My Great Grandfather, Dr Alfred Dahlsheimer z’l


In memory of my great grandfather, Dr Alfred Dahlsheimer z’l,

In my sermon at Rosh Hashanah I presented the thought that human endeavour and the expression of human goodness and progress is an essential quality of humanity. In Judaism, the view of humanity is not naïve to the brutality that human beings are able to inflict on one another. Nor does Judaism regard an optimum expression of self to be one of total altruism. Self interest is an important part of being human and the drive for self-preservation and protection must be recognised. At the same time, we are not born into sin, we are endowed with potential. The potential is always in the balance – that really is the point of the penitential period: if you are not blessed with the ability to choose blessing or curse, good or evil, how can the idea of repentance and atonement mean anything?

In light of this continuous human striving, I think it is true to say that we were buoyed artificially by an optimism of the late 20th century. We saw the Berlin Wall come down (the anniversary was yesterday) and the other anniversary of yesterday, Kristallnacht, seemed  unlikely to happen again, after we finally learnt the lessons of multiple genocides and embedded human rights law into the fabric of our society so firmly that it was impossible to ignore. This unbridled optimism made us think the values of equality, of universalism and autonomy were finally going to endure, though many battles were left to be fought, the sense of the arc of progress gave us the impression we would never slip back again.

But if there’s one thing Jews know and one thing that I learnt in my psychology degree, it’s that human nature does not really change and the grounding of values can easily be overturned. The durability of cultural ideas is not permanent. In fact, nothing is really permanent, save the beginning and end of life. Which means that as cultures grow, interact and evolve we must be constantly striving to work hard at them. We cannot take culture for granted, which is, by the way, correlated with not taking our humanities for granted – where students learn to think and imagine about the human condition. Culture, in this sense, is what humans transmit and interact with, that is impermanent and non-biological. It is what makes human beings unique in the known universe.

[By the way, I sense that the durability of Jewish culture (such as Jewish culture stands alone, as if any culture is alone), to some extent, is that the frameworks of existence allowed the Jewish people to exist almost ahistorically. If you wanted to kill us we still went to synagogue and learnt and worked and celebrated festivals and lifecycle moments.]

So from the midst of late 20th century optimism we did not notice that actually religious literalism, fundamentalism and religio-fascism was able to take root. We forgot that identity politics could be easily reignited, especially with the apparent collapse of economic models and geo-political positions. We discovered it was fairly straightforward to degrade the discourse of how we viewed humanity and our vision for the future. And we did not notice that the evaporation of trust of our politicians, economists, journalists and other figure heads, meant the evaporation of truth and respect for expertise. Snake oil merchants had always succeeded because people looked for hope amidst desperation of their health condition, when all else failed. We think we’re rational but the truth is our decision making and our rationalisation is anything but logical. So snake oil could be sold to us by anyone with a modicum of ego, arrogance and charm – straightforward solutions that the experts refuse to take seriously, and so are obviously better, have always worked in theology, politics, economics, medicine. As the complexity of the world, and the speed with which we’re able to access ideas and knowledge has increased, our appetite for simplicity and easy solutions appears to have grown. Now a simple slogan is enough to suck us in. We see conspiracy around every corner – be it the rather annoying MSM (Mainstream Media), Liberal Elites, or Jews.

But we Jews have been here before. This is not the oy vey history lesson – the lachrymose view as it’s known – where everything is negative. But it is true that we’ve built up resistance to our own snake oil sellers – disbelieving anyone who thinks they’re the messiah. And we’ve also borne witness to the politicians, philosophers, religious leaders who have used us as easy targets for their own attempts to whip up hatred. We’ve been through it all. And yet we come out each time and build again. Because even when the arc of progress appears to be cemented into place, we know it can crumble with a puff of wind. So we never stop building and usually do not succumb to naïve optimism.

In our current climate. Regardless of our politics. That is what we must do. Build and build again. Renew our commitment to making the world better and never let anyone or any ideology push us of the path.

