This issue’s question to Rabbi Gabriel Botnick: At a recent Shabbat service, you spoke about relaunching the Chevra Kadisha at Belsize. What exactly is this and what would it entail to volunteer for it?

The Chevra Kadisha – or Holy Society in Aramaic – is a sacred, if overlooked, component of every Jewish community. The primary role of the group is to prepare bodies of community members for burial. This practice has its origins in pre-Talmudic times and is considered one of the essential requirements for establishing a new Jewish community (along with a school, mikveh, synagogue and cemetery).

Before it became customary to bury our deceased in coffins, we would simply wrap the body in a shroud and carry it upon a bier from the deceased’s home to the cemetery. After a long illness, it was common for the body to emit a noticeable scent, compounded by other, natural, post-mortem odours. In order to ensure one’s last impression was one of dignity, people would gently and respectfully wash the body of the deceased. This is ‘Kavod HaMet’ or showing respect to those who have died and is considered to be an act of ‘Chesed Shel Emet’ or true loving-kindness, as those who engage in the work do so without expectation of compensation or acknowledgment. In fact, it is customary not to reveal the identities of Chevra Kadisha members.

Until recently, Belsize had an active women’s Chevra Kadisha, but after the retirement of its leaders, we began to rely more upon our funeral directors to perform this work, as they have a professionally trained team readily available at all times. Sadly, it’s been much longer since we had an active men’s Chevra Kadisha. While there is nothing wrong with relying on our funeral directors, Cantor Heller and I believe it would be meaningful and appropriate to relaunch our community’s Chevra Kadisha as another option for our members.

I know it can seem daunting to volunteer for such work, so allow me to explain exactly what is involved with being part of a Chevra Kadisha. As not everyone wishes their bodies to undergo such ritual preparations prior to burial, the services of the group are only required somewhere between ten and twenty times per year, approximately half requiring the services of the women’s group and half the men’s. We only need three volunteers per burial, so if we have enough volunteers, you might be asked to donate your time and care just a few times a year.

When preparing a body for burial, it is covered with a sheet, with small areas of the body uncovered only when being washed gently with warm water. Once the body is clean, it is wrapped in fresh shrouds before being placed in the coffin for burial. During the thirty minutes or so that it takes to prepare the body, volunteers refrain from speaking – doing so only if absolutely necessary to perform the
work in which they are engaged.

Of course, this is an oversimplification of the process, but it does give a general idea of what’s involved. For further information about our soon-to-be relaunched Chevra Kadisha groups, please join the online
meeting that Cantor Heller and I will host on 24 March – details are on the back page of Our Congregation. If you then think that you might be interested in volunteering, I invite you to email me or to contact the synagogue office. After this, we will hold a couple of training sessions, in which you’ll learn about the process in more detail. We will then hold a final session during which volunteers will practice
on a mannequin. Once you feel ready, you’ll have an opportunity to participate in your first official
preparation with me and/or Cantor Heller.

I encourage you to keep an open mind and look out for that first informational meeting. Whether you’re retired or just starting out in your career; whether you have many demands on your time or are looking for something to do, taking part in the Chevra Kadisha will not ask too much of you and will add much meaning and purpose to your involvement in the Belsize community.

Sincerely,
Rabbi Botnick

A question answered: Rabbi Gabriel Botnick introduces a new format for his regular column

Dear Rabbi,
I recently attended an interfaith wedding which was officiated by a rabbi. I know some rabbis and
synagogues will do this, while others won’t (including Belsize). I’m hoping you can help me understand why this is and what goes into deciding whether or not such ceremonies would be permitted.

Sincerely,
Altarly Confused

Dear AC,
I completely understand why you might be confused about this inconsistency across synagogues and ministers. On the surface, there doesn’t really appear to be any difference between marriage ceremonies where both partners are Jewish and where only one is. But what’s really going on is the understanding of and approach to Jewish laws and customs – a tension which resides in both the philosophical and theological realms.

