Chas Newkey-Burden's Blog, page 10

Bibi at the UN

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‘Ladies and gentlemen, one cold day in the late 19th century, my grandfather Nathan and his younger brother Judah were standing in a railway station in the heart of Europe. They were seen by a group of antisemitic hoodlums who ran towards them waving clubs, screaming “Death to the Jews.”

‘My grandfather shouted to his younger brother to flee and save himself, and he then stood alone against the raging mob to slow it down. They beat him senseless, they left him for dead, and before he passed out, covered in his own blood, he said to himself “What a disgrace, what a disgrace. The descendants of the Macabees lie in the mud powerless to defend themselves.”

‘He promised himself then that if he lived, he would take his family to the Jewish homeland and help build a future for the Jewish people. I stand here today as Israel’s prime minister because my grandfather kept that promise.

‘And so many other Israelis have a similar story, a parent or a grandparent who fled every conceivable oppression and came to Israel to start a new life in our ancient homeland. Together we’ve transformed a bludgeoned Jewish people, left for dead, into a vibrant, thriving nation, defending itself with the courage of modern Maccabees, developing limitless possibilities for the future.

‘In our time the Biblical prophecies are being realized. As the prophet Amos said, they shall rebuild ruined cities and inhabit them. They shall plant vineyards and drink their wine. They shall till gardens and eat their fruit. And I will plant them upon their soil never to be uprooted again.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, the people of Israel have come home never to be uprooted again.’

Amen. Read a full transcript of Benjamin Netanyahu’s UN speech here.

13.1 miles, and the eight levels of giving

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I ran the Windsor Half Marathon yesterday, to raise funds for the Israeli charity Colel Chabad. Thank you to all who have sponsored me.

Fundraising pages are now very popular. More and more of us, it seems, are running, swimming, cycling and walking, and more of us are raising funds for charities as we do so. JustGiving pages are now commonplace on social networks.

This is a good thing – and there are many ways to go about it.

For instance, several people suggested to me that I set a target figure on my page. As one put it: ‘Experience shows that’s the way to get people to donate more than they planned to.’

I found this a bit bizarre. Why would I want anyone to donate more than they planned to? There’s a fine line between enthusiastic charity fundraising and inappropriate pressure. Personally, I preferred not to set a target.

Then, someone wrote to me to say he was about to sponsor me and that he was very sorry he could not afford to donate a bigger amount. He explained that he has had a very tough year income-wise and money was tight in his household.

I replied immediately to say that there was no need to sponsor me at all. He then wrote again and told me how ‘at least’ five friends of his had been ‘nasty’ to him during the past year because he had not been able to afford to donate higher figures to their fundraising pages. Whoever these five people are I hope they get a life one of these days.

All of this reminds me of Judaism’s eight levels of giving concept. This separates grudging giving from loving giving. It shows the difference between vain, showy giving and anonymous, silent-hero giving.

It is one of the most thought-provoking and challenging parts of the faith. Reading it is always powerful a reality check for me. I wonder how high up on the list the whole JustGiving fundraising phenomenon would rank. Certainly anyone who berated a friend for the size of their donation is not going to fare too well.

During the race yesterday it was unseasonably hot, making the incline of the hills in Windsor Great Park seem sharper than ever. As always at these events, it was the volunteers and spectators who made the day so magical.

The volunteers work so hard to keep the water stations and other aspects of the race working efficiently. The spectators, with their cheering, clapping and shouts of encouragements, lift the runners’ spirits.

I’ve noticed in the two events I have run since last summer that spectators have been significantly more vocal and enthusiastic than in any previous UK event I’ve run in. The beautiful spirit of the London 2012 Olympics lives on.

Thank you to volunteers and cheering spectators yesterday. Us runners and fundraisers get a medal and plentiful kudos. Yet it is you who are the heroes of the event and it is you who deserve the credit.

But hey, I ran 13.1 miles in 1hr57mins44seconds and raised, so far, £1,322.51 for Colel Chabad. So go me! Here I am, a few hours after the finish, doing The Bolt with my medal.

Windsor Half Marathon: 5 reasons to sponsor me

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My training programme is complete, my Usain Bolt replica shirt is ironed and ready, and I’m raring to run the Windsor Half Marathon on Sunday.

