest them before going to Portugal, seemed better than receiving them there.

A couple of weeks ago, I contacted our delightful insurance agent, to arrange travel insurance for the trip. He set up a three-way call with the company we have used in all of our recent trips, and I went through the depressing list of my pre-existing conditions and medications. Our agent had previously confirmed that, as I suspected, I needed to mention the suspicion of prostate cancer, even though the biopsy results were not in.

Neither this company, nor the second one we tried, would insure me without either a clear biopsy result or a doctor’s letter, confirming that there was no reason why I should not fly. Of course, no sensible doctor would set himself up in this way to be sued by the insurer for all medical and repatriation costs if, God forbid, anything should go wrong.

Bernice and I then discussed with our agent the possibility of excluding my prostate from the medical cover, and, between ourselves, Bernice and I discussed flying with me uninsured.

Three weeks after the biopsy, and just over a week before our flight, I phoned the path lab, to ask whether the result was in. It wasn’t, but the receptionist was very sympathetic when I explained my position, said she would try to hurry the process, and asked me to phone again immediately after Shavuot. (Because, of course, Shavuot last week stole two days from the lab’s working week.)

When I phoned last Thursday morning, the results were still not in. The receptionist asked me to phone again at 3pm. As it happened, my cousin’s son was visiting Israel from England, and we had arranged to meet him and another cousin in Jerusalem at 3pm. As Bernice parked the car, I phoned the lab, to be told that the result would be ready in an hour or an hour and a half, and I should phone back at 3:40. I didn’t really understand why, if the results would not be ready then, but I didn’t query this.

I was, by this stage, feeling increasingly helpless and frustrated, There seemed to me to be a cosmic coordination of events designed just to thwart my attempt to get my results in time to get travel insurance, and there seemed to be nothing I could do. I had thought I might not be able to function while waiting to phone again. However, we had such a good time with my relatives that I actually lost track of the time, and did not phone the lab back until after 4pm, by which time it was closed and all I got was a recorded message.

The lab, of course, does not work on Friday, so I would only be able to contact them again on Sunday, the day before we flew.

At this point, our agent declared his determination to find a solution somehow. He set up a conference call with the director of the insurance company who signs off on all of the policies. After our agent had told the director what a wonderful person I was, and had told me what a wonderful person the director was, we got on famously.

He first asked me what I would do if my urologist advised me against travelling. I said that I would not travel, and he was rather more impressed than I felt my answer warranted. He assured me that many people were not that sensible. At some point, I asked about excluding the prostate from the cover, and he told me, in no uncertain terms, that I should never, ever, consider an exclusion cause, because I would not believe the lengths to which an insurance company was capable of going in order to prove that a totally unrelated medical condition that arose was, in fact, a consequence of the prostate trouble.

After further discussion, during which he proved to be a truly delightful man, he said that, whatever the situation, whether I had a result, or did not have a result, and whatever the result was, provided my urologist said I could travel, then they would insure me. When I then asked what the maximum cost of that cover would be, he obviously could not give an exact figure, but the ballpark he gave was more reasonable than I had expected.

He further said that, if there wasn’t enough time for me to produce a letter from the urologist stating that there was no reason I should not fly, and if I told him that the urologist had said I could fly, then he would accept my word.

Reassured by this conversation, I called the path lab on Sunday morning, and learnt that the results were in. Of course, the lab would not share those results with me. I asked them to confirm that they had sent them to my urologist, and was shocked to learn that they had only sent them to the doctor who carried out the biopsy, with whom I had no contact. I immediately phoned my urologist’s clinic, to confirm that they had requested the results. However, that clinic is closed on Sunday, so all I got was a recorded message.

I also immediately WhatsApped my family doctor (as he had requested) to tell him the results were in and to ask him to request the results, which he did. I asked him if he would share the results with me when he received them, but he did not respond to that message.

By the end of Sunday (yesterday), I was a nervous wreck. I had, by that time, packed, with a sinking heart. Part of me was convinced that packing would prove to be a waste of time since my urologist would tell me that I needed to start treatment for cancer immediately. Part of me wanted to pack as much as possible for the kids because who knew if I would ever be able to fly to Portugal again. Part of me was very worried about flying without insurance. All of me was feeling that I was coming apart, and was increasingly frustrated by a medical system that seemed to be not responding to my requests. I felt I was trapped in a Kafka novel.

This morning, I phoned the urology clinic. When I told the receptionist the results were in, she started trying to schedule an appointment with the urologist for this Thursday. When I explained that I was flying today, and really needed to speak to the urologist on the phone before mid-afternoon today, she said that the doctor never gave biopsy results over the phone. When I pleaded with her, she went off to speak to the urologist, and returned to tell me that he would check the results and phone me later in the day.

The insurance agent and I agreed that, if I had heard nothing by 2pm, we would arrange insurance for Bernice. Bernice and I spent a couple of hours this morning doing the last-minute packing and straightening the house, growing increasingly fragile and, on my part at least, fractious. I didn’t know whether pestering some combination of the lab, the urology clinic and my family doctor, would be counter-productive. Eventually I phoned the lab, to learn that they hadn’t received a request from my urologist, and that they had also sent the results to a urology professor in the hospital, with whom I had made an appointment for after our return from Portugal, expecting that I would, by then, be needing some treatment. I have no idea why they thought he was the referring doctor.

In a panic, I then phoned the urology clinic to ask them to request the results. The secretary explained that she could not do that, but put me through to the nurses’ station, since the nurses could make such a request. The nurse I spoke to explained that she could not make a request that overrode or bypassed my urologist, but he very kindly went into the clinic’s computer system and was able to tell me that he could view the results. Of course I asked whether he could share them with me and, quite rightly, he said that he could not.

My mind was at least now put a little more at ease. A little later, our taxi arrived. I hoped I would not have to conduct in the taxi what was, Bernice and were certain, going to be a difficult conversation with the urologist. The urologist didn’t phone. We made our way to the railway platform, just missing one train. With a 30-minute wait, I hoped the call would come while we were in the relative anonymity of the railway platform. It didn’t. The train arrived. Still no call. We reached the airport. As we readied ourselves to go up to the departure lounge, Bernice and I resigned ourselves to the fact that we were not going to get an answer before we flew. Obviously, the urologist would wait until he had seen his last patient and, by the time he phoned, we would be in the air.

Just then, my phone rang. It was the urologist. His opening question to me was, on reflection, bizarre.

“So, what did you want to ask?”

If I hadn’t been on the brink of a nervous breakdown, I might have mustered an answer along the lines of: “I wanted to know what made you go in for urology?” Instead, all I said was: “I wanted to know the results of my biopsy.”

“It’s all clear. There’s no cancer. You’re fit to fly.”

I don’t know exactly what expression was on my face, but I don’t think Bernice had any idea what I had just heard. I quickly thanked the urologist, and told him that, despite having  prepared myself for a whole range of possible answers, that one had been completely unexpected. And then, I had the unadulterated joy of sharing the news with Bernice.

As we queued for the hand luggage security check, our agent called, and we had a conference call with the insurers, whose clerk made me go through my entire medical history, again. He obviously had to contact the director, to receive confirmation that my word about being cleared to fly could be accepted. The director was, of course, not to be found, and on another call, so it was about fifteen minutes before our four-way conference call could close the deal.

By the time we got to the gate for our flight, Bernice and I both felt completely drained, but already about 2000 feet high. Now, a couple of hours later, as I write to you halfway to Portugal, from the discomfort of economy class on a Boeing 737, I am so looking forward to a month with the family in Penamacor. This time more than ever, it is going to feel like a real holiday.

I have remarked previously on the diversity of my readership. This was brought home to me again this morning, just after I sent out my email explaining that delivery of this week’s post would be delayed.

Within half an hour, one dear, kind reader had written expressing the hope that all was well and nothing untoward was causing the delay. I was able to reassure her, along the lines that I will elaborate on below.

Just before her considerate email arrived, another reader WhatsApped me to complain about my messing with her head again, by ensuring that she would not know it was Tuesday.

Let me make it clear that I value both responses….indeed, any response. I think I am the blogging counterpart of a battered husband, craving any attention, however abusive. At the same time, I know which of these two correspondents is more likely to be getting a present from me in her Christmas stocking this year! Caveat lector.

And so, down to business, which, this week, is the problem. On Motzei Shabbat in shul, as we finished davening arvit, a fellow-congregant turned round to tell me that there was ‘good news’: over Shabbat, we had successfully rescued and brought home four hostages. In blog land, everything that happens has to be tested for its quality as grist to the blog mill. Most of that testing takes place, for me, starting with my walk home from Shul on Friday night and continuing until I upload my completed blog post on Sunday, Monday or, as this week, Tuesday. I am constantly mulling over what I am going to write about and how I am going to write about it. At times this mulling is further back in my consciousness; at times it is right up their front and centre; but it is always there.

Once I had heard the news of the rescue, I started thinking of what aspects of it I could write about. I gradually realised, over Saturday evening, that I actually felt less incentive to write about it than I would have expected. I’m not sure why that is, but I think it is in part because I wrote at length and fairly depressingly about ‘the situation’ last week, and I felt you, and I, deserved a week off. I also realised that my joy at the news was very tempered, and I felt that I was a little out of synch with the national mood, which, over Shabbat, was euphoric.

I’m not sure how to explain my reaction. Of course, the news that four hostages are reunited with their families is wonderful. The backstories of some of these hostages would be mocked in a Hollywood blockbuster, but they are heart-wrenchingly true.

Noa Argamani was probably the first human face of hostages after October 7, with the release of the video showing her being driven off on the back of a motorcycle, terrifiedly begging not to be killed. Her rescue came early enough to allow her to be reunited with her mother, suffering from stage-4 brain cancer. Tragically, it seems that Noa’s rescue may have been only just in time.

More tragic is the case Yossi Jan, the father of hostage Almog Meir Jan. Yossi lived alone. According to his sister, he has spent the last eight months at home, glued to the television, riding the rollercoaster of repeatedly raised and dashed hopes. During that time, his weight dropped 20 kilo. When the army were unable to reach Yossi with the news of Almog’s rescue, they contacted Yossi’s sister, who drove to Yossi’s home and found him dead on the settee.

As I contemplate the rescue, two facts refuse to leave my mind. The first is that the direct price, for Israel, of the rescue of these hostages was the equally precious life of Amon Zmora. I need to tall you two things about this man, and I honestly don’t know which to tell you first. In the context of the rescue, and in the context of Israel’s national destiny, he was Chief-Inspector Amon Zmora of the National Counterterrorism Unit (Yamam), a unit of the Border Police. This means he was a superbly trained, highly intelligent, fearless patriot. In the words of the commanding officer of the Border Police: “[He was a] brave and valuable fighter who put the security of state and the citizens of Israel first”.

In the context of his personal life, he was the 36-year-old husband of Michal and father of Noam and Itai. In the words of Michal: “He was a sweet and wonderful man, a fabulous partner and a perfect father. That’s how we’ll remember him, and hope you will, too.”