In Jewish law (Halakhah), a person can only fulfil the performance of Mitzvot (commandments) if they are obligated to perform them in the first place. For instance, as Jews, we are obligated to hear the Shofar blown on Rosh Hashanah. Therefore, only someone who is Jewish can blow Shofar for the community, as that person would be equally obligated to hear the blasts as those in attendance at services. While someone who isn’t Jewish is more than welcome to attend services (and even blow Shofar for themselves at home), we would never expect or invite them to blow Shofar for us at the synagogue.

The same idea applies to a Jewish wedding, which includes a number of blessings that are applicable only to those who are Jewish. So if someone who isn’t Jewish were to recite any of these blessings, it would be no different than them blowing the Shofar at synagogue. Another way to think of this is in the inverse: a Jewish person can go to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve to enjoy a beautiful, spiritual experience, but they would never attempt to participate in Communion, as that is a rite reserved solely for those who are baptised Christians. Of course, every faith tradition has its own nuances, but the principle of reserved rituals is widely shared.

Where things get a bit more confusing is that there’s only one way to get married in Judaism: through the ceremony with which we’re familiar. But in Christianity, there are actually a variety of marriage rituals depending on the identities of the couple. For instance, in Catholicism, there are three types of weddings: between two baptised Catholics (which includes mass); between a Catholic and another Christian (which can take place in the church, but doesn’t include mass); and between a Catholic and a non-Christian (which can take place in a church or elsewhere and doesn’t include mass). So while Catholicism (and other faiths) offer ways to marry members of their faith to others, Judaism simply doesn’t have a formal
religious framework for interfaith marriage.

And now things get really confusing: if Judaism doesn’t offer a way to marry someone Jewish to someone who isn’t, how is it that we all know of Jews who’ve had interfaith weddings officiated by a rabbi?

This all boils down to how that rabbi views Halakhah and whether or not they consider it to be binding. In Orthodox and Masorti Judaism, rabbis understand Halakhah to be binding and therefore will only act in accordance with the law. Of course, there’s a wide spectrum of how rabbis might understand and interpret the law, but they all adhere to the basic legal principles of our tradition. In Reform and Liberal Judaism however, rabbis do not necessarily consider Halakhah to be binding. This is why such synagogues and rabbis might be okay with offering interfaith weddings – because they don’t feel bound to the letter of the law and might instead prioritise their own personal conscience or communal needs over Halakhah.

Of course, everyone is free to do as they wish – and I understand the desire to include Jewish elements in
interfaith ceremonies – but I worry that doing so could unintentionally treat our tradition as a cultural accessory, rather than as a lived faith.

Although I don’t perform intermarriages – and it’s Belsize policy not to do so as well – there are still a number of ways that we ensure that couples of mixed faiths can feel welcomed by, and included within, our community.

For instance, I still meet with couples to help them talk through what it means to get married and build a family together. I might recommend having a private, civil wedding at a registry office and then having someone who is important to them both conduct an emotionally meaningful and personal ceremony at a later point, (even if just a few hours later. Then, after they’re married, we often call the Jewish partner to the Torah for an Aliyah, after which I offer them and their non-Jewish spouse a blessing as they set out on this exciting new stage of their life’s journey. At Belsize, we recognise and celebrate the diversity of our community and strive to make everyone feel valued and included.

While I realise our approach might not be a perfect solution for everyone, I believe that it allows us to honour both our traditions as well as couples’ wishes.

I should add that many of my colleagues and I have been having conversations for a while now, trying to determine whether or not there are other ways to approach this question. So far, no consensus has been reached, but I believe what we’re currently doing is already a huge improvement on the past.

Most importantly, I want non- Jewish partners to know that even if I can’t perform their wedding, I can still be their rabbi and Belsize can still be their community. I’ll tell you, we have a number of students in our Cheder where one of the parents isn’t Jewish and yet that parent is still an integral part of our
community.

