Debbie Young: Teshuva, Tefilla and Tzedaka

Neilah sermon: Neilah is the closing service—the last of five services on Yom Kippur, the Day for Atonement.

In Memory of my Esty, 1982—2006

I must begin with an apology. I am aware that my sermons have not been on the happiest of themes, and I am afraid, this sermon will not be the one to break that mould, and a warning, this may be emotional. As I am sure you already have gathered, last Wednesday, at 10.30 am, my best friend and soul mate, Ester, zichronah livracha, died. It may seem a cliché, but it is absolutely true that a light has been lost from the world. You have graciously welcomed me into your midst for the last two chagim, and for Yom Kippur today, I hope you will feel able to forgive my indulgence at this time, and see what Ester had to teach us all. Every time I have tried to express how much she contributed to the world, and how to meet her was to love her, it seems I am just speaking as any would of the dead, but she was a truly remarkable young woman, who shone with wisdom, wit, and a wonderful view of the world, and who did more in her 24 years than many of us will ever achieve. I would like to dedicate this sermon to her, as I feel she really can be a model for us as we begin to prepare ourselves to re-enter the world out there. On Yom Kippur we talk about Teshuva, return, Tefilla, prayer, and Tzedaka, charity and justice. I would like to show how Ester was a wonderful model in these areas, and what she had to teach us.

Let me begin with Tefilla. Prayer. When Ester prayed, or led prayer, her voice led the way. She worshipped in song, and her whole being seemed involved in the act. She could bring a whole room with her, and one really felt her song could carry everyone’s words to heaven. But even though her voice was beautiful, one had to join in with her. The act was so joyous that you just had to be a part of it. I would like us all to consider our own tefilla, particularly after a day so full of it. How often do we allow ourselves to be carried along by the community, or the leader? How often do we say empty words in English? Or words we simply don’t understand in Hebrew? How often do we put off learning until tomorrow, forgetting that tomorrow may never come? If we empower ourselves to fully participate, and explore readings and learn tunes so that we can really be involved in the proceedings, the experience will be more joyous for each of us as individuals, and as a consequence, the prayer of the community will be fuller and richer and will naturally be something you want to be a part of. Unfortunately most of us need more help than Ester did to achieve kavannah, real feeling, in prayer, but we must not assume it is not there, we must perhaps just look for it and work for it that bit harder.

Tzedakah. This could be a 20-minute piece on its own! Ester was outraged by the daily injustices she saw around her, as I know we all are. But while Ester was outraged, she didn’t sit around complaining about it, she acted. She had to do something. She had to try to make a difference, and what a difference she made. Even as a four year old, after her parents had explained the situation to her that many Jews in the Soviet Union lived under, being bullied, picked on, and worst of all for Ester, having to sing songs quietly so that neighbours couldn’t hear, she responded by saying ‘ah, you mean they are living like in Pharoah’s place!’ It then became her mission to pester her parents not to buy her the latest toy, but to take a trip to Russia, which they finally did, smuggling in many essentials for the refuseniks, a number of which could be disguised as children’s toys. Even without really knowing it, she had begun to make a difference. Whilst at university, she spent two summers not on holiday with her friends on beaches, but in Ghana working with Tzedek, a Jewish charity which sends volunteers to third world countries to work in overseas development projects. Her first summer was spent researching potential projects with which Tzedek could work. She then returned the next summer, having learnt enough of the local language, to lead a team of volunteers into the projects she had investigated. She had been outraged by the imbalance between the West and Africa, and she had done something practical, and made a real difference on the ground.

Back in the UK she volunteered for a refugee absorption centre, as well as a drop in centre and helpline, before finally being appointed (and therefore paid) to be project co-ordinator for a refugee project this summer. She felt very strongly that as a Jew her history made it an absolute imperative that she do something, and that she make a difference for those who arrived as our ancestors did before us, as strangers in the strange land of England. She was outraged by the injustices she saw, and she acted. Every homeless person on the Kilburn High Road where she lived knew her, and had at one time or another received food from her. She would never waste a thing. When she left a lecture at Cardiff University to find a skip being filled up with out of date computers, she sat down and cried. She couldn’t stop them, and she could think of so many places that could use them. This senseless waste outraged her, and in her home everything that could be was recycled, and she never threw anything away.

She was also involved in interfaith dialogue, but sometimes had the feeling that talking just wasn’t enough, so she got herself involved in an interfaith theatre project, where she worked every week with Muslims and Jews to produce theatre and dialogue that was meaningful to all, and that showed they could work together to achieve something. And as if that didn’t keep her busy enough, she also volunteered with charities such as Focus, working with children with special needs.

In 24 years, she volunteered and put her energy into more things than many would manage in their full three score years and ten. Tzedakah was not an abstract concept to her, and while she rarely had much money to spare, she gave of her time as freely as she could. While she always managed to find time to see friends and be with the people that were important to her, making a difference to others just came naturally to Esty, and she never thought twice to do what she could. I do not know how much time and money each of you can and do give, but in the pursuit of justice incumbent upon us today and every day as Jews, I know that I personally could do more, and I am humbled by Ester and her generosity, and forced to reconsider how I will spend my time and money in 5767.

