The Rabbi’s Sermon on 31st October 2026

On Shabbat Parshat Vayera Oct 31 St Annes Hebrew Congregation held a “Civic Shabbat”. This was an opportunity for those in leadership positions to learn about the Jewish community at a time when antisemitism has been on the rise.

We were delighted to welcome over 25 guests including the Bishop of Blackburn, the Mayor of Preston, and a group of councillors from the Lancashire County Council. We were also joined by a large contingent of the Blackpool Reform Synagogue as well as several friends of the community.

Here is the Rabbi’s Sermon on the theme of “Opening our doors, our eyes and finding our voice”.

Shabbat Shalom.

This morning, we are delighted to welcome our civic guests to our synagogue.
…
Before I begin, I want to say a word about why this morning is particularly important.
We are living through a time when antisemitism is once again becoming an
increasingly visible and troubling feature of public life. Jewish communities are
understandably concerned, and there are times when simply being visibly Jewish
can feel more challenging than it should.
That is why your presence here today means so much. It sends an important
message: that the Jewish community is not separate from the wider civic community,
and that standing against antisemitism is not simply a Jewish responsibility, but a
shared responsibility.
Ultimately, we want to live in a society where everyone can practise their faith,
express their identity and participate in public life with dignity and security.
And it is precisely these questions of how we build such a society that I want to
explore through this week’s Torah portion, Vayera.
There are three remarkable moments in the parsha. Abraham opens his door to
strangers. Hagar confronts the suffering of her own child. And Abraham finds the
courage to challenge God Himself.
Together, these episodes offer us three challenges: to open our doors, to open our
eyes, and to find our voice.
First, Abraham opens his door.
The parsha begins with Abraham sitting at the entrance of his tent, recovering from
his circumcision, when God appears to him.
Suddenly, he sees three strangers approaching. He immediately runs to welcome
them, offering water, food and a place to rest.
The Talmud makes a remarkable statement: “Welcoming guests is greater than
receiving the Divine Presence.”
Think about that. Abraham is in the middle of a Divine encounter yet interrupts it to
care for three human beings.
It tells us something fundamental about Judaism: our relationship with God cannot
be separated from our responsibility towards people. Sometimes the most religious
thing we can do is put aside our own spiritual experience to meet somebody else's
needs.
But Abraham’s hospitality goes further. Later, the Torah tells us that Abraham planted
an eshel in Be’er Sheva. The Midrash understands this as a place of hospitality,
where Abraham would feed his guests and afterwards invite them to bless the One
who had provided their food.
He was not simply meeting their physical needs. He was cultivating gratitude,
relationship and a recognition that we are all sustained by something beyond
ourselves.
And there is a lesson here about society. A community cannot flourish simply on the
basis of what each person is entitled to receive. It also depends on what we owe one
another.
Pirkei Avot, the Ethics of the Fathers, expresses this beautifully:
“The world stands on three things: justice, truth and peace.”
A healthy society needs all three. We must protect the vulnerable and welcome the
stranger, but also uphold the law fairly, challenge intimidation and violence, and
recognise that freedom brings responsibilities as well as rights.
There is something remarkable about the way Judaism understands how society is
built: not simply from the top down, through laws and institutions, but from the bottom
up, through the values we live and pass on to the next generation.
The state has an essential role in upholding the law and protecting the innocent. But
no state can legislate kindness, compassion or mutual responsibility into people's
hearts. These values must be lived and modelled by society itself.
That is why, at every Jewish wedding, a couple stands beneath the chuppah to begin
a new family. It recalls the tent of Abraham and Sarah, reminding us that the values
on which a healthy society depends begin with each of us, in our homes and in the
way we treat one another.
The work of building a better society begins not just in our institutions, but in
the lives, we lead and the example we set.
Second, Hagar teaches us to open our eyes.
Later in the parsha, Hagar and her son Ishmael find themselves abandoned in the
wilderness. Their water runs out. Hagar places the boy under a bush and moves
away, unable to bear watching him die.
It is a devastating scene. She is so overwhelmed by her son's suffering that she can
no longer face it.
But then the Torah tells us something extraordinary:
“God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water.”
The well was there, but Hagar could not see it.

Sometimes suffering narrows our vision. Fear, grief and despair can make it difficult
to see the possibilities that remain.
But there is another lesson. Hagar and Ishmael are outside the covenantal family of
Abraham and Isaac. Yet God hears Ishmael's cry and responds to Hagar's distress.
Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks often emphasized that the Torah does not allow us to
confine our moral concern to our own family, community or people. Our particular
responsibilities matter, but they do not cancel the dignity of those beyond our
immediate circle.
The Torah asks us to look at the outsider through God's eyes: to notice those who
are struggling, those who feel excluded, and those whose suffering might otherwise
remain invisible.
And notice what God tells Hagar to do. He does not simply comfort her. He says:
“Arise, lift up the boy and hold him by the hand.”
There is a powerful message here. Compassion is not simply feeling another
person's pain. It means helping them, restoring their dignity and giving them the
support they need to move forward.
We must open our eyes to suffering but also ask what we can do about it.
Third, Abraham finds his voice.
Perhaps the most astonishing episode comes when God reveals to Abraham the
impending destruction of Sodom.
Abraham does not remain silent. He challenges the Divine Judge:
“Shall the Judge of all the earth not do justice?”
Abraham is willing to question God Himself when he believes that justice is at stake.
This is a defining moment in the birth of Jewish moral responsibility. Abraham does
not say, “This is none of my business.” Nor does he assume that authority, even the
highest authority, places a decision beyond moral questioning.
He speaks up.
And his challenge is not simply an expression of anger. He argues that the innocent
must not suffer alongside the guilty. Justice must distinguish between them.
There is a lesson here for every society, and especially for those entrusted with
public responsibility.
We need the courage to challenge wrongdoing, even when it is uncomfortable. We
must protect the right to peaceful protest and disagreement, while insisting that no
grievance gives anyone permission to intimidate or harm others.

And we must apply our principles consistently. The law must protect everyone and
be applied fairly, without fear or favour.
Abraham reminds us that compassion does not mean abandoning judgement, and
that a commitment to justice sometimes demands that we speak when silence would
be easier.
Open our doors. Open our eyes. Find our voice.
These three moments in Vayera belong together.
Abraham opens his door because he recognises the needs of strangers.
Hagar’s eyes are opened, reminding us to see those whose suffering we might
otherwise overlook.
And Abraham raises his voice because he understands that compassion without
justice is incomplete.
In each case, faith becomes something practical. It changes how we welcome
people, how we see them, and how we respond when something is wrong.
As we welcome our civic guests today, perhaps this is a fitting aspiration for the
communities we serve.
May we build communities generous enough to welcome those in need, perceptive
enough to recognise suffering beyond our immediate circle, and courageous enough
to stand for justice.
Communities where disagreement need not become hostility, where compassion and
accountability reinforce one another, and where our shared humanity is protected by
both our kindness and our principles.
That is the challenge Abraham places before us. And it remains our responsibility
today.

Shabbat Shalom.