Chas Newkey-Burden's Blog, page 7

The Nagasaki perspective

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Arsenal are top of the league – but you wouldn’t know it by listening to some Gunners fans.

The negativity among many Gooners is so strong that you’d think we were bottom of the league.

We might be top, they say, but we could have done with signing another striker during the transfer window. (And I’d tend to agree.)

We might be top but we’ve so many tough fixtures ahead that we won’t stay there. (And I’d definitely agree.)

We might be top but Wenger doesn’t know what he’s doing. (And I’d completely disagree. Since when was a manager incidental to a club being top of one of the strongest leagues on the planet?)

But the point is – we’re top. There’s not a club in England that would not swap their position for ours.

So why don’t we enjoy it? To me it’s ridiculous to not enjoy being top of the league.

Yet when I look at life, I can see how I frequently don’t appreciate the good times. When I heap layer upon layer of ‘yeah buts’ on moments when life is lovely.

Gratitude is good. I love the saying of Rabbi Nachman that, when you are asked how your life is, if you reply: ‘Great’, God will say: ‘You think this is great?’

When I was at Arsenal on Sunday I saw numerous long faces as we beat Crystal Palace to return to the top of the league. The woman in this photo looks happier than many of the fans at the Emirates that day. And she’s emerging from a bunker in Nagasaki after a nuclear bomb was dropped on the city.

Perspective’s a funny thing. Have a lovely weekend.

Be happy children

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When I posted about songs that make me cry, I forgot to include what might be my biggest tear-jerker of all – Be Happy Children by Paul Weller.

The sobs this song produces are not sad ones, they are sparkling ones.

This grand, sweet ballad oozes emotion from the start. Its lyrics cross generations in the Weller family. Paul wrote it after his dad died, yet he is also singing it to his own children, as if from beyond the grave. Be happy children!

In the second verse the lyrics, in my hearing of them, sweep beyond any family and embrace all of creation.

This is God singing to us all through Weller:

‘For my love knows no limit, when it comes to loving you,

‘And my heart is always with you,

‘And I’m always on your side.’

It’s lovely that Weller’s daughter Leah sings on some of the bridge parts and then, as if the listener’s emotions are not stirred enough, his son Mac, then five, adds a cute moment at the close of the song.

I want this played at my funeral. Be happy children!

PS: It’s hard to find a video or MP3 of the studio version online. But it is here, where someone has added their own personal slideshow to it.

Holocaust Memorial Day 2014

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You ask me, “Why did G‑d allow it to happen?”

You recognize that everything in this world has purpose and meaning. Examine any aspect of His vast Creation, from the cosmos to the workings of the atom, and you will see there must be a plan.

And so you ask, where does this fit into the plan?

How could it?

I can only answer, painfully, G‑d alone knows.

But what I cannot know, I need not know.

I need not know in order to fulfill

that which my Creator has created me to do.

And that is, to change the world

so this could never happen again.

(The Chabad Rebbe, Menachem M Schneerson)

OMG, it’s OvG on OMB…

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Here’s a video of me on Sky News earlier this evening, discussing the arrest of Justin Bieber.

A home from home

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I was so upset when Arsenal left Highbury in 2006. The art deco design, the proximity to the pitch, the many memories of dashing heroes and devastating victories – I’d grown more attached to the place than I’d ever realised.

I happened to be in the neighbourhood for a meeting on the day they started knocking down the North Bank. My stomach almost heaved as I saw the home of so many memories smashed into dust. Ever since, I’ve always felt genuinely nauseous when I walk past what remains of Highbury while en route to the Emirates, our new stadium.

It is an awe-inspiring new venue. Yet while I grasp the economic need for us to have moved there, it’s taken me a while to feel a genuine emotional connection with the vast, shiny bowl.

This season, it’s really started to feel like home. And I love it.

Why I’m happy to be a hypocrite

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Several years I co-wrote a book about with Julie Burchill. We took aim at the hypocrisy of a raft of targets including Israel-bashers, reformed smokers and the environmental movement.

One reviewer described our book as ‘a collection of enjoyable rants on hypocritical attitudes to everything from anal sex to Israel and Amy Winehouse’.

