The importance of the Community and Why I love Manchester.

I guess it follows from the post on identity to discuss the importance of the community. In my historical wanderings we will soon be leaving Babylon and heading towards Spain, France and Germany. This is partly to suit the things that I have noted down on specific writings over the last few years such as the Kuzari and Moreh Nevuchim as my MA is about to start which will restrict casual research time, but also because it enters upon an important epoch in the Jewish historical experience.

 The Golden age of Spain, as it became known, would produce a fantastically creative blend of Poetry, liturgy, Biblical commentary and Talmudic analysis which remains with us till this day. But before that, a more general point that I would like to make about the importance of communities. In many ways our observance of different minhagim is testimony to how communal life came to shape all areas of identity. 

In the pre-Modern world communities also served as places where law and justice would be carried out, and the threat of the Cheirem carried with it real and devastating consequences until the mid-18th Century. But now I would like to take a trip down memory lane in describing what I feel to be the key elements of the modern Jewish community.

Health warning: The following passages will be highly sentimental, using selective memory and an uncanny ability to shamelessly bask in reminiscence and nostalgia. I can’t account for potential side-effects. Nor can I promise that these descriptions of my mindset aren’t largely exaggerated for comic value.

So let’s begin. Upon leaving Yeshiva and heading north to the grey oasis of Manchester, a dominant question concerning communal identity was “which Hashkofo/religious ideology do I subscribe to?” Well, the way I saw Manchester was that it presented a choice between needing to wear a hat whilst taking out the bins/embarking on crusades calling for the destruction of the television vs. an absolute commitment to the rock n' roll Uni lifestyle. The only way was ‘Grey’and I would defy the sordid categorisations that so preoccupied lesser mortals.  So, like a small child who has just destroyed his first lego tower I triumphantly declared “I don’t belong anywhere”. And this was just fine with me.

 Whenever I would check out a new Shul (which was initially rare living in Whitefield) I would find things that I liked about it but find plenty of things that I didn’t, allowing me to feel that secure feeling of not belonging.

 But as time passed I became increasingly agitated by the feeling that actually, damn it, I really like it here. And ideology had nothing to do with it, nor, as I began to increasingly realise, did Hashkofo ever have much to do with anything when it came to interactions with other people.

Both in Yeshiva and in my local youth groups we would occasionally try and solve the world’s problems by fantasising about communities of normal people such as ourselves with similar values and religious outlooks. Ah, wouldn’t that be perfect we would say? A little hill somewhere in Israel where we could all just be the perfect society of religious and yet perfectly balanced and open minded people? 

Good lord, I think now, thinking of living on a hill with people like me for an extended period of time would drive me crazy. So what brought about this paradigm shift? Crazy little thing called Manchester. And this is how:

As I mentioned before, I became increasingly irritated by how much I liked the place. I’m meant to be London guy (I’ll allow myself to say the following words just once) par excellence. So naturally I sat down with a few friends and tried to define what exactly was the function of a community, and I think I came up with the following very basic conclusions: (I will again qualify this by saying that I am not currently at the stage where pragmatic considerations such as getting kids into schools feature in my mind-set.)

The first was that warmth was everything. Friendliness just speaks for itself. I don’t know how many people reading this have spent much time in Manc but I assure you that the people there do the following bizarre things on a regular basis: 1. They say good morning. 2. They say good afternoon (not always in the right order but hey, who's judging?). All this during the week not only on Shabbat. In addition, I found myself welcomed during the week into a number of homes of people that I barely knew and would probably not have been sociable enough to interact with in any other circumstance. 

Suddenly, a little change of mindset made things that from an objective standpoint had nothing to offer become exciting social events. Tesco, for example. Who in London would ever dream of going to a supermarket just to hang out? Well, take a trip up North and you’ll be in for a shock. Meet me in the Kosher gefilte fish aisle which hasn't been touched in years at around 11 pm.

In addition, in a land where a cholent shop on the corner of what might be described as a road lacking aesthetic qualities becomes the central social scene on a Thursday night, you just can’t help but love the place.

 And it didn’t take itself too seriously. I just think of MH and laugh fondly. I think most people in MH do the same. And who could forget Minyanline? Just calling it up was hysterical, with its sponsorships from various bin companies and proud presentations of the opening times of seforim shops when you were running late for a mincha.

 A friend of mind came to visit once, and came out of Whitefield Shul on a Friday morning after Shacharis shell-shocked. "What’s wrong?" I asked him. “Four people just said hello to me and asked me where I’m from”, he replied. Sums it up for me. So when I think of communal pre-requisites and the power of the community I just think of that feeling of walking into the Manchester cholent pot (the frum equivalent of a melting pot) and not thinking twice about whether or not anyone shared the same or even similar views on whether University is mutar or not. 

This also encouraged shameless ridiculousness and I will happily reel off anecdote after anecdote of cars stopping in the middle of the road as the drivers decide to enter buildings for a chat. But that would take too much time. So this is why I love Manc and will be forever grateful to the people there. Reminiscing over. 

The second point I thought was crucial was one of religious direction, as opposed to official ideology. Was the community moving somewhere? Did it care if it just stagnating, keeping "singing for the sake of the song after the thrill is gone?" Did it care if I was? Whilst this is hard to define, activities like Shiurim, social organisations and  active engagement with the youth are often good signs of this. Positivity also helps; when a group has to define itself by being less sinful than its neighbour I feel like running a mile. 

Stagnancy is a curse that needs constant fighting against. The potential for a communal structure to not only define identity but enhance and develop it is enormous and as a side point, when I observe the destruction wrought by the loss of individual communities in our history, the tragedies assume new significance when seen in this light.

And finally, coming to Rosh ha Shana, maybe I’ll tie this in to how it specifically contributes towards an increased God-awareness. One of the difficulties of the ‘High Holiday’ period is that, let’s face it, the expectations and stakes are pretty high. The solemnity of sitting in judgement combined with an attempt to try and internalise what it means to make God a king over you, with the additional challenge of trying to experience the classic religious peaks of love and fear of God is extremely difficult. 

But what I feel is that were I to remain entirely identified as the lego-smashing uncompromising individual it would be completely impossible. The religious community, as Rav Soloveitchik so memorably describes in lonely man of faith, is far more than a bunch of individuals brought together for pragmatic reasons. At its heights it calls on the collective strength of each of its component parts to create something truly remarkable and enables us to see with great scope and vision, to see bigger, even if for a few fleeting moments. This is something that being a Madrich on Sinai camp also taught me to cherish.

It is interesting that in most of the popular songs about the 'alter heim', such as Simon and Garfunkel’s “My little town” and Springsteen’s “My hometown” the emphasis is always on faraway days long gone, which upon return seem even more surreal, ruins of what you once thought they were. Or they become tear-felt tributes of regret or of unfulfilled potential. 

If I were to express my thoughts in the form of wish or prayer, it would be that the Jewish communities that I have lived in will never be a relic in the eyes of those who lived in them but will provide their members with eternal strength and fulfilment. I also hope that I will be able to experience the Mancunian sense of community wherever I will live.

K’Siva ve Chasima Tovah.