You’ve probably noticed quite a lot’s been going on since my last column (it was roughly a hundred years ago, back in early September): Liz Truss became PM and the Queen died, there have been natural disasters and ongoing wars and it seems like our economy’s dissolving like an overdunked biscuit. Frankly, it’s all been a bit “oy vey”.
Yes, there’s a new series of Strictly, but still, when you balance it out... oy vey.
Even with all this going on in the world, for Jews like me this time of year is set aside for us to take a moment and carry out a bit of a spiritual audit.
Last week it was Rosh Hashanah — the Jewish New Year — a joyfully sticky festival where we smother everything in honey (for a sweet near year) and have a lovely time with our families and friends. It’s no December 31 — no drunken snogging or Big Ben bongs — but there’s plenty of cake and gossip.
Then we start a 10-day countdown to the Day of Atonement and try to persuade Her Upstairs that we deserve another year. The final day — Yom Kippur itself — is a 25-hour fast that starts tomorrow at sundown. For someone like me (who should never be more than stretching distance away from Monster Munch and Scotch) it’s a struggle, but it’s all meant to elevate our thoughts.
So it’s a long old day of singing and introspection and caffeine withdrawal. I’m a bit of a shul slut, so I’ll fill the time mooching hungrily from synagogue to synagogue: I’ll go to the one with the best music on Tuesday evening, the one with my mum on Wednesday morning and then the one with the best sermon for the last push.
In between, I’ll be thinking hard about how to be better Rinder over the coming months: better as a friend, better as a son and better as a person in the world.
This year, there are a few things I’ll be concentrating on.
First, I’ll try to be more present. From now on I’ll put away my phone and be there for anyone who’s gives me the privilege of their company. No more reading about Harry Styles or wondering where else I could be while my friends are talking — it’s time to be where I am.
Second, I’ll stop rolling my eyes and pouting in the company of my parents. Basically, no more reverting to my 14-year-old self around them (I hope, at least, to graduate to being my 16-year-old self).
Third, I’ll remember to feel delighted at the extraordinary gifts and opportunities coming up, and how lucky I’ve been so far. I’ve been ridiculously fortunate, and should never let myself forget it.
Hopefully, with all that, I’ll convince the Almighty that She should give me another year. If She does, I’ll try my damnedest to use it wisely. As we head into the bleakness of winter (with the economy collapsing and fuel prices rising and the parade of horribles we have to face), being our best selves — and helping one another — is all any of us can do. Happy New Year to all!
In other news...
Every so often, there are moments in real life that feel strange as dreams, little pockets of time that are so bizarre, that if you described them to someone, they’d begin to plan a formal intervention.
Well, I had one last week.
I was in the audience at the Royal Court, watching my dear friend, the sublimely talented actress Louisa Clein, playing another very dear, Luciana Berger on stage, while Luciana herself sat next to me in the theatre. It was wonderful and yet painfully bizarre.
The play itself — Jews. In Their Own Words, by Jonathan Freedland at the Royal Court — is magnificent and timely and brave.
It’s an ambitious work — and part of that ambition is to remind everyone that anti-Jewish racism still exists, even in the hearts and minds of people who might pretend otherwise. I only hope it gets seen by the widest possible audience, get yourself a ticket now — and take everyone you know.
