Rabbi Judith Levitt
“I spent quite a lot of time not knowing exactly what I wanted to do with my life – I considered teaching, I considered becoming an academic, I considered becoming a therapist – but I think being a rabbi incorporates all of those; and also Judaism and spirituality, which are so important to me.”
Rabbi Judith Levitt was born in a small seaside town in south Africa, but left and moved to London with her family when she was seven. She spent years in Sheffield and Canada, before returning to London. She now lives and works very near where she grew up.
Her interests are painting, writing, cooking, gardening on her tiny balcony, political activism, social justice, reading and watching box sets.
In December 2017 I had the pleasure of speaking with her about her life and experiences as a rabbi. This article is the edited version of a much longer conversation, which I hope stays faithful to the original.
Why did you decide to become a rabbi?
When I was about fourteen one of my friends did work experience with the rabbi of my congregation. I thought that was really cool, and started thinking to myself, “Oh, that’s something I might like to do.”
Just prior to that, when I was thirteen, I met a student rabbi, who was working in our synagogue for a year and she looked nothing like any other rabbi that I’d ever met or heard of. She had bright red hair in a lopsided haircut, wore bright colours, a bit of a cleavage-y top, she was young, she had a really loud laugh, a big sense of humour. She just started chatting to me one day in synagogue and we got on really well. Every week she would come back and chat to me because she remembered our conversation. I spent my adolescence thinking, “Wow, it would be really cool to be a rabbi.” But you can’t, as a teenage girl, say that to people because they would actually think you were crazy, or at least when I was growing up they would have. So, I didn’t say anything.
When I was about twenty-one that rabbinic student was a rabbi and she lead a leadership trip for Reform Jewish young adults to Berlin. It was to learn about the history of Berlin, obviously in terms of the Holocaust, but also in terms of the separation and reunification. It was a walking tour with a goal for leadership. One day at lunch one of the young women on the trip said, “Okay, Leo Baeck College – which was the name of the Reform and Liberal rabbinical school – class of 2009, who’s with me?” We went round the table and everyone said if they would consider becoming a rabbi. Of the twelve people on that trip, I think six of us are rabbis and one of us is a cantor now.
The rabbinic student I had known growing up took me aside after lunch and said, “I have always known we would have this conversation. It’s something you were always meant to do. I think you would be amazing at it and you should pursue it.”
I went to speak to the rabbi of my home congregation and said, “There’s something I’ve been considering”
“Yes,” he said, “I’ve always known you would come and talk to me about this.”
I said, “But how?”
He said, “Judith, you are one of only two people in the community who ever came to me and asked me questions about God. It’s very unusual you have a teenager who sits in your office and asks you questions about God.”
What do you feel it means to be a rabbi in current times?
I think that at the moment, with the state of the world, we have an imperative to speak up about the things that are wrong in our society. Now of course I don’t believe a rabbi should use their platform to be party political or tell people which way to vote, because that’s an abuse of power. But Reform Judaism believes in informed choice and I really believe in giving the people I work with the best information possible to enable them to make the best possible decision. I also believe we should speak out against injustice – whether that’s anti-Semitism which impacts us directly, racism, sexism, prejudice against transgender people, I believe we have an ethical imperative to speak up about those issues.
That must be hard sometimes?
It’s very hard, because I feel very passionately about things, and I have my own very strong political views, but I’ve got to be really conscious what I say as an individual, and what I say as a rabbi. And in my sermons I try as hard as I can to give people the information to make their own decisions. […] I would hope that part of my role is to get people to look at things from a different perspective.
[…]
There are many different ways to lead. There’s a concept in Judaism called tzim tzum, that is essentially the idea that when God created the universe, God withdrew some of God’s power in order to make space for humanity and people to have free will. I think it was Rabbi Eugene Borowitz who suggested that tzim tzum could be a model of rabbinic leadership whereby we sometimes hold back some of ourselves in order to facilitate others being able to shine. For example, instead of me reading Torah every single week in synagogue, I think it’s important for me to teach people, and to give people in the community opportunities to learn to and to read Torah, because then it’s enabling the community to be skilled, and giving others opportunities to be honoured. I think that’s a really important part of leadership. I don’t think that leading always has to be hierarchical, and it doesn’t have to have us as rabbis always front and centre. I think that there can be a very quiet, contained style of leadership, which is no less strong but has a different kind of impact.
As it’s that time of year, do you have any thoughts or stories about Hanukkah that you would like to share?
The community that I work in currently has a lovely Hanukkah tradition, where everyone brings their own Hanukkiah and candles and puts them on a huge central table in the synagogue and then we light the candles and say the blessings and sing the songs together. We turn off all the lights and the room is just lit by all these beautiful Hanukkiahs. It’s really stunning. I think that it’s not coincidental that this festival occurs at a time which is the darkest with the shortest days of the year. It’s about bringing more light into the world, and Jews are told that we’re supposed to be ‘a light unto the nations.’ That’s not to say we are better than anyone else. I think being ‘a light unto the nations’ means role-modelling ethical behaviour and trying to be the best people that we can possibly be.
There are two rabbis in the Mishnah who had a famous debate – Rabbi Shammai and Rabbi Hillel. Shammai said when we light the Hanukkiah we should start the first night with a full set of candles and then take one away each night, because the story of Hanukkah is that the oil lasted for eight days, and he’s saying we should have fewer candles for each day the oil diminished. Rabbi Hillel said – but each day the miracle increased because the oil lasted. We usually go with Hillel’s opinion in general, he has the kindest response. I like the idea of the light increasing each day of Hanukkah, I think that’s a very powerful and beautiful symbol.
Hanukkiah