It is, of course, possible to remember him as both, as both the person he chose to be and the warrior he had no choice but to be. Which is more significant? I’m not sure I know. Perhaps, all I can say is that there are times when we are called upon to put aside our personal life for some time so that we can ensure that all of us can enjoy a personal life in the future. Some, heartbreakingly many since October 7, have been called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice in that situation, to pay for the nation’s future with their own personal future. What I am in no doubt about is that the nation of Israel, the Jewish people, and each of us individually owe a debt of gratitude to Amon, and to all of those who have given their lives, and whose lives have been ripped away, since October 7. The Government website today lists the names of 1328 Israeli civilians, and 75 other nationals, 650 individuals serving in the IDF, and 85 other security and first response personnel, killed on or since October 7. We all know that this is by no means the bottom line, but only an interim figure.

Four more hostages rescued. Perhaps the rescue of a handful of others may be possible, some of those also held above ground, in densely-populated civilian centres, prisoners in the homes of complicit Gazan civilians. The rescue alive of any hostages held underground is almost certainly impossible. We are now on Day 241 of October 7. 120 abductees have not yet been returned from incarceration in Gaza. Tzahal has confirmed that 43 of these are no longer alive. That means that no more than 77, at most, are still alive.

And that is the second fact that I cannot shake from my mind. 77, at most, are still alive. Probably, most of those are being held in tunnels, and, therefore, cannot be rescued alive. There is no more incentive, from Hamas’ point of view, to accept an agreement than there ever was. Each day tears Israel apart internally a little more. Each day isolates Israel internationally a little more. I hold out precious little hope of a hostage agreement, and precious little hope of further rescues, and precious little hope of a conclusive end to the war in Gaza. Precious little hope. But what hope I have is so precious!

In other news: next week should see us flying to Portugal on Monday, so I’m not 100% sure when I will be publishing. I will, however, be aiming for 7AM Portugal on Tuesday, which is the normal time. I know there are at least two of you who will feel reassured to hear that.

Between now and then: Chag Sameach (apologies, Andrea, for missing the start of your chag in Australia) and may we all hear good news.

Today’s post comes to you from Chelm, which, from so many points of view, is what Israel has become in these surreal days.

Yesterday, the High Court of Justice began a hearing on the haredi conscription law. You can find a good 3000-word summary of the 75-year history of this issue, up to April 2024, here. Since the temporary stay that the Government gave itself to come up with a new law expired this year on April 1 (not an inappropriate date), there is no longer a legal basis for the exemption of haredim from national service. In the hearing yesterday (Sunday), the Government was not represented by the Attorney General, since he refused to back the Government’s decisions. It seems to me that, if you are not going to take the advice of your legal adviser, you need to replace your legal adviser with someone whose advice you do respect, but what do I know?

Adv. Doron Taubman, representing the government, argued that it did not dispute the fact that it was legally required to draft haredi men and that to refrain from doing so was illegal. However, Taubman argued that the Defence Ministry had the prerogative to decide when and how to enlist these haredi men into the IDF and that the court should not intervene.

On the issue of funding, Taubman agreed that yeshivot should not receive funding for haredi men who ignored draft orders. However, even though the law exempting haredi men expired, they had not actually been summoned yet and therefore were not violating any draft orders. The government could thus continue issuing the funding. In other words, he argued that the deadline has no significance and the lack of resolution can continue indefinitely.

During his address to the court yesterday, the chair of The Movement for Quality Government in Israel’s chairman, Adv. Eliad Shraga, cited his six children who are all currently serving in the war. Petitioners also included a group of 240 women who are mothers of soldiers. I mention this to underline how raw emotions are on the side of the petitioners. For none of them is this a legalistic debate.

Everyone knows (or should realise) that, regardless of what decision the court comes to, the situation on the ground is not going to change overnight. The primary, if unspoken, objective of this hearing is to find a way to prevent the civil war that threatens to erupt between the haredi world and the non-haredi world.

It does seem to me that, in the immediate wake of October 7, and in the months since, there have been not insignificant stirrings in some parts of the haredi sector. Small groups of haredim have enlisted, and others have gone to the front to offer food and emotional and spiritual support to the soldiers. There is the beginnings of a movement to form yeshivot hesder within the haredi community, a channel popular in the national religious sector, combining religious study with military service over an extended period.

However, any attempt to go head-to-head with the haredi community, and any attempt to impose a blanket solution from above on the entire haredi community, will never succeed. There are thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, who are declaring that they will die rather than enlist. This looks to me remarkably like saying that either you let me study Torah in my every waking moment, or I will give up my life and not study Torah on earth at all.

This presumably makes sense within their haredi world, and is interpreted as a death that is a Kiddush Hashem, a sanctification of God’s name, but it is a sickening rejection and scorning of the life that tens of thousands who live, serving in the army to preserve the Jewish state, and dedicating their every spare moment to Torah study. If our victory depends on our military endeavours and God’s intervention, then we do not need to divide the people into soldiers and learners, we can strive to make each person a soldier and a learner.

Yesterday, the mayor of Kiryat Shmona, one of the evacuated Northern towns, met with senior army officers to ask some tough questions about the conduct of the ‘war’ on the Northern border. (The quotation marks around ‘war’ in that sentence reflect the fact that Hizballah – which is arguably the de facto government of Lebanon – has been, for months, daily targeting Israeli military installations and civilian centres all along the Norther border. The army has responded by bombing launch sites and targeting Hizballah personnel. Tens of thousands of Israelis have been evacuated from the border area. Is that a war? If not, what is it?

Anyway, the mayor met with senior officers hoping to receive clarification about the prospects for the development of hostilities, projected plans for returning civilians to their homes and places of education and employment, and so forth. These seem to be legitimate questions, and one would expect the officers to approach such a meeting with a measure of sensitivity for the suffering this uncertainty is causing the population, and its elected representative, the mayor. In a family blog, I hesitate to quote from the meeting, but it is reliably reported that, at one point, the Chief of Northern Command told the mayor to ‘stop f***ing with my mind, go back to your hotel, and await orders.’

Elsewhere in Chelm, members of Knesset, meeting last week with representatives of the families of hostages, screamed uncontrolledly at them, and could not be called to order. (I should add that, to my surprise, I was impressed to see that Itamar ben-Gvir appeared to keep calm and attempted to lower the temperature in the room, although the Chair did not actually allow him to speak.)

And now we have, I think, a proposal on the table for the freeing of the hostages, the dead and the alive. Of course, the proposal was revealed to the world by Biden (since Bibi could not be seen to be proposing it without the extreme right leaving the government). Bibi was then able to avoid having to confirm or deny that it was a proposal Israel had made.

The next stage was for Bibi to show the details of the proposal to the war cabinet, but to refuse to show them to the wider cabinet (which would need to endorse the agreement for it to become official), since, apparently, he had no faith that the details would not be leaked. So, we apparently have a Prime Minister that has appointed an Attorney General whose advice he won’t take, and who has appointed to positions such as Minister of Justice, Finance Minister, Minister of the Interior, people whom he cannot trust not to leak details of sensitive documents presented in Cabinet meetings. I’m not sure Chelm does this justice.

Apparently, Bibi met with Smotrich this morning to go over the deal with him. Smotrich and Ben-Gvir have both stated that if Israel adopts the plan, they will leave the Government.

This morning, a new item appeared. A Hamas representative stated that they will not consider Biden’s proposal until they know that all of the parties in the Israeli government support it.

Perhaps the Chelmiest part of this whole insane situation is that almost everyone – and principally the US, the rest of the world, the families of the hostages, Bibi – behaves as if there is another side with whom Israel can strike an agreement. It has been clear from October 7 (and earlier, for those not seduced by the ‘conception’) that there is no other side. Hamas cannot be trusted in anything they do or say. On October 7, they carried out a horrific pogrom. Since October 7, they have, every day, gained ground, spreading lies, offering up Gazans as sacrifices, playing the Israeli trauma expertly, sitting quietly and letting this country tear itself apart.

Tangentially, to remind you of the level of brutality of October 7, Israel has held, since the days after October 7, unidentifiable remains of a body of someone from Nir Oz. Just yesterday, eight months after the most sophisticated forensic identification project in the history of the world began, the experts, including archaeologists, were able to identify the remains as those of Dolev Yehud, z”l, previously believed abducted to Gaza. Dolev, a civilian paramedic, went out on October 7 to treat injured fellow-kibbutzniks while the kibbutz was occupied by terrorists, leaving, in his shelter at home, his eight-month pregnant wife and three children aged five to nine. A week and a half later, his wife gave birth.

Next week, I think we’ll talk about the French Open tennis and the cricket T-20 World Cup…but then again, this week I thought we were going to talk about the next stage in the air conditioning saga – so, who knows?

Blogger’s Note: I apologise for the offence and, in one case, shock, I caused last week by casually mentioning that Bernice and I have decided to start looking to move to Zichron Ya’akov. The fact is that we have been kicking this idea around for a year or so, and when, a couple of weeks ago, I finally came round to agreeing with Bernice that it made perfect sense, it was something that we had been living with for so long that I completely forgot we hadn’t actually shared it with many people. Anyway, I hope everyone has now recovered from the shock, and, rest assured: it’s not going to happen any time soon, and, when it does, Zichron should still be only just under two hours’ drive from Maale Adumim and two hours on the train from Jerusalem.

Apologies in advance if the writing gets a bit disjointed this week. The fact is that I’m in the middle of a process of going cold turkey, and I’m starting to get the shakes. Let me explain. Our expectation is that our move to Zichron, when it happens, will involve downsizing. Having eventually made up our minds that we were committed to this project, I, for one, am very keen to demonstrate that commitment in tangible ways.

Our first couple of weeks of scrolling through the property pages online has made it clear that we are never going top find a kitchen with the cupboard and worktop space of our current kitchen. However, it is also clear that many properties come with a store-room attached. I therefore took a good look at everything we have in our kitchen drawers and cupboards, and came to the conclusion that we could keep about 45% of it (some 1.33 cubic metres) in a storeroom, and simply take it out when we need it. This includes such items as all of our Pesach dishes, the ice-cream maker, slow cooker and similar large occasional items, spare glasses that we use on very rare occasions. Once I was able to show Bernice the Excel spreadsheet with all of the calculations, her mind was put at ease, having been blown by the photos of the postage-stamp kitchens that some people seem to cope in,

Once I had tackled the kitchen, entirely on paper, I turned my attention to a genuine physical area of downsize. Twice a year, Maale Adumim holds a charity book sale. We have donated to it three times. The first time, many years ago, I sorted out 100 books, and, between sorting them out and taking them to the book sale, 93 of them had found their way back onto the bookshelf.

My problem is that I have always prided myself that, if anyone is staying with us and asks whether we have anything by Margaret Attwood, or any novels set in a dystopian world whose inhabitants speak a language invented by the author, or something in the South American magic realism line, or a Ruth Rendell crime novel, I can always put my hand on such a book. This pride has not been one whit diminished by the sad fact that, in the last 42 years, not a single person has stayed with us and asked to borrow a book.

Last year, growing tired of endlessly rearranging books on our shelves to accommodate new acquisitions, I took myself in hand and actually managed to give two or three boxes of books to the book sale. I achieved this by agreeing to have non-favourite authors represented by only one book.

This year, I have gone almost the whole hog. I have admitted to myself that nobody is ever going to ask for a book. I have further convinced myself that I will be happy to spend my remaining years trying to catch up with those books that I have been promising myself to read (in one case for 55 years) and reading newly published books. I will not be rereading even books that I loved reading.