This last part, Teshuva, return, is the hardest part. Ester was wonderful, but she was not a saint. She was very good at giving, and at loving others. But she was not always so good at loving herself. As we make teshuva, and attempt to examine ourselves, we must also remember to make time for ourselves. We cannot give without receiving, and we must know our own strengths and beauties if we are to be able to continue giving as fully as we should. In making our repentance and return to God, we must remember the sins we commit against ourselves. This neglect will come back to bite us in the end, and we must be wary of it. None of us is perfect, but none of us is wholly bad either. As I said this morning, we have both good and bad, spiritual and material in us, and it is in finding the right balance between these opposites that Judaism teaches we will best contribute to the world which at this time seems to me to be even more broken than usual.

My friend is gone, but those who were touched by her are not. All those we have loved and lost in years past have left their marks on us, and as we remember them tonight, let us think of what we would like our legacy to be in this world. As Jacob P. Rudin writes in the Reform Machzor: "When we are dead, and people weep for us and grieve, let it be because we touched their lives with beauty and simplicity. Let it not be said that life was good to us, but, rather, that we were good to life"

This year let us not be paralysed by despair, or outrage, apathy, or self hatred, let us remember the good that those we have loved and lost did for us, and for our communities. Let us make their memories a blessing by continuing to work towards a world that will be better for those who will come to remember us, and hope that we may have achieved a fraction of what Ester Gluck did.

Venomar Amen.

Margaret Devereux: a remarkable child

Ester and Angela lived below us in Brondesbury Villas and my memories of Ester are of her as a small child and after we moved, teaching her piano until her mid-teens.

Ester was a remarkable child - those luminous, startlingly clear blue eyes, the directness of her gaze, her inquiring mind, her warmth and sense of humour, her desire to make you feel included, all fostered by a generosity of spirit with which she had been embued by Angela. She was such a lively stimulating child to have around, who seemed as at ease in adult company as with small children. She and Angela came to our daughter's baptism and I remember her sitting on Angela's knee asking questions about what was happening and Angela taking pains to explain it all to her and help her understand - it was a beautiful symbol of their relationship. And Ester was at pains to expand that sense of mutual understanding to a wider circle - she would bring us little cakes, invite us to see the shelter she and Angela had built at Sukkot, tell me about the youth camps she went on when she was older. We felt very privileged to be included at her BatMitvah celebrations and hear that wonderfully strong voice sing.

It was no surprise to hear of her committment to working with refugees - Ester was always going to be a force for good in the world and it is heartbreaking that the world is now deprived of her clarity of vision and her energy and love for others. Our heart goes out to Angela in such a great loss.

We thank God for her life.

Robert, Margaret, Jennifer and Caroline Devereux

Judith Ish-Horowicz: I owe you, Ester

Ester, it's so hard to look backwards and remember without you here prompting me with your memories. 'Do you remember when...?'

Maybe its because each memory is such a small fragment of the whole and I will never be able to encapsulate all the apects of your relationship with me and my family through the years.

When we first met about 15 years ago, it seemed the most natural thing for us to spend our Shabbats together. We have videos of our holidays together and you even provided Michal with the pet she had always wanted when your hamster, Jo-Eli came to stay. Why Jo-Eli? Because Joanna was with you when Elisheva, the hamster gave birth.

You were the filling that complimented the Tamar and Shoshi sandwich and another big sister for Joanna and Michal to emulate and to turn to for advice and love.

Not many people have the time, energy, sensitivity and awareness to individualise and personalise their relationships the way you did. You noticed if one of us was low or hurting. You showed us that we mattered.

We had so many laughs and tears together, you, your mum, Patrick, me and the girls. 'The girls' was allowed, as was the SET and all 5 of you named individually even if the wrong name was attached to each of you, but definitely, not 'the twins'. You moved in with us when your mum was away training and even went to school with Tamar and Shoshi for a week. Angela and I swapped daughters, mine worked for her and you worked with me, teaching at Apples and Honey Nursery before travelling to Israel in your gap year. The children loved you and it was obviously mutual.

I owe you, Ester. You never redeemed the driving lessons we gave to you for your birthday presents, but I'm not going to let you off so easily. Our lives changed when we met you and Angela. Wherever we go, whatever we do, your influence will be with us, it has helped to shape us. We shall still turn to each other and share esterisms. We shall still ask ourselves 'what would Ester say, what would she do?'

Your life was too short but it was full and rich and its impact will continue and continue. You will remain in my heart , young and vibrant, sensitive and beautiful, laughing, crying, arguing and reflectiing. The work you were so passionate about will continue because you will continue to inspire us with your vision and your humanity. You were, are and always will be for a blessing.

