Blog posts

Rabbi Gabriel Kanter-Webber
Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue
Saturday 22 November 2025¹

1. You may have noticed that, for the last few weeks, I’ve been wincing a bit during the prayer for the royal family. The furore around the grand ex-Duke of York – the Andrew formerly known as Prince – has somewhat dulled my enthusiasm to pray for the welfare of the Windsors.
2. And yet, praying for the welfare of the national government of the state in which we find ourselves is one of the oldest Jewish traditions, going back at least to the days of the Romans.²
3. This morning’s Torah portion presents two models of how we might see our relationship to our leaders. The dying Isaac tells [the person he believes to be] his son Esau: “Peoples will serve you and nations will defer to you.”³ This raises the obvious question of, what is the difference between a people and a nation?
4. The 19th-century commentator Malbim explains⁴ that עַמִּים, peoples, don’t have a religion, while לְאֻמִּים, nations, do. This, he says, accounts for the different verbs used for the two groups.
5. Peoples, societies with no religion and no deity, will happily serve an earthly ruler. The word the Torah uses for “serve you”, יַעַבְדוּךָ, comes from the same root as עֶבֶד, slave, and עֲבוֹדָה, worship. A people which serves an earthly ruler has no autonomous will, no independence. They completely and without exception subjugate their own instincts to those of their leader, who possesses absolute power over them. As the Talmud says, a slave can’t be religious because their master is their god.⁵
6. A nation, on the other hand, has a belief in God – or at least in a god. They cannot subjugate themselves to an earthly ruler. To do so would be to make the ruler a god. This does not mean that nations are completely lawless and beyond the reach of any human authority. We defer to our leaders and our governments, but without becoming their slaves. We recognise and respect them, but, like any good laundrette, we reserve the right to refuse service.
7. Socrates argued that, just as we owe our fathers gratitude, respect and obedience, so do we owe our civic government gratitude, respect and obedience, and thus must comply with governmental instructions, under all circumstances, no matter what our personal feelings. The state, he asserts, brought us up, educated us and protected our welfare just as much as any parent, so we should honour and obey the state just as much as any parent. Many, many centuries later, the philosopher Professor Judith Shklar rejects this idea wholeheartedly: “Are adults obliged to obey their fathers unconditionally? … That is what a child may have to do, but surely that sort of obedience is the first thing that goes in adulthood … We may indeed owe our parents gratitude, and we show it by kindness, attention, and even deference, but not by unconditional obedience.”⁶
8. In many ways, Socrates and Shklar are aligning themselves with the two models provided by our parashah. Socrates saw the inhabitants of Athens as an עַם, a people, who had a duty to serve the city council with a pure and unquestioning devotion. Shklar, however, prefers to think of her notional ancient Greek counterpart as part of a לְאֹם, a nation, of Athens, which held the city council in high regard but which was not quite ready to be enslaved to it.
9. In a Jewish context, the reason why a לְאֹם cannot completely subordinate themselves to a political entity, is God; in Shklar’s world, although she was, unsurprisingly, Jewish, religion might instead have been replaced simply by “the unconditional primacy of conscience”.⁷ Whether the higher power on which a לְאֹם insists is a deity or a moral code, the vital point is that a לְאֹם does not sign away its autonomy, merging its identity with that of the master, in the same way that a slave does.
10. In extreme cases, the supremacy of our Jewish moral code may indeed mandate acts of civil disobedience.
11. In 1964, fifteen rabbis were arrested in Florida for unlawfully sharing a restaurant table with black people.⁸ Rabbis – and Jews more generally – living in such an atrocious society owed no fealty whatsoever to the law of the land,⁹ and anyone who did coöperate with such truly repugnant legislation was simply acting as a mindless slave of the state.
12. Fortunately, there are no Jim Crow laws here and now, yet we must still be constantly alert to conflicts between law and right, between received instructions and moral imperatives. There are Jews in modern Britain who take on the legal system on matters of conscience: the arrest of my teacher Rabbi Jeffrey Newman at an Extinction Rebellion protest springs to mind.¹⁰ They are deserving of our respect whether or not one agrees with their actions and ideology, because the only alternative would be for these people to ignore the moral code of God calling them to action, filtering out their inner voice so as to heed only the voice of the state. And one who does that has not only ceased to act as an individual, they have ceased to act as a party to the covenant between the Jews and the Eternal, the covenant in which we pledged: נַעֲשֶׂה וְנִשְׁמָע, we will obey and we will listen…¹¹ obey and listen to, that is, not the Florida state legislature, not the city council of ancient Athens, but to כֹּל אֲשֶׁר־דִּבֶּר יְהֹוָה, to all that God says.¹²
13. Ultimately, then, that is why I’m still able to recite the prayer for the royal family. I know that I say it by choice as a free person, not meekly as a supplicant. Were our society to go seriously down the pan, I retain the right – indeed, I would have a duty – to stop praying for the welfare of its leadership; and at times like the present, when society is slightly down the pan, I can pray with a mental, and sometimes visible, smirk, through which I mean to exclude Kemi Badenoch or Jeremy Corbyn or Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor, or whomever it may be, from my good wishes.
14. This morning’s Torah reading was all about the gift which Isaac left Esau. And we know all about the ‘gift’ which Jacob stole from Isaac. But actually, I think the best legacy of all is one that isn’t directly mentioned in the parashah, and that is the legacy of having a God, having a higher power than any earthly entity. It’s because of that that we, the descendants of the principal actors in this week’s family psychodrama, have such a dominant sense of autonomy and independence. We can defer to the government, to Brighton and Hove City Council, to planning regulations, to tax return deadlines, without feeling ourselves belittled, without being enslaved to the principal actors in the royal family’s psychodrama. And that is because we know that we can critically evaluate every single directive and decide for ourselves what our consciences dictate. We reserve the right to refuse service.
15. All of us here are citizens of some country or another; all of us here are part of the Jewish collective; but most importantly, all of us here are individuals, with noöne over us but God, subject to no ultimate authority save for the Divine voice of our consciences. כן יהי רצון, may this long be God’s will.