So, I sat down last week and went through all of our bookshelves. Bernice retrieved the books we are still holding for Esther and Micha’el, and insisted they choose definitively whether they want us to give them to them or give them away. Meanwhile, I started with the low-hanging fruit. When we lived, just the two of us, in a rambling eight-room house in South Wales, before coming on aliya, we amassed a collection of cartoon books, which we kept mostly in the toilet. They, of course, came on Aliyah with us, and, in his youth, Micha’el enjoyed them very much. Since he left home, nobody has so much as opened a single one of them, and, dear as I claim they are to me, I have to take that as an indication that they do not warrant the shelf-space. That was two boxes there!

Next, the non-fiction. We have accumulated a number of coffee-table art-books, which have never resided on a coffee table in our home. Again, I cannot remember the last time I looked at any of them. Several of them are no longer in very good condition. In addition, if I want to look at Rembrandt’s masterpieces, I can study them in truer and richer colour, in close-up, online on a big screen, lifesize.

By this point, I was starting to break into my stride. Bernice then took charge of the Shoah literature – one of her specialist subjects – and proved scarcely less ruthless than myself. The rest of the non-fiction yielded plenty of candidates. ‘How to’ books for a variety of hobbies taken up at some point and put down at some other; coffee-table books celebrating a Britain that is no longer; a collection of maps and atlases that would be of interest only to a historian.

Eventually, I tackled the fiction. After an intense hour, I had reduced our collection to Dickens (see below) and another 22 titles. There are another 70 titles that either one of us or both of us have not read yet. For the moment, we are keeping those, but, once read, they will almost certainly be passed on.

So: what, and why, made the cut. I spent very little time weighing anything up. All of the decisions were instinctive, and I didn’t revisit anything.

Lord of the Flies; The Tin Drum; Catch-22; The Yawning Heights; Ridley Walker; Hamnet; A Beggar in Jerusalem; The Little Prince; The Catcher in the Rye; Lolita; the Chosen; The Magic Mountain; Tristam Shandy; Waterland; The Collected Jonathan Swift; Frankenstein; Middlemarch; Couples; One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich; The Poisonwood Bible; The Grapes of Wrath; A Prayer for Owen Meany.

Add to that the mock-leather complete set of Dickens, with my monogram on each of the 16 volumes, that I received as a Barmitzvah present.

What, I wonder, do I, do you, conclude from this list? Reviewing it now, for the first time since I made the selection, I am surprised that I did not retain one Jane Austen novel – almost certainly Emma. I may still dig that out from the box. It is also very surprising that I have not retained one John le Carre. That was a conscious decision, because I felt that none of his finest work stands alone. The novels centred on George Smiley – chief among them, perhaps, Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy – do not, I feel, stand as tall when they stand alone.

Other questions arise. Where is our copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude? Are we really not keeping An Artist of the Floating World No Anthony Burgess? No John Banville, the only author I have ever written a fan letter to! No Julian Barnes. No Graham Greene, whose works I devoured in my teenage years. What was I thinking of? Is it too late?

Yes, the die is cast. The books are sitting, boxed, in the middle of the room, and tomorrow morning we will take them down to the book sale. Any regrets we have after that will require turning up as the doors open and buying the books back, and how sad would that be?!

I had thought our library would be there for our grandchildren to enjoy, but, even if they mature into readers of literature in English, rather than Hebrew or Portuguese, most of what I would have offered them will doubtless, by then, be available free on Gothenburg. Not to mention that most of what I would have offered them was in paperback and many of the books, as they opened them, would have cracked their spines and shed their pages. Feel free to comment on what is missing from this list, and what is present on it. You might want to think about your own 20 indispensable novels, in case you ever plan to downsize,

Our topic today, dear reader, is humiliation. Before we go any further, I would ask you to take a moment to consider the following: Does humiliation require an audience? In other words, is humiliation something I feel because of my judgement of myself or is it rather something I experience because of others’ judgement of me…or at least something I feel because of my estimation of what others’ judgement of me would be? Think about that for a moment, and then read on.

If I were, for example, to find myself dining with President Herzog, and I belched, I would certainly feel humiliated. If I were dining alone, and I belched, I would think of trees falling in a forest when nobody is within earshot, and conclude that they do not make a noise.

Ed. Note: I realise that, in today’s climate, the preceding paragraph should have come with a trigger warning. In my defence, I would ask you to consider all of the other bodily functions I could have used in the example, other than belching. ‘Nuff said?

So, since for some reason I feel the need to wallow in self-humiliation today, let me share with you how I spent the early part of my morning.

I need, first, to take you back to last November, when the air-conditioning unit in our salon started making the kind of noises that these days accompany me while I am trying to unscrew the lid of a vacuum-sealed kilo jar of honey. (And, yes, I know all of the tricks, from tapping the jar on the edge of the countertop until, preferably, just before the countertop chips, to pouring very hot water over the area where the cap meets the neck of the jar, and hoping to avoid both third-degree burns and multiple lacerations from exploding glass. I am even enough of my late mother’s son to have one of those dimpled silicon cloths to help achieve a better grip.)

Where were we? Ah, yes, the air-con unit. We carried out the basic repairs that the average householder has in his armoury. Bernice switched it off and switched it on again. I switched it off and switched it on again. We opened it up, looked inside, and closed it again. We cleaned it. We waited 30 minutes and switched it on again.

At this point, we played our trump card: I called the air-conditioning technician who had installed the unit some 20 years previously. Once I had told him the model number of the unit, he explained that it was impossible to get a replacement part for that model (of course), and it wasn’t even worth his while coming to see it.

After several other calls, we found a technician who was prepared to come. He spent a good time disassembling the unit, and concluded that the motor had gone. He then spent a couple of days trying to locate a replacement, unsuccessfully. He then suggested ordering a replacement unit that was not a perfect match; he would than jiggle it (I can’t remember the term he used in Hebrew, but ‘jiggle’ is the gist of it) and we would see how it went. Naturally, he could not guarantee that the replacement would work for any length of time. He estimated that this would cost about 3000 shekels. Buying and installing a new unit, equivalent to the one we had, would cost about 20,000 shekels. We didn’t think very long or very hard, not least because we were already seriously considering moving from Maale Adumim to Zichron, to be much nearer to Esther, Maayan and Raphael.

The technician found a replacement, installed it, and it worked. As it happens, we use our air conditioning very little, in winter or summer, not least because the natural ventilation of the house is excellent in summer and winters in Maale Adumim are usually fairly mild. We hardly used it on heat during the winter and have just now started using it on cool. Two Shabbatot ago, it became rather noisier than it had been. Last Shabbat, it switched on, but then operated at incredibly low power, breathing out air that was more or less at room temperature.

So, yesterday, I called the technician again, and explained the situation. He said there was no point in trying to salvage the existing unit, showing a mature grasp of the sunk cost fallacy. Since we have now decided that we definitely want to move to Zichron, I explained to him that we wanted a cheap, less powerful, simple unit that would allow us to be in reasonable comfort in our salon for the, we now hope, last year before we move.

He asked me to go up on the roof and film the external unit there, so that he would be able to give us an accurate estimate. Not wanting to sound pathetic, I agreed to go up.

At this point, I need to explain to you what ‘going up on the roof’ entails. There is no access to the roof from inside the house, and we do not have a long enough ladder to reach the roof from outside. So ‘going up on the roof’ (just five, short, simple, words, right? Think again) means the following.

One side wall of our backyard is the external wall of the communal shelter that the five cottages in our terrace share. Set into that wall is the emergency exit of the shelter, which is serviced by a ladder, which is attached to the wall and starts five feet above the ground. If I place our stepladder beneath this ladder, I can climb our ladder, transfer easily to the shelter ladder, climb up that, then reach for the ledge of the shelter roof and pull myself up. From there, I can similarly reach for the ledge of the main roof and pull myself up to the main roof.

At least, all of that was true about eight years ago, when I last tried to get on to the roof. Since then, I discovered today, someone has moved both the shelter roof and the main roof considerably higher, so that I am no longer able to pull myself up by my arms.

I managed, this morning, to reach the shelter roof from the top of the shelter ladder, using the solid iron handle of the closed shelter door, the window bars of our bedroom, on the wall perpendicular to the shelter, and the main struts of our wooden pergola. By the time I crawled over the ledge onto the safety of the horizontal shelter roof, I was wishing I had brought tea and sandwiches with me.

I then turned to face the wall up to the main roof. After a couple of minutes of huffing, musing, contemplating my mortality, and considering asking Bernice to call the fire brigade, I saw a cleft in the wall at a convenient height for me to insert one foot. Thus was I able to belly my way over onto the main roof.

I shot the video, sent it to the technician, and called him, asking him to look at it straight away, so that I could do any retakes before attempting to climb down. Having received his approval, I briefly contemplated taking some time to recover on the roof before descending. After all, the summer is coming, and the nights will be milder on the roof.

Eventually, I steeled myself for the descent. The cleft, so conveniently placed for ascent, was considerably more awkward for descent. I seem to remember vaulting from the main roof to the shelter roof last time I did this, a feat that seemed unimaginable today, even if I had been pursued by a tyrannosaurus rex.

The descent of the shelter wall was actually not too bad, but I arrived on terra firma knowing that this is a trip I shall not be taking again in this lifetime. Bernice, of course, thought that I was crazy to have done it, as, no doubt, do most of you. But, before you judge me too harshly, consider this. From the relative safety of my first-floor office, I take considerable comfort from the fact that, perversely wanting to feed my humiliation, I have produced from this experience 1400 words of prose in a week when I spent the whole of Sunday having no idea what to write about this week. Suddenly, my climb doesn’t seem quite so unnecessary or foolhardy! It was clearly meant to be.

I’m writing this at the end of Yom Ha’atzma’ut evening, regretting the fact that I had a very unproductive day yesterday, and couldn’t settle to anything. Fortunately, I have a pretty good idea of the direction I want to go in this evening, or rather the directions I want to wander off in, so I’m hoping this will be one of those posts that virtually writes itself. [Blogger’s hindsight note: It wasn’t!]

In these difficult and challenging times, I hope I can bring you two or three rays of sunshine this week. First of all, I know that several of you were very concerned when you watched Micha’el’s YouTube video discussing his not yet having succeeded with his water pump. So, I’m glad to offer you a link to his latest video, where he seems to be in a better place, even if the objective situation has not changed dramatically. I hope it puts your mind at ease.

Next, the first of two surprises that I had today. Gaza’s Hamas-run Ministry of Health has revised down figures for the number of women and children confirmed killed in the conflict: the children from 14,500 to 7,797 and the women from 9,500 to 4,959. The revised totals first appeared on the website of the UN’s office for the coordination of humanitarian affairs (Ocha), The website was quick to state that the revised figures had been produced by the Hamas ministry and had not been verified by the UN. (I somehow don’t seem to remember the UN questioning Hamas’ original figures, before they were revised downward, but there you are.)

Today’s second surprise was the official ceremony marking the transition from yesterday’s Yom Hazikaron (the Remembrance Day for the Martyrs of Israel’s Wars and the Victims of Terror Attacks) to today’s Yom Ha’atzma’ut (Independence Day). In a normal year, this is a dramatic transition from grief to celebration. However, in a normal year, the transition seems in a sense natural, with the fallen being, in the powerful metaphor of Nathan Alterman, the silver salver on which the state of the Jews was given “to you”.

