Yom Kippur outrage.

 Yom Kippur outrage.

We prayed and yet we were speechless and dumbfounded. We were shocked and outraged but somehow we knew it would happen. We were haunted by history but knew, in our heart of hearts, that the threat was both real and ever present. These are horrifically recurring themes. My wonderful Jewish religion was once again under attack, quite possibly the victim of circumstances but then we shook and trembled, open mouthed with horror because we have been before, visiting that same nightmare. It hit us in the face with a ferocity we could barely believe and then we grieved, shuddering and shaking, distraught and crestfallen. 

It was supposed to be a Yom Kippur rather like any Yom Kippur. In 1967, the Yom Kippur War in the Middle East brought everything to a frightening, grinding halt and the Israeli military infrastructure was attacked. But it failed to destroy the country's impregnable morale. Now though it found itself in yet another traumatic conflict. Yesterday, our worst fears were realised and  the despicable forces of terrorism  had reared their ugly head yet again. 

For yesterday was Yom Kippur and as the congregation gathered at Finchley Reform Synagogue, we heard and saw events unfolding in all their shameful, grotesque, painful ugliness. During yesterday morning, on one of the holiest days of the Jewish calendar, the Heaton Park Synagogue(shul) in Manchester came under fire by a murderous terrorist whose intentions became patently obvious. He was targeting the vast Jewish community, a cohesive, tightly knit and spiritual people who love to be Jewish and were there in defiance, meeting and greeting loved ones and about to observe the 25 hour Fast. 

There were families, friends, children, teenagers and adolescents, huddling together in a stunned silence and wondering where to go next and not really knowing how they could register this disgraceful violation, man's inhumanity to man, woman and much more. They fell into each other's arms, wrapped their arms comfortingly around each other and didn't know what to do. So there was a sharp intake of breath, an abundance of tears and sorrow, before we abandoned ourselves to complete mourning, a sense of mortification that none could put into words. 

For the whole of yesterday evening, when Jews around the world emerged from dusk, there was a genuine air of darkness and heartfelt solemnity which left many of us feeling crushed, emotionally traumatised, severely punched in the ribs. Initially we wandered around the Saracens rugby union club in North London, relieved and pleased to see each other and then devoured huge piles of honey cake. But then it all became excruciatingly unbearable. We were all informed of the ghastly developments that had taken place in Manchester and we buried our heads in our heads. Privately, we must have suspected but never thought for a minute, that the evil monsters who perpetrated this horrendous act of barbarism would ever do this again. Surely. 

In Manchester though, huge armies of police, counter terrorism officers, ambulances and vast acres of red and white tape have cordoned off those still potentially dangerous areas around the shul, streets are like deserted libraries and there's an eerie quiet about North West England that is both terribly distressing and heartbreaking. Constantly we are bombarded with the same impassioned rants, those dreadful diatribes about the blame game and that the fault lies with the enemy. And then we are subjected to another wave of vile accusations and recriminations. It just seems to get lost in the translation and then we keep condemning the unnecessary brutality of it all because we know it might make us feel so much better. The fact is that this is some cliched vicious circle. 

But we then go back to our North London community Finchley Reform Synagogue where all was calm, friendly, welcoming and accommodating. FRS looked resplendent in all its well lit glory. An impressive looking statue of a former Sarries rugby union legend stood proud and upright. There was what looked to be the familiar burger van that nourishes the souls of thousands of Saracens fans. And then there was the souvenir shop with its huge variety of club merchandise, shirts locked away and closed but nonetheless the most attractive of sights. 

And then my lovely wife Bev and I walked into our shul, our meeting place, our social pilgrimage to a land of milk and honey. Rows upon rows of straight backed chairs were spread out across what is normally the home of the Saracens players relaxation space, drinks and food at their disposal and convivial banter ready to exchange. The sombre ambience that pervaded the room on Kol Nidre was immediately followed by the devout worshippers and prayer folk on Yom Kippur. 

Here we had everything. There were the female rabbis and cantors, an Israeli representative and a gallery of guitars wherever you looked on the bimah. In fact there were so many guitars that you'd have been forgiven for thinking that you'd just walked into Denmark Street, Tin Pan Alley in London's bustling West End of London. But this was not Charing Cross Road but the most perfect venue for any religious ceremony. 

So we went whole heartedly into the Morning Service, Mussaf, the Afternoon before arriving at the fading light and Yiskah and Neilah, the final concluding chapter of the day. But we remembered the stunningly ornate paintings on the wall depicting fathers with their sons on Saracens terraces, flat caps firmly in place and the men in action mode at their respective scrums or mauls. One in particular looked like a homage to Lowry, which almost sounded too poignant for words given the industrial heritage that Manchester has always boasted. 

Men and women stood side by side in the bright white tallit, draped so fittingly around their shoulders, kipot or couple on their heads. This was an all inclusive, non sexist where the presence of both women and men lifted our hearts to the highest point. Now they chanted tirelessly and mellifluously, sending a warm glow down your spine.  We hugged each other warmly and continued throughout the day acknowledging the most important and critical points of the day. 

That sense of wonderful belonging and camaraderie seeped deep into every part of our naturally concerned minds. But we got through it all as we normally do so because we were still walking in the shadow of tragic death, suffering and inconsolable humanity. It was the worst and most harrowing episode in the lives of our lovely Jewish like minded people. 

We still had to admire the old, almost ancient laced up rugby union shirts, dozens of gleaming trophies in their rightful cabinets, yellowing and brown programmes that looked like precious parchments, lists of players, football memorabilia, a Saracens European Champions painting and so much more. Outside, the Sarries were hard at work at a vigorous training session, preparing intensely for their next game. There was the delightful juxtaposition of sport and religion in harmony. Our friendly, technical man spent the whole day diligently pressing buttons and twiddling knobs so that the lighting on the day was just right. 

And finally we trickled away at the end of Yom Kippur. Suddenly, we were surrounded by both the strength of the light and the rich tapestry of life. Neilah made way for the memorable sound of the shofar, as we now approached the gates and found our ultimate destination. The day long journey of course had been epic and cathartic, the finest of all therapies. But Manchester is still coming to terms with its loss, full of desperate yearning for the sanctuary of peace and life, wonderful life.

Our security and youth leaders, the people who have always mattered throughout this tragedy, will always restore our belief in the human spirit. As Jews, we will always fight against the malicious deeds of those nefarious terrorists because we will never be defeated. Of course we will have reservations on the subject of those Stand By Israel marches because, although we can't be certain, it does seem these vehement protests are just counter productive. Of course we are proud Jews and we will never go away until the arms are put down for an eternity and peace has come to fruition. Wishing all of my Jewish friends and families a Happy and Healthy, Peaceful and Sweet New Year. Chag semach to everybody.