Best wishes,
Rabbi Botnick

In my Kol Nidrei sermon this year, I spoke about the importance of creating an inclusive community where all Jews can feel safe, regardless of their political differences. And in light of the attack on a synagogue in Manchester on Yom Kippur morning, this message feels more urgent than ever.

Over the past two years, a number of members have asked why I haven’t been more outspoken about the war between Israel and Hamas. Despite the fact that a ceasefire is in place as I write this, the deeper question still remains: how do we maintain community in the face of events that lead us to hold divergent views?

Our community includes people who don’t believe that Israel should exist as a Jewish state, as well as people who unquestioningly support Israeli government actions, but most of us tend to fall somewhere in between. Taking a public stand favouring one perspective risks alienating large portions of our membership. We’ve seen other London synagogues lose members over rabbis making polarising statements. But my reluctance to specify my position isn’t just about numbers – it’s about preserving Belsize Square Synagogue as a safe refuge for Jews of every outlook.

And we desperately need that refuge. A congregant had their summer holiday in Spain spoilt by a tour guide who launched into a tirade, not against Israel, but against Jews in general. There is a retailer in Germany who recently displayed a sign in his shop window saying: ‘JEWS are banned from here!!!! Nothing personal. Not even antisemitism. I just can’t stand you.’ Another congregant was harassed by neighbours, publicly accused of supporting genocide, and had their name and picture distributed around the neighbourhood – not for anything they said about Israel or Gaza, but simply for being Jewish.
It got so bad they had to move out of London. And of course, there’s Manchester. The people who perpetrate these attacks don’t care about our politics – rather their hatred is aimed at all Jews, full stop.

In the 86 years since our Synagogue’s founding, we’ve never needed a safe space for all Jews more desperately. Belsize was founded on precisely this principle. At the outset, we served as a spiritual haven for German Jewish émigrés of all backgrounds. Orthodox Jews gathered with agnostics. Berliners prayed alongside Frankfurters. There were even public forumsdebating whether to establish a Jewish State in Palestine, with the community widely split! Yet despite our differences, that Big Belsize
Umbrella welcomed all Jews seeking shelter.

But maintaining an inclusive community isn’t easy. It requires self-awareness and self-restraint from all of us. Any time we look at someone with whom we disagree and label them as ‘other’, we weaken the foundation on which community is built. In fact, it is an incredibly slippery and treacherous slope when we focus more on our differences than on what we have in common.

In my sermon, I spoke of the diferences between Hillel and Shammai, two first-century BCE sages who disagreed respectfully and modelled how to argue for the sake of understanding Torah, rather than for personal victory. However, while their students initially maintained this civility, when political tensions rose and legal interpretations diverged, the dangers of ‘othering’ took hold. In one instance, during a hotly contested vote, the armed zealots from the School of Shammai trapped and killed over 3,000 followers of Hillel. Our sages say this day is second only to Tisha B’Av in tragedy.

Yet Hillel and Shammai themselves show us a different path. In Pirkei Avot, the Ethics of the
Fathers, we learn: ‘Any argument made for the sake of Heaven shall endure for all time.’ Our sages offer Hillel and Shammai as the ideal example of such an enduring disagreement. An argument ‘for the sake of Heaven’ means the goal is not to prove the other wrong or to be seen as right, but rather to arrive together at the best understanding of God’s law. Their disagreements endured because they sought consensus regarding Torah law, not dominance over one another.

During my rabbinic training, my mentor Rabbi Ed Feinstein taught me a method for arriving at a deeper understanding of both ideas and opinions: asking ‘why’ not once or twice, but five times.
Pirkei Avot advises: ‘Don’t look at a container, but rather what it contains.’ If we look only at the surface of someone’s opinion, we miss what underlies their belief. By expressing curiosity and asking ‘why’ repeatedly, we can uncover core values.