I believe I have mentioned previously that there has been a long-running public debate about how, and even whether, Yom Ha’atzma’ut should be marked this year. In the end, the traditional official ceremony was held, with several adjustments in light of the situation. One of the organisations representing the families of the hostages held an alternative ceremony near Binyamina at the same time. Where the central part of the official ceremony is the lighting of twelve beacons by figures each chosen to represent some aspect of the particular year’s theme, the alternative ceremony featured the extinguishing of eleven beacons and the lighting of one only, in honour of the abductees.

Bernice and I watched the official ceremony, as we always do, and I was, I confess, very impressed. The decision had been taken to record the ceremony in advance, with no audience, rather than, as is usually done, to stage it live in front of an invited and enthusiastic audience.  The official reason given for this change was the security situation. My suspicion is that the actual reason was to avoid the potential embarrassment to the government of any disruption to the ceremony by protestors. Whatever the reason, the result was a more sombre atmosphere, which seemed very appropriate.

There were several other changes to the usual program. Normally, the first part of the ceremony, closing Yom Hazikaron, is fairly short. This year, it lasted over half an hour, and included the lighting of twelve beacons, each at a different one of the sites where the horrendous events of October 7 took place, and each commemorating one or more of those who were killed on that day. The lighters of the beacons were accompanied, in each site, by survivors and relatives of those killed, who stood in silence. This was a powerful set of images, which gave a sense of the scale of the pogrom on October 7. Bernice remarked that “we will never get over this”; I felt compelled to add: “but we will get through it.”

This section of the ceremony ended at Reim, the site of the Nova dance party. Then the cameras returned to Mt Herzl, where the main ceremony was being held, and the transition to Yom Ha’atma’ut began. This featured an excellent speech from the Speaker of the Knesset, stressing the need for national unity, and a recorded speech from the Prime Minister. This was followed by the beacon-lighting ceremony. Whereas normally only one person lights each beacon (or occasionally two people), each of the beacons this year was lit by three, four or five people. The theme this year was a collective representation of Israeli heroism, and, again, the beacon lighters were, unusually, each accompanied by a group of tens of colleagues from whatever branch they represented, be it first responders, police, hospital staff, defence-system developers, or whatever.

I must mention one of the many beacon-lighters. He is an IDF reservist who first enlisted as a 15-year-old and fought in the War of Independence. At the age of 96, he still serves in the reserves, speaking about the history and tradition of Tzahal. The clarity of his memory (he was one of the few beacon-lighters this evening to say his piece without referring to a written script) the strength of his voice and the straightness of his back were certainly an advert for the health benefits of military service!

The twelfth beacon was lit anonymously, off-camera, to represent the abductees.

In a normal year, this would have been followed by celebratory songs from popular soloists, and dancing, with the audience enthusiastically singing along and waving flags.. This section of this year’s ceremony was handled particularly well. The selection and arrangements of the songs was carefully designed to be more reflective and more minor key than usual. At the same time, a sense of transition from grief to thankfulness for the state we have was achieved by having hundreds of children from the displaced communities in the north and the south singing with the soloists, and offering musical accompaniment.

The formation marching by the army flag squads was much as usual, although, again, absent the wild enthusiasm and delight of a large crowd at the precision of their marching and their representation on the stage of such symbols as the flag, Magen David and menorah, there was an added dignity to the display that was more in keeping with this year’s events.

A decision had been taken to forgo the traditional firework display closing the ceremony, both because of the excessive celebration it would suggest and because of a fear of disturbing anyone suffering PTSD. (On a similar note, a meme doing the rounds offers the following exchange, to appreciate which you need to know that a siren sounds to mark a one-minute silence as Yom Hazikaron begins, and a two-minute silence at 11 AM the next day. Anyway, the exchange goes: “Where did the siren catch you?” “In the throat!” This is no less funny for being very true.)

In all, I felt that the entire ceremony struck the right balance for this very different year. We pray that, next Yom Ha’atzma’ut, we will be able to celebrate more traditionally, but, for this year, it seems to me that the day was marked very appropriately.

Let me start with a couple of clarifications

1. Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Day) in Israel this year falls on the 213^th day of October 7. I don’t wish to suggest any kind of equivalence between the Shoah and the period from October 7 to now. However, I must confess that, for myself at least, the visceral reality of October 7 is giving the Shoah, and Yom Hashoah, more immediacy this year.
2. A part of this shiur is taken from a shiur given at Yeshiva University 20 years ago by Rabbi Hershel Shachter. The other half has presented itself to me, as seems so often to be the case, by both the liturgy and the Torah readings of the last couple of weeks. We often remark on how, every year, each weekly Torah has a topical resonance. I find that the liturgy, also, seems to offer a response to whatever is occupying me at the time.  
3. In this shiur, I am not seeking to answer the question: ‘Where was God?’, but rather to explore the following three questions
   • What does the question ‘Where was God?’ mean?
   •  Have we the ability to answer the question: ‘Where was God?’?
   • Have we the right to ask the question: ‘Where was God’?’
4. In the course of asking these questions, we might come across some possible answers to the question: ‘Where was God?’, but that is not my main purpose today.

Bernice and I often discuss the fact that we have been blessed to be born at the time and in the place that we were, to have lived through the period in history we have lived through, and to have moved to Israel when we did. I was born almost five years after the liberation of the camps, and almost two years after the foundation of the state and I was raised in a liberal, creative, confident, and therefore largely accepting, England. I spent a very formative gap year in Israel on a course that began in reunited Jerusalem a year after the Six-Day War, then we came on aliya to an Israel on its way to being an economic and artistic powerhouse. We witnessed the release of Soviet Jewry and the fall of the Communist empire.

And then came the 21^st Century, leading, it now seems inexorably, to October 7, and the last eight months.

On 7^th day Pesach, a fellow congregant and I turned to each other after reciting Psalm 121 antiphonally, and agreed that it is getting harder and harder to recite this perek, and many other prakim, of tehilim.

Psalm 121 A Song of Ascents. I will lift my eyes up to the hills; from where will my help come? My help comes from the Lord, Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot stumble; He that guards you does not slumber. See: the Guardian of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps. The Lord is your Guardian; the Lord is your shade at your right hand. The sun will not strike you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will guard you from all harm; He will guard your life. The Lord will guard your going and coming, now and for evermore.

תהלים קכ”א שִׁיר לַמַּעֲלוֹת: אֶשָּׂא עֵינַי אֶל הֶהָרִים, מֵאַיִן יָבֹא עֶזְרִי׃ עֶזְרִי מֵעִם ה׳ עֹשֵׂה שָׁמַיִם וָאָרֶץ׃ אַל יִתֵּן לַמּוֹט רַגְלֶךָ, אַל יָנוּם שֹׁמְרֶךָ׃ הִנֵּה לֹא יָנוּם וְלֹא יִישָׁן שׁוֹמֵר יִשְׂרָאֵל׃ ה׳ שֹׁמְרֶךָ, ה׳ צִלְּךָ עַל יַד יְמִינֶךָ׃ יוֹמָם הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ לֹא יַכֶּכָּה, וְיָרֵחַ בַּלָּיְלָה׃ ה׳ יִשְׁמָרְךָ מִכָּל רָע׃ יִשְׁמֹר אֶת נַפְשֶׁךָ׃ ה׳ יִשְׁמָר צֵאתְךָ וּבוֹאֶךָ, מֵעַתָּה וְעַד עוֹלָם׃

In the perek, we declare our faith that Hashem guards and will continue to protect us from all harm.

After the Shoah, after October 7, how are we to understand this? The perek begs the question: ‘Where was Hashem?’ If ה׳ יִשְׁמָר צֵאתְךָ וּבוֹאֶךָ, מֵעַתָּה וְעַד עוֹלָם (Hashem will guard your going and coming now and for evermore), then where was he in the Shoah and on October 7?

This question can, I suggest, be understood two ways. It may be a rhetorical question, with the obvious and unavoidable answer: “God was nowhere in the Shoah.” In the Shoah, there died six million Jews and God. This has clearly been the reaction of many Jews, survivors and others, and it is not easy to criticise them for their rejection of the existence of God. What kind of deity, whose first mentioned attribute is mercy, and who is also omniscient and omnipotent, can allow the slaughter of one and a half million children of his Chosen people?

The second way to understand the question: ‘Where was God in the Shoah?’ is as a genuine enquiry, a desire to understand how it is that a deity, whose first mentioned attribute is mercy, and who is also omniscient and omnipotent, can allow the slaughter of six million people, of one and a half million children, of his Chosen People. Not to say: ‘It cannot be!’, but to ask: ‘How can it be?’

To attempt to understand how this can be, let us start with the question of the nature and actions of God. I want to consider several aspects of God.

• Not only is God the prime mover, the creator of Yesh from Ayin – of substance from nothingness –  but He also continues to rule the universe.
• God is constantly aware of everything that happens in His universe. He did not create and move on. He created and stayed.
• God rewards the good and punishes the evil. He is constantly engaged with His universe.

All three of these points are fundamental to a Jewish understanding of God.

• We find them listed by Rambam among his fundamental principles. I want to highlight the second and third of the aspects I mentioned

Rambam’s Commentary on the Mishnah: Tractate Sanhedrin Ch 10 The 10th fundamental principle is that the Exalted One knows the actions of all men and does not neglect them, (Proof text: Genesis 6:5:) Hashem saw how great was human wickedness on earth.) The 11th fundamental principle is that the Exalted One rewards the one who observes the commandments of the Torah, and punishes the one who transgresses its admonitions. The greatest reward is the world to come and the greatest punishment is extinction (karet). (Proof text: Exodus 32:33:) “The one who sins against Me, I will erase from My book”

רמב”ם משנה סנהדרין י’ היסוד העשירי כי הוא הש”י יודע מעשיהם של בני אדם ואינו מעלים עינו מהם. (בראשית ו׳:ה׳) וירא ה’ כי רבה רעת האדם בארץ וגו’   היסוד אחד עשר כי הוא הש”י נותן שכר למי שעושה מצות התורה ויעניש למי שעובר על אזהרותיה וכי השכר הגדול העולם הבא והעונש החזק הכרת. (שמות ל״ב:ל״ג) מי אשר חטא לי אמחנו מספרי.