I still love the book – it’s angry, crazy and funny in all the right places.

But I do feel differently now about hypocrisy.

Now, I feel that to accuse someone of being a hypocrite is simply to accuse them of being spiritually alive. Therefore, to try and avoid being a hypocrite is to try and avoid being spiritually alive.

My favourite quote about hypocrisy comes from the Chabad Rebbe. He wrote: ‘Do not be dismayed by the hypocrisy of others, nor by your own inconsistencies. Our lives are all journeys through hills and valleys—no person’s spiritual standing is a static affair.’

Wise words. Have a lovely weekend everyone.

Ariel Sharon: Shalom Haver

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It was only once I understood Ariel Sharon that I understood Israel.

It was 2001 and he had recently been elected as prime minister of Israel. Some commentators in the British media were comparing him to Pol Pot.

I was horrified but I was also confused. I didn’t know much about Israel but I knew that no Jewish person I had ever met would elect a man worthy of comparison with Pol Pot. So I asked a Jewish colleague of mine to explain Sharon, and Israel, to me. He did so, helping me understand both man and nation’s darkest and finest hours.

It was a pivotal conversation that inspired me to visit Israel and then to start this blog.

The years since that conversation include Sharon’s painful decision to withdraw from Gaza in 2005. It was the final meaningful act of his life. As with the great Menachem Begin before him, a ‘right-wing hardliner’ had taken a painful step for peace.

Well, that’s my view of the disengagement anyway. Critics of Sharon claim it was a sneaky trick, designed to cement Israel’s presence in the West Bank. Indeed, after Sharon announced the withdrawal, some said it would never happen. ‘Wait and see,’ said B’Tselem founder Anat Biletski. ‘Something will come up. There will be an emergency. The withdrawal will never happen.’

But it did happen. Sharon said he had come to the conclusion that Israel’s presence in the contested territories could not ‘continue endlessly’. He argued: ‘To keep 3.5 million people under occupation is bad for us and bad for them. I want to say clearly that I have come to the conclusion that we have to reach an agreement.’

He was also, reportedly, planning a unilateral withdrawal from the West Bank.

Then the man they called ‘Arik Melech Yisrael’ suffered a stroke and fell into a coma, before losing his life today. It’s a sad moment.

Shalom haver.

Above is the dedication page of the book Julie Burchill and I wrote together. I’m sure many of you will know that the ‘Arik’ is Ariel Sharon, and the ‘Bibi’ Benjamin Netanyahu.

Park life

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Are you thinking of taking up exercise as a new year’s resolution? As regular readers know, I love a bit of exercise. I thought I’d share with you my story of how I fell in love with, then out of love with, then back in love with, running.

Back in January of 2013 I was fed up. A couple of things going on in my life were scaring me, and the winter was ghastly. A combination of the freezing conditions and my own anxiety had also put me off running, which is normally one of my favourite ways to shrug off any blues.

One morning that freezing month, as I was walking through a local park, I noticed a few people running along what seemed a defined route. Then I noticed a few more. Then I noticed there were cones along the route.

That’s funny, I thought, I hadn’t heard of an official race being held in the park. So I wondered what it was all about. I decided to look into it online when I got home. Then I sank back into my thoughts and forgot all about it for months.

A quick note on my running: over the past 12 years, it has been one of the few consistents in my life. I’ve run several 10Ks, a few 10-mile races, many half marathons and even two full marathons.

I love the feeling of freedom it gives me, and the glow of wellbeing that stays with me afterwards. The fact it keeps me physically fit and healthy is obviously a plus point, but it’s the sense of freedom and wellbeing that keeps me slipping my trainers on.

None of us want to feel encaged and we all find out own way to feel free. Never do I feel more liberated than as I run alone through the greenery of Berkshire.

But as I trained for this year’s Windsor Half Marathon, I began to feel imprisoned by my running. Perhaps it’s just getting older but the training began to increasingly eat into my life. I wouldn’t want to do anything strenuous the day before my weekly long training run so I could preserve energy. The day of the long run itself was more or less a washout socially, as I would either be running or resting. And as I’ve got older it has taken me up to 48 hours to fully recover afterwards. That was four days out of every week dictated by just one of my training runs.

