Rabbi Gabriel Botnick responds to another current question

This summer, we plan to attend a few barbecues at friends’ homes where we know that they will be grilling non-kosher meat. Is it OK to bring our own kosher or vegetarian food to be cooked on the same barbecue?

Sincerely, Curious Carnivore

This is a great question — one that comes up often at this time of year, and in more situations than we might expect, so allow me to address your points before turning to the bigger picture.

The Talmud (Pesachim 76b) and the Shulchan Aruch (Yoreh De’ah 108) both explore whether or not it is permissible to eat kosher meat that’s been roasted in the same oven as non-kosher meat. The worry is that the fat of the prohibited food might spread out and come into contact with the permitted food, or that the kosher meat could absorb the aroma of the forbidden food. Indeed there are many rabbis who hold that such a situation would render the kosher meat impermissible to eat; however, there are some rabbis who say that, while one should strive to avoid such a scenario, if the deed was already done then the kosher meat is still acceptable to eat. There are even some rabbis who say that, under certain conditions, there should be no issue at all, even if the foods were cooked this way on purpose.

But the rabbis were writing centuries ago and the realities of their worlds were different to ours today. So how does all this apply to your specific question?

Grilling on a barbecue is rather different to roasting in an oven. Juices released by foods on a barbecue don’t spread out – they drip directly onto the flames below the grate, where they turn into smoke and steam and rise back up. If a barbecue lid is closed, then forbidden fumes could very well come into contact with your food and render it impermissible, but if the lid is left open, or if there is no lid, then this is no longer a concern.

Grilling kosher and non-kosher foods at the same time, on separate parts of the grate, with the lid open, could indeed be considered OK, but you would still have to be careful not to use the same spatula or tongs with the two foods, as that would directly transfer the juices and flavours between them. If you were to grill kosher food after the non-kosher food, you would also need to be careful not to have it come into contact with any residue left behind by the prohibited food.

Orthodox authorities say the best approach is to double wrap your own food in aluminium foil for the entire time it’s on the barbecue. But you could also use a heavy-duty foil and make a sort of small tray to place on top of the grate. Probably the best approach would be to bring your own wire mesh grill topper and barbecue utensils. It might feel like a faff, but that would be the simplest and most straightforward approach.

However, all this having been said, you could still rely on the most lenient rabbinic rulings that say you don’t need to overcomplicate the matter. This is, after all, the main reasoning behind sticking to vegetarian food at non-kosher restaurants. And if you’re comfortable doing that, then there’s no reason to make things awkward for your hosts when they’ve invited you round for what’s meant to be a fun summer gathering. Similarly, you can rely on this approach if you happen to find yourself on summer holiday in a place where the cuisine is not the most conducive to keeping kosher.

Now, beyond the practicalities, there’s a broader – and, I believe, more important – point to address: aren’t these apparently trivial details of Jewish law just an exercise in nit-picking? Why should we even
concern ourselves with them? For me, it’s all about being mindful. Our sages often say the main thing
that distinguishes humans from the rest of the animal kingdom is our advanced cognitive ability. When an
animal finds itself feeling hungry, it simply turns to the nearest food source and digs in – without much (or any) thought given to its fitness for consumption. But when humans are hungry, we don’t eat just anything – we make sure it’s not poisonous, stale, or otherwise bad for us. Jewish law then comes
in and encourages us to think even more: sure, you could eat it, but should you? Our tradition asks us
to pause even longer before we sate our appetite, so that we have time to think deeply – spiritually.

And that regular practice of pausing in order to be mindful is the key. It’s what helps us become more fully human. It’s what strengthens our resistance to even more of life’s temptations. I know that if I’m able to resist the urge to eat any old sausage placed before me and consider how best to cook up a kosher hot dog instead, then I certainly am able to avoid giving in to more difficult and destructive temptations in other aspects of life.

So kudos to you for asking your question, as it tells me you’re already on the path towards that deeper mindfulness with which we’re called to engage. I hope my answer helps you find the approach that works best for you. But no matter what you decide, you’re already in a great place.
Sincerely,
Rabbi Botnick

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