Rabbi Gabriel Botnick reinterprets a surprising Rabbinical teaching

As I sit down to write this piece, my desk is flooded with the sunlight that took far too long to arrive this summer. The rays pull my attention away from the task at hand to appreciate the beauty of nature, which had been obscured by months of clouds and rain.

Of course, I’m not the only one reacquainting myself with the magnificence of the natural world – it seems everywhere I go in London these days there are people enjoying aimless perambulations, afternoon refreshments at outdoor cafés, and the company of guests in their gardens. In short, summer has finally arrived and nearly no one is taking it for granted.

You might therefore be surprised to learn that our sages teach that it is forbidden to stop and smell the roses – as it were. In Pirkei Avot (3:7), Rabbi Shimon says ‘If a person is walking along while revising their Torah learning and interrupts themself to say, “how beautiful is this tree or field,” it’s as if that person has committed a capital offence.’

At first glance, this is an incredibly troubling teaching – how could it be so severe an infraction simply to admire a beautiful vista?! The Vilna Gaon explains this teaching by way of another, found in the Talmud (Baba Batra 79a), in which Rabbi Yonatan quotes Proverbs in order to say that anyone who separates themselves from Torah study condemns themselves to the pits of death. In short, for the rabbis, Torah is so important that it cannot be set aside for any matters other than physical or spiritual survival, and to them the appreciation of nature is certainly trivial in comparison.

However, I believe our sages are wrong here and miss the point of Rabbi Shimon’s teaching. The issue isn’t with someone interrupting their Torah learning to admire their surroundings – the issue is believing that such an act is disconnected from their Torah study.

In Psalm 92, which we recite every Shabbat, we say: ‘How great are Your works, Adonai! Your plans are beyond comprehension.’ That is, our tradition provides us with language to express awe and wonder at the impossibly complex grandeur of the universe. The challenge is to remember the One who created such beauty whenever we are so moved by it to take notice.

With the summer months lying in front of us, we will certainly find ourselves in moments of pastoral bliss. I invite you to use those moments not just to say, ‘how beautiful is this!’ but to allow yourself to contemplate the wonder of it all and to acknowledge the unfathomable source of that beauty.

Pesach remembered – and hope for the future: Cantor Paul Heller on the words that conclude our seders

Residing in Jerusalem for two years during my twenties,and proudly bearing an Israeli ID with Jerusalem listed as my city of residence, I grappled with the city’s rich religious diversity. My encounters with texts in our liturgy helped me to believe strongly in the significance of praying for Jerusalem’s place in the world.

Allow me to elaborate further, albeit within the constraints of this page: in my daily prayers, in the context of Zechariah’s prophecy and the longing for the day when God will be One and His name will be One, I am convinced that that day will become possible.

At our Passover Seders, as every year, we raised the bread of poverty, the matzah, and sang Ha lachma anya: we invited all those who wish to join us to come and sit at our table, a reminder that we are not alone. From the tones of Vehi sheamda to the joyful melodies of Chad gadya, the Seder evokes a range of emotions, reminding us of the trials and triumphs of the Israelites’ journey to freedom.

Music serves as a bridge, transcending words, and inspiring unity in diversity. Whether through the liturgy, traditional hymns, folk melodies, or contemporary compositions, music has the ability to foster empathy, understanding, and dialogue among communities divided by decades of strife.

At our choral concert in memory of Henny Levin on 14 April in our beautiful sanctuary, the words from Isaiah 57:19, Shalom lekarov ve lerachok amar Adonai (Peace to the near and far, says the Lord) were sung. This is a call to all of humanity. As we hope for peace in Jerusalem, Ir hashalom, the city of Peace, let us remember that Shalom is also one of God’s names, therefore the translation of Ir hashalom is also ‘The city of God’. In the final moments of the Passover Seder, as we sing the traditional refrain L’shanah habah b’Yerushalayim, ‘Next year in Jerusalem’, there lies a profound message of hope and inclusivity that extends beyond geographical borders. This statement, while rooted in the historical longing for return to the homeland, also serves as a call to action for global solidarity and empathy with all who yearn for freedom and peace.

‘Next year in Jerusalem’ takes on added significance this year. It becomes a prayer not only for the physical return to a sacred city but also for the restoration of harmony and coexistence among all inhabitants of the region. Regardless of nationality, religion, or ethnicity, this aspiration speaks to a universal desire for a future where individuals can live with dignity, security, and mutual respect.
The vision of peace in Jerusalem becomes a powerful medium for expressing shared hopes and aspirations of peace, not just for Jews. In the Middle East, where conflict often drowns out the voices of hope, our liturgy and music can serve as a powerful reminder for reconciliation and healing, not only for the Jewish people but for all.

Let’s sing again, with all our heart – L’shanah habah b’Yerushalayim –
Next year in Jerusalem!

Rabbi Gabriel Botnick focuses on a Jewish leap year

When I was a child, I wondered what it would be like to be born on 29 February. I figured it would feel rather special to have such a unique birthday. But then I worried it would mean you could
only celebrate your birthday every four years. One could settle most years for an annual ‘birthday’ party
on some random day, which didn’t seem fun to my young mind. Then the big concern would hit me: what
about birthday presents? Would you receive only a fraction of the gifts that your friends at school would get? And when your friends would all celebrate turning 16, would you still be just a mere four years old?!
As you can see, the concept of leap years used to send my developing brain into hyperdrive.

With this year being a leap year, this question recently – and unexpectedly – came back to my mind. As it so happens, not only is this a leap year on the secular calendar, but it’s also a leap year on the Hebrew calendar. But instead of adding just one extra day to the year, we get a whole extra month!