Thinking about rebuilding life I wanted to share this:

Yesterday, I learnt again about my great grandfather, Dr Alfred Dahlsheimer. He had a Doctorate in Jurisprudence and was a sort of circuit judge in Munich. Apparently he favoured resolution outside of the courts and my grandmother remembers when he used to come home very occasionally from prisons and would strip and shower straightaway – fearing the lice so prevalent in prison. In 1933, he was removed from office. In fact he was 47 and pensioned off, but thousands of Jewish lawyers and judges were removed from office then. I learnt that he never slept at home after losing his job and Hitler’s rise to power. In March 1933, after my grandmother’s 10th birthday, he never slept at home (or maybe only once or twice a week). When the Nazis came knocking at the door for him, his wife, my great grandmother, would respond and get rid of them. But he wasn’t at home for that reason. He developed depression and paranoia. Later in 1933, he went to England and whilst there, the family member he was staying with phoned his wife to say she should come to him. There was a wisdom to this – he was ill and needed her, but also the family in England saw the writing on the wall. My grandmother remembers that phone call came on Saturday and on Sunday she and her mother packed their bags and left. That saved their lives. Had they not left, in the words of my grandmother, her fate would have probably have been akin to Anne Frank’s – murder at the hand of the Nazi death machine.

In England, Alfred never retrained. At 47 he did not have the energy to re-enter law. But he set up a new business, manufacturing glass eyes. Initially, they were for fox furs, which were very fashionable and a family member was in the furrier trade. But he eventually realised that teddy bears also needed them. So they set up a small workshop in Angel House in Islington. The idea had come from recollection that the glass eyes were not available during the First World War, because they were a German import. Predicting that this problem might recur, the glass eye business seemed a good option. He and his wife variously employed different girls to make the eyes and paint them. The single wire attaching two eyes was cut by the teddy bear manufacturers and inserted into the teddies. The glass was sourced from Stourbridge in glass rods, and eventually they were able to purchase coloured glass. My grandmother vividly remembers the Bunsen burners and workshop. The eyes were supplied to such toy manufacturers as Chad Valley.

I find this family history devastating and hopeful in equal measure. Dr Alfred Dahlsheimer, my great grandfather, never fully recovered from the experience of victimisation in Munich that he endured. He was always depressed afterwards. But here I am, with my children whom I can tell about him. We live in a world that is better than it was, in spite of the blips. I will do everything in my power to ensure Judaism lives on and that my children cherish it and understand how it obligates them to work for a better future for the next generation. There is much to build, but we have great opportunity to do it, like never before.


Rosh Hashanah 5777 (sermon)

I told some of you a couple of weeks ago in my sermon about our family visit to Portsmouth, where we visited the historic dockyards and had the wonderful opportunity to see the Mary Rose, the tudor flagship and the HMS Victory and HMS Warrior flagships. It made me think about flagships closer to home – having worked in the two flagship synagogues of the progressive movements in the UK. Whilst thinking about flagships our summer took us from Portsmouth to Portugal.

In Lisbon, Portugal, I had been invited to join a family, some of whom are members here at WLS, to officiate at a couple’s blessing. The warmth of the Lisbon community is something to behold, our host family treated me like one of their own. As we took a day trip up the coast I realised that just as one of the greatest chapters in this community’s history was coming to an end, with the Inquisition, the Western European world was voyaging on new journeys of discovery. Often from the port of Lisbon. Vasco de Gama navigated on his route to India around the southern tip of Africa and of course, though he didn’t leave from Lisbon, Columbus’ return from his Westwards journey took him via Lisbon. And Magellan was, of course Portuguese though circumnavigated the globe under Spanish authority.

It goes without saying that these journeys of discovery are in part the legacy of colonialism, slavery and Christian missionizing that we still have to come to terms with. But they are also indicators of something else. One cannot possibly be at Cascais, West of Lisbon, and look out to the Atlantic without realising that the vast expanse of the oceans was simply begging explorers to come and find out what lay beyond the waves. A great story of human discovery and endeavour. In fact, just like the imagination of the Rosetta space mission which came to an end this week with a 12 year journey into collision with a comet, the story of the great 15th and 16th century explorers are filled with imagination.