• We find these two principles everywhere in our daily liturgy. I’ve picked out two prime examples

Siddur Ashkenaz, Ashrei The Lord supports all who fall, and raises all who are bowed down. All raise their eyes to you in hope, and you give them their food in due season. You open your hand and satisfy what is wished for every living thing. The Lord is righteous in all His ways, and kind in all he does. The Lord is close to all who call on Him, to all who call on Him in truth. He will fulfil the will of those who revere Him; He will hear their cry and save them. The Lord guards all who love Him, but all the wicked He will destroy.		סידור אשכנז, אשרי סוֹמֵךְ יְהֹוָה לְכָל־הַנֹּפְ֒לִים וְזוֹקֵף לְכָל־הַכְּ֒פוּפִים: עֵינֵי־כֹל אֵלֶֽיךָ יְשַׂבֵּֽרוּ וְאַתָּה נוֹתֵן־לָהֶם אֶת־אָכְלָם בְּעִתּוֹ: פּוֹתֵֽחַ אֶת־יָדֶֽךָ וּמַשְׂבִּֽיעַ לְכָל־חַי רָצוֹן: צַדִּיק יְהֹוָה בְּכָל־דְּרָכָיו וְחָסִיד בְּכָל־מַעֲשָׂיו: קָרוֹב יְהֹוָה לְכָל־קֹרְ֒אָיו לְכֹל אֲשֶׁר יִקְרָאֻֽהוּ בֶאֱמֶת: רְצוֹן־יְרֵאָיו יַעֲשֶׂה וְאֶת־שַׁוְעָתָם יִשְׁמַע וְיוֹשִׁיעֵם: שׁוֹמֵר יְהֹוָה אֶת־כָּל־אֹהֲבָיו וְאֵת כָּל־הָרְ֒שָׁעִים יַשְׁמִיד:
Siddur Ashkenaz, Amidah, Modim Anachnu Lach We give thanks to You, for You are the Lord our God and God of our ancestors for ever and all time. You are the Rock of our lives, Shield of our salvation from generation to generation. We will thank You and declare Your praise for our lives, which are entrusted into Your hand, for our souls, which are placed in Your charge, for Your miracles, which are with us every day; and for Your wonders and favours at all times, evening, morning and midday. You are good – for Your compassion never fails. You are compassionate – for Your loving-kindnesses never cease. We have always placed our hope in You.		סידור אשכנז, מודים אנחנו לך (ב) מוֹדִים אֲנַֽחְנוּ לָךְ שָׁאַתָּה הוּא יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהֵֽינוּ וֵאלֹהֵי אֲבוֹתֵֽינוּ לְעוֹלָם וָעֶד צוּר חַיֵּֽינוּ מָגֵן יִשְׁעֵֽנוּ אַתָּה הוּא לְדוֹר וָדוֹר נֽוֹדֶה לְּךָ וּנְסַפֵּר תְּהִלָּתֶֽךָ עַל־חַיֵּֽינוּ הַמְּ֒סוּרִים בְּיָדֶֽךָ וְעַל נִשְׁמוֹתֵֽינוּ הַפְּ֒קוּדוֹת לָךְ וְעַל נִסֶּֽיךָ שֶׁבְּכָל יוֹם עִמָּֽנוּ וְעַל נִפְלְ֒אוֹתֶֽיךָ וְטוֹבוֹתֶֽיךָ שֶׁבְּ֒כָל עֵת עֶֽרֶב וָבֹֽקֶר וְצָהֳרָֽיִם הַטּוֹב כִּי לֹא כָלוּ רַחֲמֶֽיךָ וְהַמְ֒רַחֵם כִּי לֹא תַֽמּוּ חֲסָדֶֽיךָ מֵעוֹלָם קִוִּֽינוּ לָךְ:

“Your compassion never fails…. Your loving-kindness never ceases.” How are we to understand this in the light of what has befallen us?

To attempt to answer that question, let us look at the relationship between Hashem and the Jewish People. Earlier this week, we read in the Mussaf Amida for Shlosh Regalim:

Siddur Ashkenaz, Shalosh Regalim, Mussaf, Kedushat Hayom You chose us from among all peoples. You loved us and favoured us. You raised us above all tongues. You made us holy through your commandments. You brought us near, our King, to Your service, and called us by Your great and holy name. … But because of our sins we were exiled from our land and driven far from our country.  We cannot go up to appear and bow before You, and to perform our duties in Your chosen House, the great and holy Temple that was called by Your name, because of the hand that was stretched out before Your sanctuary. …May it be Your will, Lord our God and God of our ancestors, merciful King, that You in Your abounding compassion may once more have mercy on us and on your sanctuary, rebuilding it swiftly and adding to its glory

סידור אשכנז, תפילות לשלוש רגלים, מוסף, קדושת היום אַתָּה בְּחַרְתָּנוּ מִכָּל הָעַמִּים אָהַבְתָּ אוֹתָנוּ וְרָצִיתָ בָּנוּ וְרוֹמַמְתָּנוּ מִכָּל הַלְּשׁוֹנוֹת וְקִדַּשְׁתָּנוּ בְּמִצְוֹתֶיךָ וְקֵרַבְתָּנוּ מַלְכֵּנוּ לַעֲבוֹדָתֶךָ וְשִׁמְךָ הַגָּדוֹל וְהַקָּדוֹשׁ עָלֵינוּ קָרָאתָ: …וּמִפְּנֵי חֲטָאֵינוּ גָּלִינוּ מֵאַרְצֵנוּ. וְנִתְרַחַקְנוּ מֵעַל אַדְמָתֵנוּ. וְאֵין אֲנַחְנוּ יְכוֹלִים לַעֲלוֹת וְלֵרָאוֹת וּלְהִשְׁתַּחֲוֹת לְפָנֶיךָ. וְלַעֲשׂוֹת חוֹבוֹתֵינוּ בְּבֵית בְּחִירָתֶךָ. בַּבַּיִת הַגָּדוֹל וְהַקָּדוֹשׁ שֶׁנִּקְרָא שִׁמְךָ עָלָיו. מִפְּנֵי הַיָּד שֶׁנִּשְׁתַּלְּחָה בְּמִקְדָּשֶׁךָ: … יְהִי רָצוֹן מִלְּפָנֶיךָ ה’ אֱלֹהֵינוּ וֵאלֹהֵי אֲבוֹתֵינוּ. מֶלֶךְ רַחֲמָן. שֶׁתָּשׁוּב וּתְרַחֵם עָלֵינוּ וְעַל מִקְדָּשְׁךָ בְּרַחֲמֶיךָ הָרַבִּים. וְתִבְנֵהוּ מְהֵרָה וּתְגַדֵּל כְּבוֹדוֹ:

This passage delineates three stages in the history of the People’s relationship with God: the Temple period, exile and redemption from exile.

We know that the Temple is, among other things, a place for the Shchina to dwell among us. The destruction of the Temple symbolises, among other things, the withdrawing of God from our presence. For Isaiah, the failures and shortcomings of the People will turn the Temple from the place where God is most accessible to an arena of conflict within the People. This conflict will lead to the withdrawing of the Shchina, the destruction of the Temple, exile from the Land, and the hiding of God’s face.

Isaiah writes about the destruction of the Temple and the exile:

Isaiah 8: 17 (13) None but the Lord of Hosts shall you account holy; give reverence to [God] alone, hold [God] alone in awe. (14) [God] shall become a sanctuary, a stone people strike against: a rock people stumble over for the two Houses of Israel, and a trap and a snare for those, who dwell in Jerusalem. (15) The masses shall trip over these and shall fall and be injured, shall be snared and be caught. (16) Bind up the message, seal the instruction with My disciples.” (17) So I will wait for the Lord, whose face is hidden from the House of Jacob, and I will trust in him.

ישעיהו ח׳:י״ג-י״ז (יג) אֶת־יְהֹוָ֥ה צְבָא֖וֹת אֹת֣וֹ תַקְדִּ֑ישׁוּ וְה֥וּא מוֹרַאֲכֶ֖ם וְה֥וּא מַעֲרִֽצְכֶֽם׃ (יד) וְהָיָ֖ה לְמִקְדָּ֑שׁ וּלְאֶ֣בֶן נֶ֠גֶף וּלְצ֨וּר מִכְשׁ֜וֹל לִשְׁנֵ֨י בָתֵּ֤י יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ לְפַ֣ח וּלְמוֹקֵ֔שׁ לְיוֹשֵׁ֖ב יְרוּשָׁלָֽ͏ִם׃ (טו) וְכָ֥שְׁלוּ בָ֖ם רַבִּ֑ים וְנָפְל֣וּ וְנִשְׁבָּ֔רוּ וְנוֹקְשׁ֖וּ וְנִלְכָּֽדוּ׃ {פ} (טז) צ֖וֹר תְּעוּדָ֑ה חֲת֥וֹם תּוֹרָ֖ה בְּלִמֻּדָֽי׃ (יז) וְחִכִּ֙יתִי֙ לַיהֹוָ֔ה הַמַּסְתִּ֥יר פָּנָ֖יו מִבֵּ֣ית יַעֲקֹ֑ב וְקִוֵּ֖יתִי־לֽוֹ׃

Perhaps הסתר פנים, (Hester Panim), the hiding of God’s face,  is the answer to the question: ‘Where was God?’ However, as happens with many profound questions, this answer may simply suggest other, hopefully more specific, questions: ‘What is the nature of הסתר פנים? If הסתר פנים appears to me to represent Hashem’s desertion of his people, clearly I am not understanding הסתר פנים correctly. How does it actually demonstrate Hashem’s eternal loving-kindness?’

Let’s turn now to the second of my questions posed at the beginning: ‘Is it given to us to understand God’s action in allowing the Shoah (and October 7) to happen?

I believe that the Torah reading for Shabbat Hol Hamoed of Pesach can help us towards an answer to that question.

Exodus 33:13-30 (13) Now, if I have truly gained Your favor, pray let me know Your ways, that I may know You and continue in Your favor. Consider, too, that this nation is Your people.” (14) And [God] said, “I will go in the lead and will lighten your burden.” (15) And he replied, “Unless You go in the lead, do not make us leave this place. (16) For how shall it be known that Your people have gained Your favor unless You go with us, so that we may be distinguished, Your people and I, from every people on the face of the earth?” (17) And Hashem said to Moses, “I will also do this thing that you have asked; for you have truly gained My favor and I have singled you out by name.” (18) He said, “Oh, let me behold Your Presence!” (19) And [God] answered, “I will make all My goodness pass before you, and I will proclaim before you the name of Hashem, and I will grant the grace that I will grant and show the compassion that I will show.  (20) “But you cannot see My face, for a human being may not see Me and live.” (21) And Hashem said, “See, there is a place near Me. Station yourself on the rock (22) and, as My Presence passes by, I will put you in a cleft of the rock and shield you with My hand until I have passed by. (23) Then I will take My hand away and you will see My back; but My face will not be seen.”