I stuck with the training but by the time I ran the half marathon at the end of September, I had already resolved that I would only run short distances in the future. As if to underscore this resolution, in the immediate aftermath of the half marathon I suffered a memorable humiliation.

As I hobbled away from the finishing line, Chris, who was waiting for me nearby, mentioned that he had seen countless men and women who were several decades older than me finish some time ahead of me. “They were just walking home normally,” he said. He’s always supported me in my running and in everything I do, so I knew he was making the point lovingly.

A few minutes later I collapsed with the most excruciating cramp. I’ve never had cramp like it: when I looked down the muscles in my legs were so twisted they looked like fusilli. As I writhed around in agony, I looked up and saw some of the aforementioned silver-haired runners, strolling past with their medals. Message received and understood.

I needed a new start to get me passionate about running again. A few days later, I remembered about the race I had seen in my local park in January. I looked into it online. I was thrilled to discover it is actually a weekly 5K event called Parkrun.

Parkruns, I discovered, are free, weekly, timed 5km runs which take place around the country (and beyond) every Saturday. Anyone can take part. Within a few hours of each Parkrun finishing, the results are posted online. Dozens of photographs are then also published, followed by a warm and witty race report. There are extensive results tables which list runners by position, time, age category and all manner of other criteria. Maths is not my strong point so I don’t understand all the data, but I’m pretty glad it is there.

My local Parkrun is in Upton Court Park. I decided to go and see what it was all about. I remember the Saturday in November when I arrived for my first race. I was all bashful grins and overly-elaborate warm-ups, the better to avoid eye contact with the strangers I secretly wanted to chat to but felt too shy to approach.

But we soon all got talking and I found the organisers and runners were the friendliest bunch of people you could hope to meet. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Thanks to modern technology it is simple to time your own 5km run around your local park. So we join our local Parkrun not just to be timed, but to create between us something bigger.

Every Saturday we gather, all ages, abilities, sizes and backgrounds. Some more or less sprint, others more or less walk. The rest of us are somewhere in the middle. Everyone is friendly and the energy is so much more than physical. Between the runners and the volunteers, we do indeed create something bigger.

I can be very competitive but only against myself. Since I joined Parkrun I’ve become hopelessly obsessed with my finish time and aiming for ever faster personal bests (PBs). For two spooky consecutive weeks I ran an aesthetically-pleasing PB of 22:22. Then I smashed that with a finish time of 21:49, which remains my record as I write this. The closest to the front I’ve finished is 10th place (in a race that typically draws around 50 people) and last weekend I finished 2nd in my age category.

But it’s really that something bigger that keeps me going back. If you want a weekly reminder that world is a lovely place, Parkrun is your friend. I’d recommend it to anyone from serious runners to bewildered beginners. It’s made me fall in love with running all over again. It’s made me fall a little more in love with life, too.

Muslims save Bradford Synagogue

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“It makes me proud that we can protect our neighbours and at the same time preserve an important part of Bradford’s cultural heritage.”

A synagogue in Bradford has been saved by the city’s Muslims. This is a lovely story. It’s good for all the obvious reasons, and also because it will so disappoint the bigots, profiteers of doom, division-lovers and other bores.

Wonderful.

My 2013 in photos…

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The Newkey-Burden clan at the Oxford v Cambridge boat race

Giving the haters some flag love outside the ZF concert

So many fun days out and guiding conversations with my lovely Chris

Being mistaken for a frum Sephardi at Starbucks

Seeing my heroes Usain Bolt and Mo Farah at the London 2012 anniversary games

A day with Gilad Shalit in London

Taking my lovely niece May to her first football match

The new edition of my Adele biography was published

Hanging out with alpacas in Suffolk

Starting to read The Zohar. I’m currently in volume 2 (of 23) of ‘the orchard’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Running the Windsor Half Marathon for Colel Chabad

Winning Wizo’s Commitment to Israel award

 

Seeing The Pogues with David Toube of Harry’s Place