The secular Gregorian calendar is a ‘solar’ calendar, based on the time it takes the Earth to orbit the sun – approximately 365¼ days. A lunar calendar, on the other hand, is based on the cycle of the moon, which takes roughly 29½ days to fully wax and wane. A lunar year consists of 12 lunar cycles – or 354¹⁄3 days – which makes a lunar year rather shorter than a solar year, so holidays based on the moon’s cycle shift every year in relation to the secular calendar. For example, because the Islamic calendar is lunar, Ramadan can occur some years in the winter and other years in the summer.

So what about the Hebrew calendar? This is where things get confusing. While Judaism is indeed focused on the cycles of the moon, we actually follow a hybrid ‘lunisolar’ calendar. This means our months are based on the moon while our year is based on the sun. By combining these two systems, we are forced to find a way to resolve the 11-day disparity between the lunar and solar years. This is how we arrive at the idea of a leap month. In every 19-year cycle of the Hebrew calendar, there are seven leap years, during which we add an extra month, Adar I, in addition to the usual Adar, which becomes Adar II. During these leap years, the holidays can feel later than usual, as they might fall nearly a full secular month later than the prior year. This is why we may often find ourselves saying, ‘Rosh Hashanah is late this year’ or ‘Chanukah is early’.

Adar, of course, is the month in which Purim occurs. But in which Adar should we celebrate? The answer is Adar II. In fact, during a leap year, we must wait until this additional month to celebrate anything that occurs in Adar. Were you married in Adar? Lucky you – you get a whole extra month to find the perfect anniversary gift for your partner!

What happens to the Torah reading cycle in a leap year? Well, we still need to complete the full cycle by Simchat Torah, but now we have an extra month, which means we have to break up the Torah portions a bit differently. You may have noticed we sometimes read a ‘double’ portion, such as ‘Acharei Mot-Kedoshim’. During a leap year, these portions are split, meaning we read ‘Acharei Mot’ one week and ‘Kedoshim’ the next. And with 54 unique portions in the Torah, there are numerous ways we can merge or separate them so that the Hebrew calendar will always work out just right.

I realise all these numbers and variables might have your head spinning by now. But if you’re like me, then you too might think it’s pretty amazing how our tradition gives us so much to think about. So, this year, while the rest of the world gets to consider the implications of a single leap day, we get to ponder the wider complexities of a whole leap month. If only I had known about these things when I was a child, my imagination really could have run wild.

Rabbi Gabriel Botnick introduces a new ritual for Tu B’Shevat

At the start of Mishnah Rosh Hashanah, we learn that there are not one, but four, New Year days in Judaism. We are most familiar with Rosh Chodesh Tishrei, which is not only the first day of a new month but also marks the anniversary of the world’s creation – Rosh Hashanah. The first of Nisan marks the New Year of Kings. Every time a monarch is in power, when this day comes around, we add another year to the measure of their reign. The first of Elul is the New Year of Animals: any animals born after that day are considered for a separate tithe year from those born before. And of course, there’s Tu B’Shevat, which marks the midpoint of the rainy season and is celebrated as the New Year of Trees.

Just as no single day can claim to be the one, true, New Year in Judaism, so too no single day can lay claim to the ritual of Seder. Of course, whenever people hear the word ‘Seder’, most will automatically – and rightly – associate it with Pesach and the festive meal. But the word ‘Seder’ simply means ‘order’ and is used to describe any ritual meal that follows a prescribed order of blessings and traditions before the main course. Another holiday that is celebrated with a Seder is Rosh Hashanah, when – before reciting HaMotzi – we bless a number of symbolic foods, whose names are used in New Year-themed puns. This is the origin of our eating apples dipped in honey: that we may have a sweet year.

But more relevant to this issue of Our Cong, there is also a tradition of holding a Seder on Tu B’Shevat. In this ritual – instituted by the Kabbalists nearly 500 years ago – we begin the festive meal by blessing and consuming symbolic fruits, nuts and wine, each corresponding to a different season of the year as well as various planes of our spiritual existence.

For winter, we drink white wine (symbolising snow) and eat nuts and fruits with inedible exteriors (e.g. walnuts, pomegranates, oranges), representing seeds lying dormant and how we might retreat into our homes and close ourselves off from others.

For spring, we add a drop of red wine to a glass of white – representing the first blush of seasonal colour – and we eat fruits with pits or stones, but that are otherwise fully edible (e.g. olives, apricots). These fruits not only remind us of how the ground is not yet fully thawed, but they also encourage us to identify parts of ourselves which we may be holding back out of fear of becoming too vulnerable.

The third part of this seder is based around a glass of wine that is equal parts red and white – reminding us of the vibrant colours of nature in the warmer months. At this point, we also eat a selection of fruits which are fully edible (e.g. figs, grapes) and represent the ways in which we might fully give of ourselves to others.

Finally, we arrive at autumn – for which we drink dark, red wine and consume no fruit. The hope is that, by the autumn of our lives, we have realized our full potential and embraced wholly our spiritual existence. For this reason, we have no need for the physical nourishment of fruit, as we aim to find total contentment through the Divine.

The Tu B’Shevat Seder adds no more than fifteen minutes or so to our holiday meal, but it leaves us with meaningful teachings that can come back to mind throughout the year as we marvel at the changing of the seasons and the natural world. While I certainly encourage you to try out this beautiful tradition on your own during one of your holiday meals (24–25 January), I also invite you to join us at Belsize Square on 20 January, when we will enjoy a communal Tu B’Shevat Seder during Kiddush, following our Shabbat morning service.