I was in the tube when I heard the Queen had died. We momentarily connected to the wifi and a message to our EHRS work what’s app group came through with the sad news. When we left the underground 15 minutes later a huge billboard in tribute to Her Majesty had already appeared opposite Centre Point. Many different parts of the country had planned this occasion over a long time.
Together with an EHRS group we were on our way to the theatre, and before the show the producer took to the stage to pay tribute to the late monarch, before beginning a two minute silence. The silence ended with the National Anthem, but it was unlike any I had heard before. Even though the entire cast of the musical were on the stage, and the audience were all standing, no one sang a word. We couldn’t sing God Save The Queen, and almost by consensus it seemed we weren’t quite ready to sing God save the King.
I was suddenly rather emotional, conscious I would most likely never sing God save the Queen again. The change of this one word symbolised the end of an era. The queen had been such a constant for so many of us over the years. Nothing changed in that moment, but things weren’t ever going to be quite the same either.
The Queen might have been a constant in all our lives, but the world has changed almost beyond recognition during her 70 year reign. At Rosh Hashanah we try to examine our behaviour, and make changes for the year to come. I won’t get everything right in the new year either (shocking I know), so thank goodness we have this chance again next year. Every year is a little different, because I am a little different. We absorb the changes, and we carry on into the next year.
Some of you might have stood in The Queue. I didn’t have the time to give to it, but from afar, it seems to have been one of those once in a lifetime, bonding experiences that those who joined it will talk about for years to come. It was also quintessentially British. The most organised queue perhaps in history. It culminated in a few moments, a few minutes for a lucky few, of the opportunity to pay one’s respects.
Many people committed hours, others up to a day, in order to grasp this opportunity to offer thanks and perhaps to honour their grief at the loss of a Queen who has been a constant through all of our lives.
As the days of queuing wore on, the moment at the end of the line garnered less and less attention (though I will confess to watching the live feed occasionally, fascinated by the emotion and ritual displayed before our monarch). What increasingly became the focus was The Queue itself, which took on almost mythic properties. Friendships were formed, celebrities who chose to join the rest of the population were praised, while those thought to be skipping the line were pilloried online and in the papers. Updates on the status of the line were given at regular intervals on the radio news.
What struck me most about The Queue however, was the sacrifice so many people were willing to make in this collective ritualization of National Grief. People gave up hours of their time, but also a good degree of comfort in the process of paying their respects.
Today’s Torah reading is also about sacrifice. Perhaps the ultimate sacrifice. It is a sacrifice that scholars have struggled with for centuries, framing Abraham’s actions either as the ultimate proof of faith, or as a man who has completely misunderstood the will of God, and, is struggling with his own conscience, or as Dr Chaim Trachtenberg suggests:
When understood as a narrative reflection of Avraham’s inner struggle, the message of the Akedah becomes that—even for those who believe that they can hear God’s voice—we can never claim to understand God’s words in the same way that we understand each other. We cannot rely on our supposed comprehension of God’s commands as a sole guide to our moral behavior. We need our moral intuitions at all times to help guide us in our attempt to do good and walk in God’s path.
The impact of this inner struggle and attempt to distil the will of God wasn’t only felt by Abraham, but by poor Isaac, who was probably never the same again! Although the Queen has left a hugely positive legacy, she also seems, sadly, to leave behind a somewhat broken family. Great leaders don’t get everything right, and just like you and I, need space and time to find healing and a path through.
Abraham and the Queen both achieved huge amounts well into old age. But the world cannot help but change over the course of a lifetime, and in the 70 years of the Queen’s reign the change has been at an unprecedented pace. Change is a constant that carries us from one generation to the next, and from one year to the next. We are blessed with the gift of Jewish time which carves out for us a structure to reflect and make changes, and perhaps to try and tune in once again to what God is asking of us, while recalibrating our own moral compass.
With so much national change over just the last few weeks, it’s been comforting to remember that change is a part of life that cannot be avoided. And that even Abraham wasn’t always clear on what was needed of him. Rosh Hashanah also reminds us that change can start with each and every one of us, everyday. However baffling the changes of the world may be, and however confusing the inner conscience or God’s voice might sound, we can always strive to be and to do more, and to be a part of forming the change in the year to come.
Shanah tovah
