Sermon: Masei – Cities of Refuge

Written by Rabbi Hannah Kingston — 16 July 2021

On Wednesday night, over 60,000 fans were able to attend England’s semi-final match against Denmark, with Wembley at 75 percent capacity. More gathered at pubs and London landmarks, filling the streets with the victorious chant, ‘it’s coming home’. The photos and videos of unmasked strangers hugging as we scored that final penalty flooded our news outlets.

 

Yet just the day after huge crowds were seen at the football, it was announced that this summer’s Tokyo Olympics are to go ahead without spectators present, due to a surge in Coronavirus cases. The virus that has killed more than a hundred thousand people in the UK alone over the past 18 months is still very present in our lives.

 

Despite the rising number of cases, the government has decided that the majority of the legal restrictions in England will be removed from 19th July. Prime Minister Boris Johnson has instructed that it is now the people’s responsibility to ‘make their own informed decisions about how to manage the virus.’

 

For some, the return to normality, a life unbound by social distancing parameters and mask wearing, a life of casual touch and crowded rooms, of shared meals and adventures, is an exciting prospect.

For others, the rising numbers of covid cases and the easing of restrictions fills them with a sense of trepidation and anxiety.

For many of us, we hold the tension of both feelings at the same time.

 

 

This past difficult year has made us increasingly aware that we do not know the challenges that the person sitting across from us is facing, we are not aware of their vulnerabilities, of their hidden disabilities. For the large numbers of immunosuppressed, those not yet vaccinated and those for whom the vaccine will not work, relaxing restrictions do not bring feelings of joy and shared family dinners, but the reality of an increasing threat to life.

 

As we make our first steps into a world unbound by government guidelines, we must be increasingly sensitive that not everyone is moving at our pace, that some will prefer to live a conservative lifestyle to keep themselves and those around them safe.

 

As Rabbi Josh said last night:

We have a broader responsibility to respond to the needs of others, not to leave anyone in our community totally behind, to retain risk mitigations, to still be accessible to all online, to make space for each other, to see the world through their eyes – each of us to do what we can to protect and respect those around us.

 

So, without the government parameters in place, how do we navigate this new phase in a way that is respectful and aware of everyone’s needs and not only our own? How do we help those with vulnerabilities, both visible and hidden, to not feel left behind? How can we stop people from being exposed as ‘other’ when they need to remain away from the bustle of normality in order to stay safe?

 

 

Our Torah portion this Shabbat deals with cities of refuge – six cities established for those who commit accidental homicide. These cities were a safe haven for those who acted without intent or malice, to protect them from the victim’s family who may come to avenge their loved ones.

 

Cities of refuge are needed in a society governed by personal responsibility, rather than bound by central law. They help to deal with the challenges in a society where people are driven by their own needs and sense of morality, where human beings believe it is necessary to act as God, deeming whose blood is more red.

 

They became safe spaces, away from the hands of the avenger. In those spaces the community takes responsibility for one another and act for the good of all, rather than the desires of the individual.

 

As a form of punishment, cities of refuge were not without burden to the individual. The perpetrator of an accidental crime was exiled, unable to return to life as normal, banished from their ancestral portion until the death of the high priest.

 

But the city of refuge was also meant to be a place of spiritual relief. When spoken about again in Deuteronomy it states – And he shall flee to one of these cities and live.”

Talmud Makkot instructs us that we must perform actions so that life in the city of refuge is conducive to living. If a student is exiled, then their teacher must go with him. If a teacher is exiled, then his pupils will be expected to join. Surrounded by Levites and scholars, Torah study was encouraged as a form of refuge.

Ultimately, a city of refuge acted as a sanctuary – a place of protection for the vulnerable and a place where God dwelt among the people. They created a sense of community, of people with shared experience. In this safe environment people were given a space to process their emotions in a safe space away from the judgement and mercy of others.

 

Cities of refuge are not unique to our biblical text. Evidence shows they existed in many ancient cultures. In Ancient Greek culture, Temples and altars acted as a place where slaves and criminals could flee for asylum. Throughout the Middle ages, the church was used as a place of asylum.

 

Now, more so than ever, we need to learn from the model of cities of refuge. Tasked to make our own decisions on how to manage the virus, it becomes our responsibility to create spaces where all are able feel safe, whilst still being able to engage with their places of worship. It is up to us to create safe spaces and sanctuaries for the vulnerable.

 

As the world begins to reopen, we must recognize the wide range of feelings that people are experiencing. As Rabbi Josh said last night, It will be important for each of us to think not only of our own needs or own comfort levels, but also of others.

 

We need to honour each unique experience of the past year of pandemic, allowing everyone to readjust to life at their own pace, rather than projecting our own boundaries onto others.

 

Maimonides teaches that cities of refuge must be easy to find, the roads to them wide and clearly signposted. So too must our safe spaces be easily accessible for those who need them. They must be as good, as joyful as a return in person, conducive to a lived Judaism surrounded by a community of people who care for one another. They must be as thoughtful and considered as they have been for the duration of the pandemic.

 

The model of cities of refuge teaches us that the process of healing takes time, space, community.

May we create safe spaces that are available indefinitely for those who need them. May we immerse these spaces in our community, so that no one is left behind. And ultimately may these spaces feel like sanctuaries, so that God dwells among all of us.