We know for certain that the astronomical charts that carried Vasco de Gama safely on his journey were prepared by a rabbi. A court Jew who now has a crater on the moon named after him – Abraham Zacuto. Proof that Jews experience the world and contribute to the world in unique ways, that the passage of history is one we have influenced and been affected by at every turn.

So my summer moved from the dockyard of Portsmouth to the idyllic shores of Cascais and the generous and warm hospitality of the Lisbon Jewish community. This was a summer of the sea, of looking out to a world that once dominated the imagination of explorers. And I realised how intrepid and how visionary these journeys must have been. The human story is punctuated by moments of terror, but it is also punctuated by great visionaries who have carried our world forward and summoned the future beneath their flagships with determination, fortitude and belief.

This is really how we must confront our future as we enter the year 5777.

Not Zacuto the court astronomer but a different Abraham is our focus. Abraham in our rabbinic midrash is described as a flagship of God. In a brilliant play on the words of the first verse of our Torah reading tomorrow – the test of God (nisa) is that he turns Abraham into a flag (nes), an ensign beneath which the faithful will be gathered in their belief. Abraham is God’s messenger for the world in the very act of the Akedah, he takes a leap of faith, or as Kierkegaard might say, becomes God’s Knight of Faith.

So this is my theme for Rosh Hashanah and for 5777. Faith and hope in humanity, in the human endeavour and imagination.

I grew up, as a teenager, in a time of relative optimism, we thought the old ideologies were being smashed to pieces, like the Berlin Wall, beneath a new post-modern age and religion would lose traction. Little did I appreciate as a teenager that my adulthood would see the return of pessimism, of ideologies in new forms, a curious post-factual political discourse and an unpredictable return to theological fundamentalism, scriptural literalism and politicised religious fascism.

No one trusts politicians, no one trusts ‘mainstream media’ and very few of us trust clergy. There is a deeply held suspicion of people around us – like refugees, those of other faiths and, pretty much anyone who looks or thinks differently to us. We must find a rejoinder to the pessimism of our global climate. We must hoist our flag in opposition to this and do it now.

We must counter the cynicism of how we view our fellow human beings. Your rabbis can tell you, we meet thousands of people a year. Almost without exception, everyone we meet is brimming with the splendour of humanity. Now of course, we are all possessed with those parts of our lives which let us down – whether it is greed, egotism, striving for power at the expense of others, jealousy, presumptions of other’s intentions. But, I have never met someone who is not actually in search of fulfilment, safety, peace, companionship and parnasa (a livelihood). Every one of us, every person on the street, is actually in search of this. It is the crooks, the psychopaths and sociopaths, the perverts, the ones who get off on violence, who have ruined our vision of humanity. We must not let them sully our vision. Our counter to their perversion must be to renew our faith. But a faith with nuance.

Judaism has a gift to offer this renewal of faith. Judaism relays the story of humanity in a very particular way. From the moment of Adam and Eve, our Torah tells us that we are capable of making choices, of being endowed with the ability to decide how we act. How else are we to read the sin of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil? We are not born into sin, we are born into freedom. And so we turn to Cain and Abel – the midrashic reading of this moment reveals the great fall of humanity in just one generation. Riven with jealousy, with pride, with religious hubris and with greed, the midrash describes the fight that led to Cain’s murder of Abel. Human beings may be endowed with the freedom to make choices, but they are certainly experts at choosing destruction over harmony. The widespread failure of human choices are finally sealed with the story of Noah in which God is so regretful of creating humankind the whole world is destroyed to, effectively, start again.