Debbie Young: Organic Holiness

Sukkot two years ago, I was invited with some friends to sit in a Sukkah in Kilburn. This Sukkah was the finest I had ever sat in, and in fact it was one of the first times I had sat in a Sukkah in someone’s home as opposed to one connected to a synagogue. Beautiful oriental lamps were hanging next to pictures painted anything from 5 hours ago to 15 years ago. Sukkot from years past remained with my hostess, as guests were welcomed in for the first time or the 10th. We were a gathering of Sephardim and Ashkenazim, Liberal, Orthodox, Masorti and Reform Jews, and trainee Rabbis from Orthodox and Progressive seminaries. This was the Sukkah of my friend Ester (z’l) and her mum Angela, and I will never forget it.

Preparing for Sukkot this year has been strange, because I know I will not sit with Ester in her Sukkah again. She tragically died shortly before Yom Kippur, and I have felt this loss acutely in all I have done since. But I have also erected my first proper Sukkah (not counting the joke of a ‘safari Sukkah’ we tried last year!) and as I decorated it, I felt a need to recreate what Ester and Angela were able to create — a safe, warm, cosy spot, where holiness was organic, and so was the food, all were welcomed, and there was a true sense of Am Echad, one people. I have felt a tremendous sense of impermanence and fragility ever since Ester’s death — there was no need for a Sukkah to tell me this. But as my husband and I scurried about last Thursday and Friday desperately trying to ready our Sukkah and home for ourselves and for our guests, the impermanence found a home in the Sukkah. As I hung fruit in net bags, and remembered how Ester and Angela had horded net bags all year round one year to keep them going for Sukkot in the future, I had a real sense of how encompassing the Jewish year and Jewish life can be. While I am overburdened trying to cope with High Holy Days, a huge number of assignments from college, my teaching commitments, and trying to grieve for my best friend, I also must cling onto why I am here at LBC — to help create sustainable, joyful, enriched and empowered Jewish lives, and to bring people together in celebration of God’s blessings, and for strength when dealing with the world’s cruelties. Although it was hard to find the time, creating a Sukkah in which my friends and family can sit, celebrate, eat, talk and sing is, right now, the best way I can think to celebrate both my Judaism, and all that Ester was able to bring to it.

Let’s use this festival, and all those to come this year, to bring people together, to talk, tell stories, and celebrate. Rather than only having full synagogue’s on Yom HaShoah and Yom Kippur, let’s try to have our Sukkot and Purim parties full, and let’s make time to ensure our Jewish calendars don’t get subsumed by all the other commitments we have — it’s important we have that time to just be with others, and not just our books, however difficult that may be with our work loads. In Ester’s honour, I want to endeavour to fill my Sukkah with peace and love to do it with a sense of openness, pluralism, justice and the sheer enjoyment of what Judaism and Ester have brought to my life.
May this be God’s will.
Venomar Amen.

Rachel Ouseley: holidays with Ester

I went on several holidays with Ester and Angela when Ester was young. I have happy memories of our holidays together.

We went to Spain; I recall Ester learning and practising the ‘Motzi’ (blessing before eating bread). I remember she would eat several little pieces, practising the blessing before each one, till she could say it fluently. We enjoyed popping the bubble-wrap with which the chairs were covered together. She was two at the time.

We went to Israel. We stayed in a hotel called Hotel Sonesta. On the way home in the Egged Bus, Ester would charm everyone on the bus; as she arrived at the bus stop, the driver would sing out ‘Hotel Sonesta l’Ester.’

We went to Moscow and Leningrad twice in the winter, visiting refuseniks in ‘Pharoah’s place’, when Ester was about four years old. On arrival in the bus, Ester sang ‘David Melech Yisrael.’ Unfortunately we had to ask her to stop, as people were not supposed to know we were Jewish. Some tourists did hear us – luckily they were doing the same as us. On return to Heathrow, they and Ester danced the Hora (Jewish circle dance) in the middle of the concourse. We spent almost the entire time visiting refuseniks; Ester made good friends with them and their children. She did get tired – I recall having to decide whether to give her or the big bag of goods I was carrying to the helpful Soviet citizen who offered to help, when Ester fell asleep as we were going up the stairs of the underground. I believe I gave him the goods and carried Ester. After a few days of traipsing everywhere, Ester said ‘when we have finished saving the Jews, can I play in the snow,’ which I thought was a really beautiful remark. Ester and I went to the Russian state circus, a break from visiting refuseniks. She wore an all-in-one snow suit. She was really patient as we struggled to take it off and then a little while later struggled to put it on again – all in the dark. We joined the long queue for ice-cream, narrowly missing the beginning of the show, having to grope our way in the dark to our seats. On the way into the country, she filled in her immigration form with care and charmed the immigration people with the careful way she had filled it in. Ester wore really chunky snow-boots though she did not find out till later quite how useful they had been when leaving the country!

Ester was always an interesting travelling companion, ready to go anywhere and do anything; she made friends easily and charmed everyone she met.