So ofen in conversations about politics and current events, we focus only on surface policies.When discussing immigration, we might hear ‘No asylum hotels in this community!’ and immediately view someone as cold or unsympathetic. But after exploring what’s behind their beliefs, we might come to learn that what they ultimately care about is creating stable, thriving communities – the very same value that could be fulfilled by helping asylum seekers find stability. When we dig deeper, we often discover we share fundamental principles, even when we initially disagree on policy.

This is what I’m trying to model with the idea of the Big Belsize Brolly. If I rush to take a stance that risks alienating groups, we all lose the ability to have conversations that move beyond divisive policies toward identifying common core values. This approach matters now more than ever – not just regarding
Israel and Gaza, but regarding all the political and social issues that threaten to divide us.

I encourage you not to avoid difficult conversations about Israel and Gaza, immigration or other contentious topics. But approach them respectfully, lovingly. As Pirkei Avot instructs: ‘Give everyone the benefit of the doubt.’ Don’t rush to label them as ‘other’ or vilify them for policies they support without understanding why. See them as no different from you: someone who feels strongly about core principles that you may very likely share.

The events of recent months have shown us how fragile Jewish safety is, even in places we thought secure. I understand that some of you wish I would say or do things differently. But sometimes, in order to achieve a greater goal, we need to set aside certain desires that, although honourable and appealing, might actually prevent us from realising that larger vision.

As rabbi and steward of this community, my commitment is to honour our origins and ensure that Belsize remains a spiritual refuge where all Jews can feel safe, respected and at home, regardless of our many differences. In an increasingly fractured world, preserving spaces where we can disagree without dividing is not just important – it’s essential.

Rabbi Gabriel Botnick

Rabbi Gabriel Botnick on a route to Shabbat happiness

This past Shabbat, as the temperature was approaching 30 degrees, I sat down to enjoy my first Aperol Spritz of the season. Immediately, I felt as if I were on holiday – enjoying a good book while fending off the heat with a deliciously refreshing drink.

Of course, we are well aware of the Pavlovian connection between the senses and memory. The faintest trace of a perfume can conjure vivid memories of long-past loved ones. Or, as Proust mused in his writing, biting into a madeleine can lead one to recall long-forgotten childhood experiences. Our sages even note that in the Torah’s various descriptions of manna, this heavenly food would remind people of different things based on their life experiences: to the elderly it brought to mind memories of rich, decadent cakes, while to the young it evoked the flavour of sweet cream. All of which is to say, it’s no surprise that a Spritz can help me revisit the sands of Sicily from the comfort of my own sofa.
It’s worth acknowledging that such sensory triggers tend to elicit recollections with particularly strong emotional associations – great joy or anger, profound love or sadness. For me, connecting with my family while on summer holiday is when I am happiest and most content. Without distractions from the outside world or the demands of work, I can allow myself to relax and be fully present with my wife and kids, building memories that help power me through the busy weeks and months ahead. And so, while others might view a cheeky weekend cocktail as a mere refreshment, for me it is a portal to a headspace of happiness.

This might be why, when the rabbis of the Talmud discuss the ways they find joy on Shabbat, they invariably mention their favourite foods. One rabbi finds pleasure through a fish roasted with beetroots and garlic, while another says he prefers snacking on fried whitebait. The idea being, I believe, that by indulging in sensory delights on Shabbat, one is transported in one’s mind to a realm of utter bliss and tranquillity. And it is specifically on Shabbat – a day free of demands, spent however we wish – that this mental holiday is made possible.

Whatever you have planned for this summer – whether a trip to a far-off land, morning swims in the ponds, or simply some time off from your usual routine – I hope it helps you gain a renewed sense of joy, contentment, and vigour. But more importantly, I want to encourage you to identify some sensory experience – a particular drink or snack, the fragrance of a flower or melody of a song – that you’ll be able to revisit once your daily grind resumes. So that later in the year, when you are in desperate need of a quick escape, you can satisfy that need by enjoying an indulgent Shabbat afternoon.