But out of the destruction and the rebuilding by Noah we meet our Knight of Faith. Or perhaps, to continue my metaphor, the Admiral of Faith. Abraham, we are told in the rabbinic telling of his childhood, realises that there is a world beyond himself. He asks, surely there is something bigger than the idols we worship? He becomes the individual through which God resolves the world will be saved. An individual who suddenly discovers that perhaps there is something more majestic and great of which we are meant to be a part – even amidst the palace in flames.

Judaism you see has an urgent message for our understanding of humanity. We cannot have an unadulterated optimism, a crass naivety that we are not full of complex and competing forces and ideas. But Judaism demands of us that we remember the individuals who have struck out for the betterment of the world in which they live. Judaism recognises that people endowed with freedom can make the responsible choice, if given the right set of circumstances. That the human imagination can cause us to see a world beyond our own tiny existence. Whether that’s Abraham on his first journey from his birth place, the explorers of the 15th century, the Rosetta mission to space. We can believe in humanity. We can have faith.

And, mark my words, that faith must be, in fact there is no other way, it absolutely has to be forged out of a gentle, compassionate, values driven faith in our ability to choose the right way. In our ability to create an environment for positive choices, for mutual salvation and not surrendering to the forces of destruction.

And God, and you may be surprised to hear the rabbi say this on Rosh Hashanah, has nothing to do with it. What else can we take from our story of Abraham on Rosh Hashanah. Today if we were told to sacrifice our children, “one by one”, in the words of Wilfred Owen, because God told us to, we would ‘laugh’ in God’s face. God does not speak to us in such terms. God does not speak to us directly, at all. God is not in the literal reading of sacred texts, nor in the will to murder for one cause or another, or the clamouring voices of suspicion of the other. We are, to all intents and purposes, on our own with our choices. The Admiral of Faith of our age must be able to synthesise everything good and noble from this momentary human existence on our tiny planet and set sail for a vision of the future.

The urgent message of Judaism is that human beings can be destructive, on massive proportions (and as Jews we have suffered at the hands of humanity’s wickedness more than most). We are riven with errors and misjudgements. We are selfish and egotistical. But this can be balanced by the constant drive in Judaism to look out. To think beyond oneself, to better the world. Yes, my rabbinate has been one only in the shadow of destruction, terror and the rise of religious theology and political ideologies that we thought were dead and buried. But we are still free. We are capable of seeing our fellow as our equal, of caring for a world for the greatness of something that will outlive us.

Judaism says on Rosh Hashanah we are not tied to one destiny. Our future is open for discovery. The flag we choose to wave aloft, the values, the deeds, the words we utter will create our world and we are sovereign over that. As humans, as Jews, as members of WLS, we have to avoid being dominated by suspicion of our fellow humans. Our faith and hope rests in humanity and nowhere else.

Saul Tchernikovsky wrote in his now famous poem, Sachki Sachki, quoted by President Reuven Rivlin at the funeral of the late dreamer and optimist, former President Shimon Peres:


Laugh at all my dreams, my dearest; laugh, and I repeat anew

That I still believe in mankind as I still believe in you.

For my soul is not yet unsold to the golden calf of scorn

And I still believe in man and the spirit in him born.

By the passion of his spirit shall his ancient bonds be shed

Let the soul be given freedom, let the body have its bread!

Love at last shall bind the peoples in an everlasting bond.

In that day shall my own people rooted in its soil arise,

Shake the yoke from off its shoulders and the darkness from its eyes.

Life and love and strength and action in their heart and blood shall beat

And their hopes shall be both heaven and the earth beneath their feet…

Our particular Jewish story is intertwined with the great voyage of discovery that is the story of humankind. We are not just court Jews, astronomers to the crown, we have a flag to wave aloft from our flagship here at WLS. That we will dream, we will believe in humankind and the spirit born in us. Our hopes shall be both heaven and the earth beneath our feet. Let that be the flag of hope for this Rosh Hashanah and the message for our new year of 5777. I wish you a Shanah Tovah, may you be inscribed and sealed for a good year. And may this be the will in heaven and ours on earth. And let us say: Amen.