שמות ל״ג:י״ג-ל׳ (יג) וְעַתָּ֡ה אִם־נָא֩ מָצָ֨אתִי חֵ֜ן בְּעֵינֶ֗יךָ הוֹדִעֵ֤נִי נָא֙ אֶת־דְּרָכֶ֔ךָ וְאֵדָ֣עֲךָ֔ לְמַ֥עַן אֶמְצָא־חֵ֖ן בְּעֵינֶ֑יךָ וּרְאֵ֕ה כִּ֥י עַמְּךָ֖ הַגּ֥וֹי הַזֶּֽה׃ (יד) וַיֹּאמַ֑ר פָּנַ֥י יֵלֵ֖כוּ וַהֲנִחֹ֥תִי לָֽךְ׃ (טו) וַיֹּ֖אמֶר אֵלָ֑יו אִם־אֵ֤ין פָּנֶ֙יךָ֙ הֹלְכִ֔ים אַֽל־תַּעֲלֵ֖נוּ מִזֶּֽה׃ (טז) וּבַמֶּ֣ה ׀ יִוָּדַ֣ע אֵפ֗וֹא כִּֽי־מָצָ֨אתִי חֵ֤ן בְּעֵינֶ֙יךָ֙ אֲנִ֣י וְעַמֶּ֔ךָ הֲל֖וֹא בְּלֶכְתְּךָ֣ עִמָּ֑נוּ וְנִפְלִ֙ינוּ֙ אֲנִ֣י וְעַמְּךָ֔ מִכׇּ֨ל־הָעָ֔ם אֲשֶׁ֖ר עַל־פְּנֵ֥י הָאֲדָמָֽה׃ {פ} (יז) וַיֹּ֤אמֶר יְהֹוָה֙ אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֔ה גַּ֣ם אֶת־הַדָּבָ֥ר הַזֶּ֛ה אֲשֶׁ֥ר דִּבַּ֖רְתָּ אֶֽעֱשֶׂ֑ה כִּֽי־מָצָ֤אתָ חֵן֙ בְּעֵינַ֔י וָאֵדָעֲךָ֖ בְּשֵֽׁם׃ (יח) וַיֹּאמַ֑ר הַרְאֵ֥נִי נָ֖א אֶת־כְּבֹדֶֽךָ׃ (יט) וַיֹּ֗אמֶר אֲנִ֨י אַעֲבִ֤יר כׇּל־טוּבִי֙ עַל־פָּנֶ֔יךָ וְקָרָ֧אתִֽי בְשֵׁ֛ם יְהֹוָ֖ה לְפָנֶ֑יךָ וְחַנֹּתִי֙ אֶת־אֲשֶׁ֣ר אָחֹ֔ן וְרִחַמְתִּ֖י אֶת־אֲשֶׁ֥ר אֲרַחֵֽם׃ (כ) וַיֹּ֕אמֶר לֹ֥א תוּכַ֖ל לִרְאֹ֣ת אֶת־פָּנָ֑י כִּ֛י לֹֽא־יִרְאַ֥נִי הָאָדָ֖ם וָחָֽי׃ (כא) וַיֹּ֣אמֶר יְהֹוָ֔ה הִנֵּ֥ה מָק֖וֹם אִתִּ֑י וְנִצַּבְתָּ֖ עַל־הַצּֽוּר׃ (כב) וְהָיָה֙ בַּעֲבֹ֣ר כְּבֹדִ֔י וְשַׂמְתִּ֖יךָ בְּנִקְרַ֣ת הַצּ֑וּר וְשַׂכֹּתִ֥י כַפִּ֛י עָלֶ֖יךָ עַד־עׇבְרִֽי׃ (כג) וַהֲסִרֹתִי֙ אֶת־כַּפִּ֔י וְרָאִ֖יתָ אֶת־אֲחֹרָ֑י וּפָנַ֖י לֹ֥א יֵרָאֽוּ׃

Hashem seems to be saying to Moshe that he (Moshe) can gain a comprehension of Hashem’s goodness, but he is incapable of understanding all of Hashem’s ways. ‘You cannot see My face, for a human being cannot see Me and live’

Let me suggest one way for us to understand the metaphor of Hashem’s back and His face.

We can understand Hashem’s role in history. Looking back (in the direction of God’s back), we can see Hashem’s influence, and comprehend His goodness. However, we are unable to look into the future (looking forward, in the direction of God’s face), and, without that ability, we can never see the whole picture. This is hinted at in the story of the days of the creation.

• On each day, we are told that Hashem saw what he had created on that day, and saw that it was good.

Genesis 1:25 (25) God made wild beasts of every kind and cattle of every kind, and all kinds of creeping things of the earth. And God saw that this was good.

בראשית א׳: כ״ה (כה) וַיַּ֣עַשׂ אֱלֹהִים֩ אֶת־חַיַּ֨ת הָאָ֜רֶץ לְמִינָ֗הּ וְאֶת־הַבְּהֵמָה֙ לְמִינָ֔הּ וְאֵ֛ת כׇּל־רֶ֥מֶשׂ הָֽאֲדָמָ֖ה לְמִינֵ֑הוּ וַיַּ֥רְא אֱלֹהִ֖ים כִּי־טֽוֹב׃

• On the sixth day, however, we are told that Hashem saw everything that had been made, on all six days, and found it very good.

Genesis 1: 31 (31) And God saw all that had been made, and found it very good. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.

בראשית א: ל”א (כה) וַיַּ֣עַשׂ אֱלֹהִים֩ אֶת־חַיַּ֨ת הָאָ֜רֶץ לְמִינָ֗הּ וְאֶת־הַבְּהֵמָה֙ לְמִינָ֔הּ וְאֵ֛ת כׇּל־רֶ֥מֶשׂ הָֽאֲדָמָ֖ה לְמִינֵ֑הוּ וַיַּ֥רְא אֱלֹהִ֖ים כִּי־טֽוֹב׃ (לא) וַיַּ֤רְא אֱלֹהִים֙ אֶת־כׇּל־אֲשֶׁ֣ר עָשָׂ֔ה וְהִנֵּה־ט֖וֹב מְאֹ֑ד וַֽיְהִי־עֶ֥רֶב וַֽיְהִי־בֹ֖קֶר י֥וֹם הַשִּׁשִּֽׁי׃ {פ}

God only saw just how good it was when he saw the whole picture.

Let me offer an analogy. A mother takes her one-year-old child to Tipat Halav for a vaccination against measles, mumps and rubella. The waiting-room is full of other mothers with their one-year-old children waiting for the vaccination. As the nurse slips the needle into the child’s arm, the child, terrified, starts crying and screaming. All of the other children, hearing the terror in her cries, start screaming and crying. All of the mothers attempt to calm their children, and fail. It is not given to a one-year-old to understand its mother’s purpose in allowing it to suffer this vaccination. There is no way for the mothers to explain to the children the benefit of what is happening.

If we need to be omniscient in order to understand God’s role in the Shoah, then that brings us to my last question. Have we the right to ask the question: ‘Where was God?’ Isn’t it a presumptuous question?

Perhaps our only role is to accept, unquestioningly, the infinite mercy of God. Perhaps this is the level of religious devotion that we aspire to when we sing that (on the surface) most ridiculous, but perhaps most sublime of Seder night songs – Dayenu.

Pesach Haggadah, Magid, Dayenu Had He given us their wealth without splitting the sea for us, that would have been enough for us.

הגדה של פסח, מגיד, דיינו אִלּוּ נָתַן לָנוּ אֶת־מָמוֹנָם וְלֹא קָרַע לָנוּ אֶת־הַיָּם, דַּיֵּנוּ.

Seriously??!!! If God had defeated the Egyptian deities, taken us out of Egypt, led us to Yam Suf, and then the Egyptian army had caught up with us trapped in front of the sea and slaughtered every last one of us, that would have been enough for us??!! In what universe does that make sense?

Perhaps the answer to that question is: If that is what God had chosen to allow to happen, then He would have had His reasons, which it is far beyond our ability to comprehend. All we can do is express the depth of our faith by stating that if that is what had happened then it would be what God had decided was in harmony with his Divine plan, and it would have been sufficient for us. If my mother, whose love for me is limitless, allows this nurse to stick this needle in me, then it must be for my own good. If six million Jews were slaughtered, and millions others lost their family members, their livelihoods, their homes, their possessions, then that must, in some way that we will never be able to fathom, serve God’s benign purpose.

In that case, I repeat: Have we the right to ask the question: ‘Where was God?’? I would suggest that the Gemara in Chullin, in one of those strange stories that the Talmud presents, offers an answer to that question.

Chullin 60b § Rabbi Shimon ben Pazi raises a contradiction between two verses. It is written: “And God made the two great lights” (Genesis 1:16), and it is also written in the same verse: “The greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night,” indicating that only one was great. Rabbi Shimon ben Pazi explains: When God first created the sun and the moon, they were equally bright. Then, the moon said before the Holy One, Blessed be He: Master of the Universe, is it possible for two kings to serve with one crown? One of us must be subservient to the other. God therefore said to her, i.e., the moon: If so, go and diminish yourself. She said before Him: Master of the Universe, since I said a correct observation before You, must I diminish myself? God said to her: As compensation, go and rule both during the day along with the sun and during the night. She said to Him: What is the greatness of shining alongside the sun? What use is a candle in the middle of the day? God said to her: Go; let the Jewish people count the days and years with you, and this will be your greatness. She said to Him: But the Jewish people will count with the sun as well, as it is impossible that they will not count seasons with it, as it is written: “And let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days and years” (Genesis 1:14). God said to her: Go; let righteous men be named after you. Just as you are called the lesser [hakatan] light, there will be Ya’akov HaKatan, i.e., Jacob our forefather (see Amos 7:2), Shmuel HaKatan the tanna, and David HaKatan, i.e., King David (see I Samuel 17:14). God saw that the moon was not comforted. The Holy One, Blessed be He, said: Bring atonement for me, since I diminished the moon.

חולין ס׳ ב רבי שמעון בן פזי רמי כתיב (בראשית א, טז) ויעש אלהים את שני המאורות הגדולים וכתיב את המאור הגדול ואת המאור הקטן אמרה ירח לפני הקב”ה רבש”ע אפשר לשני מלכים שישתמשו בכתר אחד אמר לה לכי ומעטי את עצמך אמרה לפניו רבש”ע הואיל ואמרתי לפניך דבר הגון אמעיט את עצמי אמר לה לכי ומשול ביום ובלילה אמרה ליה מאי רבותיה דשרגא בטיהרא מאי אהני אמר לה זיל לימנו בך ישראל ימים ושנים אמרה ליה יומא נמי אי אפשר דלא מנו ביה תקופותא דכתיב (בראשית א, יד) והיו לאותות ולמועדים ולימים ושנים זיל ליקרו צדיקי בשמיך (עמוס ז, ב) יעקב הקטן שמואל הקטן (שמואל א יז, יד) דוד הקטן חזייה דלא קא מיתבא דעתה אמר הקב”ה הביאו כפרה עלי שמיעטתי את הירח

Two things immediately strike me as bizarre about this account. The first is the apparent obstreperousness of the moon. When I taught, I occasionally had pupils like this, and I know that I couldn’t stand this kind of barrack-room lawyer. The moon (which I have always thought of more as an agent of God’s will than as a creation with free will) points out the ‘injustice’ of God’s ruling. She then points out the ‘illogic’ of each of God’s two suggested ‘compensations’ for the ‘injustice’.

Perhaps even more bizarre is that, when God sees that the moon is not comforted, He says: ‘Bring atonement for me, since I diminished the moon’. How are we to understand the meaning and the working of atonement for God? Is God ‘admitting’ that He ‘made a mistake’, that He ‘sinned’? Who is going to ‘bring’ the atonement? How? To whom will it be given? The Gemara in Chullin continues:

And this is what Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish says: What is different about the goat offering of the New Moon, that it is stated with regard to it: “For the Lord” (Numbers 28:15)? The Holy One, Blessed be He, said: This goat shall be an atonement for Me for having diminished the size of the moon.

והיינו דאמר ר”ש בן לקיש מה נשתנה שעיר של ראש חדש שנאמר בו (במדבר כח, טו) לה’ אמר הקב”ה שעיר זה יהא כפרה על שמיעטתי את הירח

The only offering for which the specific wording ‘Lashem’ (to/for the Lord) is used in connection with sacrifices is the goat brought as a sin offering on Rosh Chodesh.

Numbers 28:14-15 (14) Their libations shall be: half a hin of wine for a bull, a third of a hin for a ram, and a quarter of a hin for a lamb. That shall be the monthly burnt offering for each new moon of the year. (15) And there shall be one goat as a sin offering to/for Hashem, to be offered in addition to the regular burnt offering and its libation.