I’m running to raise funds for Colel Chabad, Israel’s oldest charity. Would you like to sponsor me? Here’s five reasons why you might…

1)  Colel Chabad operates 18 free soup kitchens, serving up over one million meals annually.
 Many of the diners are elderly Holocaust survivors who come as much out of their need of a warm smile and simple human contact, as they do for the food.

2)  It is the only charity in Israel with an entire division dedicated to widows and their children. It provides food, clothing and social services to hundreds of widows and orphans every year.

3)  Because I’ll love you if you sponsor me.*

4)  A core part of the Colel Chabad mandate has always been to help the poor regardless of their age, gender or religious background, in a manner that upholds and enhances their dignity.

5)  The charity also works with the Israel Defense Forces both in war and peace – distributing army surplus food, and serving as the rear echelon emergency food distribution system in Northern Israel.

All contributions are gratefully received by Colel Chabad and by me. You can sponsor me here.

* I love you anyway

On faith and football

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This Sunday I’m going to the Emirates to watch the home debut of Mesut Özil. It’s many years since I’ve been so excited to see a new Arsenal signing. I’m as thrilled by his arrival as I was by those of Charlie Nicholas, Ian Wright, Dennis Bergkamp and Sol Campbell.

Possibly more so, as Özil fascinates me. He developed his almost adhesive way with the ball as a child in Germany, playing in a fenced-off gravel pitch known as the Affenkäfig or ‘monkey cage’. It was an unfriendly and cramped terrain to play on but his neighborhood was poor and it was the best they could do. That rough apprenticeship has paid off. He is now a magically gifted player: over the past five years he has provided more assists and created more chances than any other player in all of Europe’s top five leagues.

I also love the fact that he is a religious man. A Muslim, Özil prayed on the field ahead of Arsenal’s match at Sunderland last weekend. I found it so moving to see a footballer do this on the field. It was beautiful.

Some religious people have been snotty about Ozil’s prayer. They question his sincerity, particularly due to what they see as the enormous greed of modern footballers. Yet there is not a footballer alive who can hold a candle to the greed of so much organised religion, with its extravagant holy buildings which lie empty at night while starving kids sleep rough on the streets nearby, ignored by so many so-called men of god as they count their riches in ivory towers.

Whither the religious football star? The game has an odd history with faith and spirituality: for every straightforwardly religious player there was a Glenn Hoddle with his faith healing, a David Icke with his conspiracy theories and a Diego Maradona with his ‘hand of god’.  It’s no wonder that a footballer at prayer might be viewed with scepticism.

Yet, with his faith and reflective mind, Özil is not as much of an oddity in the game as we might think. Many players have a depth that is, understandably, missed by the general public. After all, we tend to only hear them speak in post-match interviews, and these are rarely philosophical affairs. How could they be? You try running round for 90 minutes and then replying with profundity when asked a question as fatuous as: ‘Were you pleased with your goal?’

I’ve done sit-down interviews with over top 100 football players and managers over the years. I also worked as a ghostwriter for two years with the majestic Dutchman Dennis Bergkamp. Ghosting can conjure curious intimacy between two people. I probably know Dennis better than I do some of my friends. We sometimes discussed the role god may have played in his extraordinary talent. The more I worked with footballers the more I realised that many of them are brighter and deeper than those who lazily write them off as dimwits.

One shouldn’t get too caught-up in the point anyway. Footballers should be no more expected to be intellectuals than Stephen Hawkings should be expected to be a sturdy centre-half.

Yet the world of faith could learn something from the joy and unity footballers bring us. There’s something very special about these men, who can, by merely kicking a ball around a field of grass, transfix and unite billions of people around the planet. The joy and unity that fans experience in the moment that the ball crosses the goal-line, and the energy that it creates in the universe, is something that most religious leaders and intellectuals can only dream of prompting.

That momentary feeling is, in my opinion, a glimpse of the real joy and unity that awaits us all in the future. The fact that footballers are able to provide that glimpse is, to me, wonderful.

This Sunday, I hope to see Özil create some goals and weave some magic. To see him pray will be pretty awesome too.

Read about my latest Arsenal FC book here. Follow me on Twitter. Sponsor me to run the Windsor Half Marathon for Colel Chabad.