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Remember that all of my sermons, handouts and so on can be found here.

Shavua tov!

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Notes

1. Genesis 27:37-45 ↩︎
2. m.Avot 3:2 ↩︎
3. Genesis 27:29 (“defer” is my, slightly loose, translation) ↩︎
4. Ad loc ↩︎
5. b.Chagigah 4a ↩︎
6. Judith Shklar, On Political Obligation (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2019): 44-45. ↩︎
7. Judith Shklar, Political Thought and Political Thinkers (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998): 52. ↩︎
8. Rabbi Eugene Borowitz et al, “Why we went: a joint letter from the rabbis arrested in St Augustine” (19 June 1964). ↩︎
9. Even the traditional Jewish rule of דינא דמלכותא דינא – ‘the [secular] law of the land is the law’ – recognises an exception for laws which do not treat everyone equally: see eg h.G’zeilah va-Aveidah 5:14. ↩︎
10. See eg Mathilde Frot, “Extinction Rebellion rabbi: ‘I’m elderly so I can afford to be arrested’”, The Jewish News (15 October 2019). ↩︎
11. Exodus 24:7 ↩︎
12. Ibid. ↩︎

Rabbi Gabriel Kanter-Webber
One Church, Florence Road
Sunday 16 November 2025

1. In 2008, the Jewish Chronicle ran an ask-the-rabbi feature posing the question: “Is it forbidden for Jews to enter a church?” Rather alarmingly, the orthodox answer was: yes, it is. Apparently: “One cannot simply enter a church without some aspect of the church entering you.”¹
2. Much more forward-thinking than the Jewish Chronicle in 2008 is a 9th-century rabbinic text written in Jerusalem. At the time, the city was under the rule of the Abbasid Empire. The holy Temple Mount was, by and large, closed to Jews. We might imagine that Jewish-Muslim relations were rather tense. And yet we read: “The people in whose hands the Temple is today [that is, the Muslims] have made it into a unique, superlative and honourable place of worship.”²
3. In other words, we don’t deny that holiness – in Hebrew, קְדֻשָּׁה – is contagious. To that extent, the Jewish Chronicle was right: I cannot simply enter a church without some aspect of the church entering me. A person of one faith can’t enter the space of another faith and be unaffected. But here’s the thing: we should welcome that impact. We should relish it. It is fantastic when anybody constructs a holy space, wherever it may be. No one religion owns the copyright to the concept of קְדֻשָּׁה. Stepping into a place of worship is always an awe-inspiring experience. The magnificence of a mosque will not turn a Sikh into a Muslim, and the splendour of a synagogue will not turn a Hindu into a Jew. Why would we steer clear of each other when we could, instead, share and enhance the קְדֻשָּׁה, we all have to offer?
4. My teacher, Professor Melissa Raphael, says that “[h]oliness is … a category of willed relation, rather than being a material property of objects.”³ In other words, the קְדֻשָּׁה, the holiness, in this room, about which I’ve spoken so highly, doesn’t come from the room. It isn’t a feature of the architecture. It isn’t in the bricks or the beams or the brackets. The holiness of this church derives from the people who built, maintained and breathed life into it – and from those who are here today, breathing our own, infinitely varied, קְדֻשָּׁה to mark Interfaith Week. Our spaces are holy, our work is holy, because we will it to be holy, and we act together, in relationship with each other, to achieve that.
5. My sadness and frustration at a world of religious intolerance is tempered by the fact that Brighton and Hove is, for the most part, an exception. The open-mindedness, understanding and solidarity in our city exemplifies how to respect the dignity and nobility of every faith group.
6. After the terrorist attack on Heaton Park Synagogue in Manchester, my ’phone was buzzing non-stop with supportive messages from faith partners across Brighton and Hove, and my synagogue was particularly honoured to welcome the vice-chair of the Muslim Forum to our service two days later. Then news broke of the terrorist attack on Peacehaven Mosque, and of course I went straight over to reciprocate. Holiness inheres in willed relation. Our relationships with each other breed holiness.
7. By standing here, something of the church has entered me. Something of all of your different faiths has entered me. It makes me truly happy to say that. And, I hope, that something of Judaism has entered all of you.
8. I conclude with another 9th-century rabbinic text:⁴ “If one sees a crowd of people, one should say: blessed be the One who is wise in secrets, for just as each face in the crowd is different from the other, the thoughts behind each of them are not them the same, but rather each person – this one and that one – has a unique mind of their own.” And let us say: amen.

Comments are welcome at the bottom of the page. Please note that they are premoderated and anything abusive simply won’t be published.

Remember that all of my sermons, handouts and so on can be found here.

Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to you by email:

Notes

1. Rabbi Naftali Brawer, “Is it forbidden for Jews to enter a church?“, The Jewish Chronicle (21 August 2008). ↩︎
2. Pitron Torah, Urbach edition p 339 ↩︎
3. Melissa Raphael, The Female Face of God in Auschwitz: a Jewish feminist theology of the Holocaust (London: Routledge, 2003): 83. ↩︎
4. Midrash Tanchuma Buber, Pinchas 1 ↩︎