במדבר כ״ח:י״ד-ט״ו (יד) וְנִסְכֵּיהֶ֗ם חֲצִ֣י הַהִין֩ יִהְיֶ֨ה לַפָּ֜ר וּשְׁלִישִׁ֧ת הַהִ֣ין לָאַ֗יִל וּרְבִיעִ֥ת הַהִ֛ין לַכֶּ֖בֶשׂ יָ֑יִן זֹ֣את עֹלַ֥ת חֹ֙דֶשׁ֙ בְּחׇדְשׁ֔וֹ לְחׇדְשֵׁ֖י הַשָּׁנָֽה׃ (טו) וּשְׂעִ֨יר עִזִּ֥ים אֶחָ֛ד לְחַטָּ֖את לַיהֹוָ֑ה עַל־עֹלַ֧ת הַתָּמִ֛יד יֵעָשֶׂ֖ה וְנִסְכּֽוֹ׃ {ס}

I think that the Gemara is suggesting that Hashem understands the moon’s reaction to be an earnest and pious attempt to understand the justice of Hashem’s plan to diminish her power. The conclusion that the moon comes to is that God’s plan is unjust. This is, of course, not because the plan is unjust, but rather because the justice of God’s plan is beyond the moon’s comprehension. Nevertheless, God hears the moon’s argument and acknowledges the argument’s legitimacy by instructing the children of Israel to offer, on God’s behalf, a sin offering at every rebirth of the moon.

Let me emphasise that what I mean by ‘legitimacy’ here is not ‘correctness’ but rather ‘appropriateness’. It is fitting for the moon to use what God-given intelligence she has to attempt to understand God’s ways. It is an appropriate use of that God-given intelligence for the moon to decide that God’s plan is unjust. God will even assume the role of one who has ‘wronged’ the moon in order to ‘atone’ for suggesting His plan.

By extension, we have the right to use our God-given intelligence to examine and judge God’s actions. We have the right to ask: ‘Where was God during the Shoah?’, whatever answer our human intelligence leads us to.

For many years, a story circulated about an event in Auschwitz that was regarded as apocryphal, until Eli Wiesel revealed that he had been present as a witness of the incident. One day, three rabbis got together to put God on trial for the Shoah. At the end of the trial, they found God guilty. I believe that as God watched them from Heaven, he ‘rejoiced’ at the intelligent exercise of free will his subjects were demonstrating.

But the story does not end there. As the trial concluded, one of the rabbis looked up to the sky and announced that it was time for aravit, and so they davened aravit.

In this, they were following the example of Job, in the middle of his suffering.

Job 13:15 Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him. Yet I will argue my case before Him.

איוב י״ג:ט״ו הֵ֣ן יִ֭קְטְלֵנִי ל֣וֹ אֲיַחֵ֑ל אַךְ־דְּ֝רָכַ֗י אֶל־פָּנָ֥יו אוֹכִֽיחַ׃

We have the right – we have the duty – to ask the question: ‘Where was God in the Shoah?’. In asking the question, we demonstrate and celebrate the free will and the intelligence that God, in His infinite wisdom and kindness, has given us.

However, we have the ability to answer the question only within the limitations of our human understanding. At the same time as we ask the question, we must guard against our asking of the question undermining our fundamental certainty that God is all-merciful. We must trust in Him and argue our case before Him. In both of these actions equally, in trusting Him and in questioning His actions, we glorify His name.

Blogger’s Note: I have remarked previously on the diversity of my readership. Mine is not one of those blogs by an enthusiast of late 14-Century coastal Chinese ivory carvings for enthusiasts of late 14^th-Century coastal Chinese ivory carvings. I do try to be more than one or two things to more than one or two folks, and that inevitably means that not every post I write will interest everyone who reads it.

If words ain’t your thing, you might want to skip this week’s post. If you get a third of the way through and aren’t enjoying it, there’s not much point in reading on. I plough a narrow furrow this week, and I know it’s not a furrow that everyone finds groovy! As Bernice said when giving it her seal of approval: “OK! It’s not for me, but it’s a nice blog.”

You have been warned. No money back beyond this point.

A pudding, my OED (Oxford English Dictionary) informs me, is a sweet or savoury steamed dish made with flour. What, I ask myself, could be less suitable for Pesach, since steaming flour would inevitably create chametz, the leaven that is the very antithesis of Pesach? However, the reality of life at the moment makes me want to embrace some kind of escapism, and so I offer you, this week, a piece that is full of hot air and, featuring, as it does, a cabbage and a mulberry, promises to be both savoury and sweet.

When I’m looking to escape, I usually bury myself in a puzzle. Any puzzle will do, but, given the choice, it would be a word puzzle; if available, a crossword puzzle; preferably, a Times crossword puzzle; ideally, the Times Cryptic. So, I seek refuge this week in two of the clues from last week’s Times Cryptic puzzle.

Let’s start with the cabbage. In last Thursday’s Cryptic, the following clue appeared:
Steal from Savoy (7)

Most solvers were able, from the ‘lights’, (the letters shared with words that crossed this word on the crossword grid) that the answer was CABBAGE, of which Savoy is a variety that is similar to green cabbage but a bit milder and sweeter, with leaves that are looser and more ruffly. Its name derives from its assumed origin in the Savoy region of France, the Western Alpine area bordering Italy and Switzerland.

So far, so good.

“But what”, you – and many, many Times crossword solvers – ask, “has ‘steal’ to do with cabbage?”

Well, it transpires that ‘cabbage’ is slang for ‘steal’.

“But why?” you continue – and even if you don’t, because you are asleep by this stage, rest assured that I certainly did.

And the answer is…not as straightforward as you might have hoped. All I can offer you, after considerable research, is a couple of tentative suggestions.

There are many cases where a slang word appears to bear no relation, in sound or meaning, to the target word. ‘Cabbage’ seems to have no association with ‘steal’. In such cases, the most common explanation is that it is a term in Cockney rhyming slang, a slang devised deliberately to be incomprehensible to outsiders. Cockney rhyming slang uses the device of finding a common two-word (or sometimes three-word) phrase that happens to rhyme with the target, then removing the second (rhyming) word of the phrase and using only the first word in slang. Common examples are:
butcher’s (hook) = look
apples (and pears) = stairs
daisy (root) = boot

It has been suggested that ‘cabbage’ derives from cockney rhyming ‘cabbage leaf’ to mean ‘thief’. However, this is unlikely, since the standard cockney slang for ‘thief’ is ‘tea leaf’ (and not, confusingly, ‘tea’). In addition, ‘thief’ is not a synonym of ‘steal’.

‘Cabbage’ is used as a slang term for ‘money’ (presumably because a cabbage leaf is green (the traditional and original colour of the ₤1 note) or, when it is stale and worth less, brown (the traditional and original colour of the 10-shilling note). However, the leap from ‘money’ to ‘steal’ seems to me too far.

A second, more promising, suggestion comes from the tailoring trade. When a customer pays a tailor to make a suit, part of the cost is the cost of the length of material cut from a bolt (or roll) of cloth. The cutter unrolls a suitable (pun intended) length of cloth, chalks out the pattern of the suit on the length of cloth and cuts the length from the bolt. He then cuts out the chalked pattern. The art of the cutter lies in laying out the various elements of the pattern (the various pieces of the suit – two sleeves, a jacket back, a jacket front, pocket flaps, etc.) in such a way as to minimise the length of cloth required, thus enabling the tailor either to minimise the cost of the suit, or to maximise his profit margin, as desired.

Nevertheless, however skilled the cutter is, there will inevitably be some scraps left over after the pattern has been cut out. For those of you who have stayed awake to this point, we have reached our destination. Those offcut scraps are referred to as ‘cabbage’. This probably reflects their resemblance to shreds of cabbage, or, possibly, their resemblance to straw wastage (which was called ‘garbage’, a word which then came to acquire its modern meaning). Over the years, the word ‘garbage’ mutated to ‘cabbage’. Some people claim that, because of its resemblance, when shredded, to straw garbage, the brassica was originally named ‘garbage’, which was corrupted, over the years, to ‘cabbage’.

At least since the 20^th Century, the convention in Britain was that any cabbage was the property of the tailor and not the customer who had paid for the cloth. Therefore, when I read suggestions that ‘tailor’s cabbage’ is the origin of the slang term ‘cabbage’ for ‘steal’, I was surprised, and, on Bernice’s behalf, deeply offended. Her late grandfather, at least one great-uncle, and, later, an uncle, were all cutters in London’s East End.

However, further research shows that this convention was not always the case. As far back as the end of the 17^th Century, tailors tried to claim the scraps from cutting out a client’s garment as their perk, but this was by no means the norm.  Some clients felt that the scraps should be theirs, not the tailors, and less scrupulous tailors were even accused of inflating the amount of fabric needed for a garment, or cutting it poorly, in order to maximise the cabbage.

Dyche’s Dictionary of 1748 describes cabbage as: “…a cant word to express anything that is pilfered privately, as pieces of cloth or silk retained by taylors, mantua-makers or others”.

In 1811 A Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue described cabbage as: “clothe, stuff or silk purloined by tailors from their employers”. (The use of ‘employer’ here, rather than ‘customer’, implies that this refers to tailors employed as a permanent part of a great household. In that case, it seems less likely that the cabbage would have been regarded as the tailor’s, rather than his master’s, property.)

It is a short step from ‘the thing stolen’ to ‘to steal’, and this explanation seems to me most likely.

On that inconclusive note, let us move one day back to last Wednesday’s Cryptic, and the following clue:
Lives, I see, in cooler Iranian city (7)

This is what we cruciverbalists (crossword enthusiasts) call an IKEA clue, containing, as it does, cryptic instructions which, if you can follow them, enable you to assemble the answer piece by piece. Let’s first solve it step by step.

Lives = IS; I see = AH!; Cooler = FAN; I see is in cooler, so we need to write IS and then AH inside FAN. This yields IS F-AH-AN; in other words, ISFAHAN, an Iranian city.

I came to the crossword only on Thursday morning, and was therefore very amused to see this clue, since the news that morning was full of reports of the defence system for Iran’s nuclear installation at Isfahan being destroyed by missiles. When I looked at the website that offers analysis, every day, of the Times crossword, explaining the solution of every clue, I saw that many of the commenters, who had, of course, solved on Wednesday, before the news broke, were complaining that they had never heard of this ‘obscure’ Iranian city. In defence of the setter, since the IKEA clue was very fair, it was certainly possible to construct the answer without having heard of the city, which many, many solvers did.

On the Thursday morning, I posted a comment on the site, which read as follows:

I suspect that fewer solvers will not have heard of the Iranian city at 19 Down this morning. Shades of the Telegraph crosswords before D-Day.

That reference to the Daily Telegraph is a story that bears retelling. In the run-up to the D-Day landings in 1944, a Daily Telegraph crossword compiler was arrested and interrogated by British Intelligence after a run of crosswords featuring codewords linked to the landings — UTAH, OMAHA, OVERLORD, MULBERRY and NEPTUNE all appeared. He was a headmaster at a school next to a camp where US and Canadian forces were preparing for the landings. He was eventually released, and the incident was dismissed as a bizarre coincidence, or possibly a sub-conscious selection of words overheard in the pub as a result of careless talk.