Boot camp, BDSM, and the Jewish people

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This is a guest post from Mikey

This morning I suffered, where suffered is the key word, forty minutes in a so-called boot camp class at the gym. For the uninitiated, this is where a gym instructor tells participants to lift weights, run, squat, skip, throw heavy balls and carry out various other exercises supposedly to get you fit but in practice makes you feel ill.

Who, I wonder, actually enjoys being ordered to skip, jump, run and lift weights at 7.30am, and is prepared to pay good money to gyms for the so-called privilege. The ineluctable conclusion that a rational person will arrive at when contemplating such a question is that it is the same sort of people who get sexual gratification from being spanked. Indeed, one of the exercises was that you found a partner in the room, you both faced each other while doing press ups and continually slap a hand of the partner on each repetition. It is but a short step from such an exercise to one where you take turns bending your partner over your knee and slapping their bottom. So yes, ladies and gentleman, if you are into sadism and masochism and being submissive, sign up for boot camp at your local gym.

Generally, I despise identity politics, but I am going to make an exception and resort to such an argument. As Jews we have to admit boot camp is not for us. We have suffered enough. Let others suffer a bit. The gentiles can have boot camp. Indeed, I would not object if gyms put signs on their doors directing gentiles to boot camp and Jews to the coffee shop. We need a break from suffering. While the gentiles (who like BDSM) are in the gym being shouted out to keep their legs bent and arms stretched in some strange exercise, the Jews can eat a slice of hot apple strudel and drink a glass of lemon tea.

I should add a final note. Some might wonder where does this leave Jews who like BDSM. Well, I do not know about Jewish men, but Jewish women are welcome to send me a private message; for an exorbitantly large fee, I might be able to assist.

Irrespective of whether you are a Jew or a gentile, I bid you all a mighty fine day.

The Story of the Jews (and Datchet)

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Have you been watching Simon Schama’s BBC series The Story of the Jews? I absolutely loved last weekend’s opener and I’m looking forward to tonight’s second episode.

I started reading his semi-accompanying book this morning. He had me within the first few sentences with his superb voice, which is at once authoritative and charming – and most of all utterly compelling.

I was taken aback when, just four paragraphs in, he mentioned Datchet, the village in Berkshire where I live. He was recounting his childhood boat trips on the River Thames, during which his father first taught him about Jewish history.

Forgive me my excitement: it’s rare for little Datchet to get a mention in any book, let alone one about the history of the Jewish people between 1000 BCE and 1492 CE. I was so surprised to see it my eyes nearly popped out of my head. I must have looked a bit like new Arsenal signing Mesut Özil.

Are you enjoying Schama’s BBC series?

Songs that make me cry

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I wonder if crying gets an unfair press. There’s nothing inherently wrong with crying. Yes, we do it when terrible or painful things happen to us, but we also do it when beautiful and wonderful things happen to us.

Such as when we listen to a particularly beautiful or moving song.

So I thought I’d write about five songs that I often have a little sob to.

The Beatles – She’s Leaving Home

When Paul McCartney previewed this song for Beach Boy Brian Wilson and his wife the couple burst into tears. Don’t we all when we listen to it? The family in this song, about a daughter running away from home, is so ordinary. They could be any of us. Which is partly why it is so emotionally overwhelming. ‘Why would she treat us so thoughtlessly’, ask the parents. Sometimes, as this song shatters my heart to pieces, I wonder the same about Lennon and McCartney.

Ralph McTell – Maginot Waltz

Chris and I have enjoyed many a lovely day trip to Brighton. So this song about a group of friends, including a couple, taking a similar trip really makes me smile… until the final few lines, which brings immense sadness to the table. Have a listen. I knew Ralph McTell when I was a teenager, he lived around the corner from us and taught me to play another of his songs on the guitar. When I told him I was suffering from insomnia as I gave-up smoking, he suggested I try a pint of Guinness with a healthy dash of port stirred in. ‘That should get you off to sleep,’ he told me. Oh, it did.