This post is due to be published on the morning after chag in Israel, and the last morning of chag outside Israel. I hope you all had a meaningful and restful chag, and feel ready to steel yourselves for what promises to be an even-more-than-usually-charged 9 days embracing Holocaust Day, Remembrance Day and Independence Day in Israel: of which, probably, more next week.

I am publishing this week’s post over 20 hours early (assuming I can finish writing it by then), because, of course, Pesach begins this evening. For the same reason, this is going to be a fairly short post. Bernice and I are actually well on schedule with all of the practical preparations for hag. However, Pesach, and Seder night specifically, are not only about practical preparations. If Judaism is a religion that inhabits the space shared by ritual and theology, then Pesach is the festival that, perhaps more than any other, belongs to that space.

Sukkot is, I would argue, the only other genuine contender for that title, and, even then, nobody starts preparing for Sukkot until after Yom Kippur, a few days previously. Many people start preparing for Pesach immediately after Purim – a month in advance (and some after Chanukah – over three months in advance in a non-leap lunar year).

So, in terms of physical preparations, we are in good shape. As I write these lines, Bernice is preparing this evening’s meal. Yesterday, I did my ritual biscuit and cake bake. This year went very smoothly, after an initial hiccough. I began by gathering my ingredients for the three-and-a-half-hour bakeathon – French chocolate cake, coconut pyramids, florentines, almond macaroons, cinnamon balls, all executed in accordance with a songsheet that has been refined over the years to best utilise baking time for preparation of the next item, while taking into account the limited number of baking trays at my disposal, the fact that we have only one cooling tray, varying oven temperature times, calls for egg yolks and whites, and so forth.

The initial hiccough was when I discovered that during our big pre-Pesach shop, we had somehow missed the sugar on our list. A word of advice. If you’re going to forget one item from your pre-Pesach baking shopping expedition, don’t make it sugar, which is, of course, common to all of the above goodies. So I had to dash out to buy some sugar last minute. However, as I say, from then on things went smoothly, and I was able to relinquish the kitchen to Bernice in good time.

This leaves me free, today, to devote myself to the spiritual preparation, which takes the form, for me, of deciding what we should speak about during the Seder. At the risk of almost repeating myself, and appearing to contradict myself, if Judaism is a religion that inhabits the space shared by liturgy and free expression, then Pesach is the festival that, perhaps more than any other, occupies that space. The essence of the Seder is not only to read the Haggadah, but also to have the text of the Haggadah serve as a springboard for exploring our faith.

This year, more than any year in my lifetime, and certainly in a way that we have not seen since the 1970s and the Movement for Soviet Jewry, it seems impossible simply to read the Pesach story this evening. The situation in which both Israel and world Jewry find themselves, the fact that well over a hundred thousand Israelis are not able to celebrate in their homes near the northern border or near Gaza, the hundreds and hundreds of families grieving for their loved ones who were murdered on October 7 or who have fallen in the war, and most powerfully the continued incarceration and enslavement of those abductees that are still alive, and the holding of the bodies of those that are not, cries out for us to explore, in the Pesach story, ways to understand where what we are living through fits into the Jewish story, and how we can live with it.

I don’t want to say more than that, because Bernice might read these words before Seder night, and I want to avoid any spoilers.

Instead, let me offer a couple of quick observations about life in Israel as viewed through the radio. (Yes, I know you can’t view anything through the radio. “…as discerned through the radio”, if you insist, but it doesn’t have the same ring.)

As the days have ticked on (199 days from Simchat Torah; 1 day to Pesach), with October 7 not getting smaller in the rearview mirror and Pesach looming ever larger through the windscreen, the conversation in Israel has turned increasingly to the two questions I pose in my title this week. How can we celebrate the Festival of Freedom when 133 hostages are either dead or alive and still underground in darkness in Gaza? How can we wish each other a Joyous Pesach when the reality is so depressing? I believe that there are answers to these questions, and I believe that the Seder table is the place to discuss them, but I also believe that the questions are not only legitimate but also are begging to be asked.

Oh dear! That last paragraph looks remarkably like a spoiler to me. Let me back-pedal. The clash between celebration and the suspension of celebration has been very noticeable this week on my usual radio station. The bulk of the content of the morning current affairs programs has been focused, in recent days, on these questions. The presenters have explored possible answers with the families of the abducted, whose empty chair at this year’s Seder, barring a miracle of Biblical proportions, will be real and not symbolic. They have also explored them with religious leaders and thinkers.

These morning programs are sprinkled (which may be how the network sees it) or rudely interrupted (which is how I see it) by upbeat advertisements and promos for the network’s upcoming television programs. The sombre, often heart-wrenching, nature of the discussions is thus interrupted by a jarring promo, publicising a cooking competition or a sitcom. The dissonance is painful, and leaves me feeling that the network simply doesn’t take its own programming seriously.

Let me leave you this week with one of those ‘only in Israel’ moments: a public service announcement that has been aired repeatedly this week. This week is, paradoxically, the single time in the year when more Israelis travel abroad than at any other time, celebrating the Exodus from Egypt with an exodus from Israel). The announcement offers advice to those planning to fly from Ben Gurion airport: arrive three hours before your flight; check in online beforehand; if you have only carry-on luggage, go straight to the check-in desk. The announcement then ends with one more item, from airport security: make sure you haven’t left any live ammunition in your luggage.

When I realised that that didn’t sound strange to me, I knew I had reached a new level of acclimation to life in Israel. Wherever you are, and whenever you read this, may I wish you and all of yours a Joyous and Healthy Festival of Freedom. (Spoiler alert: Joyous even if not Happy; Freedom even if not Liberty.)

I’m writing this sitting at the table in our backyard, accompanied by the call of turtle doves, which I still find very soothing, and the more energised twitter of some smaller unidentified songbird, which not so much. The flower beds are one grand splash of reds and purples as what Google Lens informs me are our impatiens are in flamboyant colour, to which my phone’s camera does not do justice. The coffee by my right hand is full-flavoured and still hot. In short, this is a morning when it is good to be alive.

This overwhelming feeling is immensely enhanced by the fact that it is also an enormous relief to be alive, since being alive this morning was, from the vantage point of last night, by no means a given. We went to bed with the news that the Home Front had issued new instructions, suspending all educational activity for 48 hours and restricting gatherings to 1000 people. It’s true that neither of these restrictions affects us directly; our children are over school age and we weren’t, in fact, planning to attend any rock concerts this evening.

However, knowing that tens of Air Force planes had scrambled, and that the whole country was on full alert for an attack of some sort from Iran, was somewhat sobering. Learning later that drones and missiles were on their way from Iran didn’t help, even though the estimated arrival time suggested that the Iranians were using a delivery system developed by Israel’s Post Office.

The night passed, as you presumably know, accompanied by considerable pyrotechnics. Even the skies over our sleepy backwater were illuminated by the streaks and flashes of interceptions of missiles. Even our windowpanes were rattled by the explosions marking the successful elimination of yet another threat.

Not that I was aware of any of this at the time, of course. No: I slept soundly through it all. Not much chance of a missile attack waking me. I am, after all, the husband whose wife barely managed to wake him when she went into labour in the middle of the night 40 years ago.

Bernice, however, watched the entire show over Jerusalem from a front bedroom window. She assures me that it seemed as though the shrapnel was falling in the football field half a kilometre away, rather than over the hill in Jerusalem, eight miles away. By the time I woke up for a bathroom break at 3:50, all of the fun and games were over.  

Waking up this morning to discover that we had not been blown away in our beds was a particular relief for me, for a reason that I will now explain.

Every weekday, my day begins with cutting up fruit for a fruit salad that Bernice enjoys with oats, seeds and yoghourt and I eat with granola and yoghourt. On Shabbat morning, however, I have a piece of cake with my cup of tea before shul, and Bernice just has a cup of tea.

I used up the last of our thick oats last week (about 1200 grams) to make a large amount of granola. (Oats, since they are washed as part of the processing before being offered for sale, are chametz gamur – absolute leaven – and cannot be ‘sold’ for Pesach, but must be disposed of.)

This Shabbat, Esther, Maayan and Raphael came to us on Friday for dinner and stayed overnight. I know they enjoy fruit salad. I therefore decided to cut up a large bowl of fruit for the girls, which had the added bonus of encouraging them to help me out with the granola. In the end, they also took some granola home, so now I have just the right amount to finish before Pesach.

In the event, they only ate about half of the fruit salad. (I have discovered that there is more Polish mother in me than I ever previously suspected. When I make fruit salad every day for Bernice and myself, I make just the right amount. When I am making for the kids, I make about twice as much as necessary.) What this meant was that I did not have to chop up more fruit this morning.

Before we went to bed last night, Bernice remarked that she hoped we wouldn’t be blown to smithereens last night, because it would be a terrible waste of the fruit salad. So, yes: it was an even greater relief to wake up this morning.

The Home Front is urging us not to be complacent, and assuring us that the threat is far from over. My personal feeling (as I write this on Sunday morning) is that Iran has rattled its sabre sufficiently to satisfy its sense of honour, delight its supporters at home, and assuage its proxies in Gaza, Lebanon and Yemen. In meeting Iran’s challenge, Israel has retaliated sufficiently to assuage its own critics, while not risking alienating allies. Further action by Iran directly or by Israel directly against Iran is in nobody’s tactical interest.

Of course, if I am proven wrong by events between now (11:25 on Sunday morning) and publication time (9:00 on Tuesday morning) either I or this paragraph will have been deleted by the time you read the blog, so I risk my reputation as a pundit very little by writing this.

I think I may stop here, although I am well under my target length of 1500 words. The fact is that this kind of plucky British humour is only sustainable for so long.

This humour is playing out against a fundamentally unchanged but constantly deteriorating situation of 134 abductees (of whom probably fewer than 100 are currently alive). It is playing out against a ‘negotiation’ process which I still believe is a farce, since nothing that Israel can offer Hamas in return for the release of the hostages is as valuable to Hamas as the destructive effect, on Israel’s morale, internal cohesion and national spirit, of not returning the hostages. It is playing out against a war where Israel cannot completely eliminate Hamas and cannot stop trying to. It is playing out against a political situation where every day that Bibi does not announce his decision to step down further diminishes his standing, tarnishes his reputation and damages the country.

It is also playing out against a countdown to Yom Hazikaron immediately followed by Yom Ha’atzma’ut. This juxtaposition of the Memorial Day for Israel’s fallen leading into Independence Day creates every year a tension that for some is very difficult, but for the majority of the population has a particularly Israeli and Jewish poignancy. There are things worth dying for. We mourn and commemorate the dead, while also recognising and celebrating the meaning of their death, what they died for.

This year, I cannot fully visualise how that transition will be achieved. The very uniqueness of that pivoting structure makes it a potential focus for all of the frustrations, the feeling that the state deserted the people on October 7. Far from being the moment when the country comes together, the moment when Yom Hazikaron becomes Yom Ha’atzma’ut may this year be the moment when the country falls apart.

Miri Regev, the government minister responsible for planning the official transition ceremony from Yom Hazikaron to Yom Ha’atzma’ut, has announced that this year’s ceremony, always attended by thousands, will be recorded in advance, with no attendant audience. There is no doubt in my mind that this decision arises not from external security fears, but rather from fears that hostage family members or other anti-Government protestors will disrupt the ceremony. These fears do not seem to me unrealistic, although I find them profoundly disturbing.

My instinct was right. I should have stopped four paragraphs ago. Sorry!