Amy Winehouse – Tears Dry On Their Own

I promise you I am not being cheesy in choosing a song with ‘tears’ in the title. Up until Amy’s death in 2011, this song would never prompt a tear from me. But a few days after she died, I joined the vigil of fans that had assembled around her Camden home. Fans had left cards, flowers, guitars and full vodka bottles for Amy. The mood was just turning from one of sorrow and shock, to one of celebration of Amy’s life and music. This song suddenly rang out of the speakers someone had set up. Fans sang along and lifted glasses – some metaphorical, plenty literal – to Amy. It was shambolic and defiant: I think she might have approved. So I always feel emotional when I hear this song now as it reminds me of that week. ‘So we are history, The shadow covers me,The sky above a blaze that only lovers see…’

Tim Minchin – White Wine In The Sun

I love this Xmas song because it is about so much more than Xmas. It’s about life, love and family. I’ve never completed a listen of this song without having a little weep – particularly during the second half. Many of my family live in Australia and I spent my sixth Xmas there, but I think this song would make me weep all the same even if that wasn’t the case. It’s lovely.

Ed Sheeran – Wake Me Up

I adore Ed Sheeran, and his gentle, vulnerable songs. This is his most gentle song of all. Many love songs ask us what love is, some try to tell us what love is, while others make such grand, yet ultimately vague, claims for love that they can leave the listener feeling inadequate. In this song, I feel Ed is trying to show us what love is. It works for me. The musical simplicity of this track adds to its emotional punch. It is the third verse that is, for me, the real weepy…

In a week or so I’ll post about five songs that make me smile. In the meantime, I’d love to hear which songs make you cry…

That Arsenal ‘crisis’ in numbers…

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For many months there has been growing talk of Arsenal being in crisis and a need to replace Arsene Wenger as Manager. The negativity has been horrific.

So just how bad a ‘crisis’ are we in? Well, take a look at the chart below.

And now we’ve added the sublime Mesut Özil.

Come on, Arsenal fans, let’s get behind our great Club and clever Manager.

Lord Sacks: an inspiring Gooner

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You don’t need to be Jewish to have been inspired by Lord Jonathan Sacks, who steps down as Britain’s Chief Rabbi today after 22 years in the post.

I’ve read a handful of the 22 books he has written. I particularly enjoyed the way his Covenant & Conversation commentaries on the Bible brought its characters to colourful, three-dimensional life.

I also find him a compelling orator. My favourite speech of his, and one of my favourite speeches period, is the one he gave in 2011 about the Chabad Rebbe, Menachem Mendel Schneerson. It was as if he channeled the inspirational qualities of the Rebbe, proving inspirational himself.

I met Lord Sacks at a dinner event in London a few years ago. He was very encouraging to me about my blog and other activity for Israel. However, he seemed most excited when I told him that I am, like him, an Arsenal fan. We had a fun chat.

I wish him the best for the future – starting with a win for the Gunners in the north London derby this afternoon.

Expectant and alive

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I wanted to go to the seaside.

I stepped off the Brighton train at midday and walked downhill on West Street, my face expectant and alive. I could smell the sea!

All afternoon and into the evening I strolled up and down the beach. I popped onto Brighton Pier a few times, delighting in the purity of its pleasure: the hypnotic 2p machines, the raucous rides, the fairground music.

I paused on a deckchair and looked out to sea. I dozed off for a while and was awoken by a seagull which was laughing at me. I wondered if it was the same one that stole my ice cream when I was there on my birthday in June. What a dude.

I continued my strolling into the evening. As darkness drew in, my iTunes randomly skipped to Now The Night Is Here, by Paul Weller: ‘Let us not talk harshly now, our time is to reconcile. Now the night is here to tell us, to be in love, oh, to be in love.’

My room was overlooking the sea. I threw my windows wide open and left them that way overnight, the noise of passing revellers and traffic a price more than worth paying for an evening of sea air. It filled my lungs and my imagination.

I took an early-morning walk by the beach. I watched as stall holders and cafe owners quietly prepared their premises for the day’s fresh intake of visitors, who would themselves simultaneously be preparing for their trips.

After breakfast I sat and read on the Pier, alongside newspaper-browsing locals who, judging by their familiarity, sat and read here every morning. Imagine that.

Then I gathered my things and bade a silent farewell to the seaside, which had served me so well. As I did so, a seagull looked on, its breast puffed out with the pride of a successful host.

I walked uphill on West Street, against the flow of new visitors, their faces expectant and alive. They could smell the sea.