We are probably quite familiar with the three things the Mishna on 34a recommends that we say before Shabbat:
Have you given charity? (Issartem) Have you tended to the building of community (Eiravtem)?
Now let us light the Shabbat candles.
What we may not realise is that the Talmud expands upon this, emphasising a motif of peace which runs through it.
It starts by basing the origins of the practice in the following verse:
And you will know that your tent is one of peace, when you visit your home you will never sin. (Job 5.24)
So the motivation of the practice is to ensure that we bring about peace, that we enact the prayer of ‘Sim Shalom’ within our own house.
Charity may begin at home; in the Talmudic worldview, peace certainly does.
We proceed with an inward movement, pausing to taking care of our external cares before our lens focusses back on the home, on the inner core, on the nuclear family.
We ensure we have given charity and paid our taxes, that our prescribed responsibility to broader society has been fulfilled.
We then focus on the closer network of community, and ensure that those bonds too have been sufficiently nurtured, that we are connected to those close to us, that our home is not an island in a sea of hostility.
Following that, we light the candles, transforming the home into a sacred space, placing within it an image of the soul, reminding ourselves that only through looking inwards might peace be achieved.
And we are told more than this, we are given not just the ritual tools with which to build peace, but also the language needed for this purpose, the manner with which it must be communicated:
Rabba bar Rav Huna said: Even though the Sages told us to mention these three things in our house before Shabbat, we must, nonetheless, be sure to say them pleasantly, with good grace, in order that they be accepted, that they are made welcome.
Rav Ashi [living over 100 years later]said: I never heard this teaching of Rabba bar Rav Huna, but I behaved that way nonetheless, because it made sense to me.
We must build peace, and we must do it peacefully, gently.
And this is not merely a pragmatic decision, it cuts to the core of where peace really begins. It must first take root in the depths of our psyche, where its opposites – anxiety, unease, dischord – all too often reign.
There is no better way to calm these uneasy waters than an encounter with a person who radiates a genuine sense of deep and profound peace. We all meet such people from time to time, and we are right to think that there is something miraculous about such encounters. There is something arresting about the way their deeply rooted calm, an authentic expression of their being, without any trace of artifice, gradually seeps into our own psyche, easing and relaxing the tension in our soul.
Peace begins in the home, but to even get to that point, we must first work towards peace in our soul.
And I love the qualification in this teaching – Even though the Sages told us… – do not think that acting out of piety or rectitude absolves you from the need to embody peace, do not get hung up on your own righteousness, on your sense of superiority. These attitudes, these moves towards some external validation of one’s truth, towards an objective justification of one’s being, are perhaps the enemies of peace. They are the progenitors of a religion rooted in strife, in enmity, in difference, in demonising the other.
There are many senses here in which we are being guided inwards, in which only the long and difficult journey to our centre will yield the genuinely important result.
But my mind is not only on the inner tonight.
I am profoundly saddened by what is happening in Israel right now, by the loss of lives on both sides, by the way in which people are being forced to flee their homes in terror, the gentle rhythms of domestic life shattered by hatred and aggression.
We are not living in times of peace.
I am no military strategist, and I do not claim much expertise in political matters either, but I cannot stand by silently whilst this madness goes on.
We must return peace to the top of the political agenda, on both sides, for it is craziness to believe that either side can ever live in happiness without it.
We must concede that the Bible speaks sometimes in the violent language of military conquest, and we must accept some responsibility for maintaining this discourse, for allowing it to infect the thinking and discussion of our politics.
But we must move beyond it, we must see that the ultimate religious value is peace, that it is the enduring power for change in the world, the force that creates life, the spirit that breeds hope.
We must believe in peace and we must find leaders who know how to speak the language of peace, who do not feel duty bound to sound more aggressive than their opponents, who feel sure that they will be elected because they have exhibited greater toughness and bravado.
Again, these dispositions have their place, but I fear that our leaders are in thrall to them, seduced by their appeal, lost in their promise of power, both personal and political. If peace has lost its grip on them, if they have not made space for it in their hearts, then we are in a truly desperate position.
I don’t know how the spirit of peace can be transmitted to every minor faction who might get their hands onto some rockets, I haven’t got a fully worked out implementation plan. But I do know that if we don’t grasp how central peace is as a value, if we do not return it to the centre of our discourse and our personalities, then it will never catch on, its force will never be felt.
The killing cannot go on, we need to re-kindle the flame of peace.
And let us not be complacent about this, let us all as individuals question quite how much work we are doing to ensure that we are a source of peace, that we have connected with peace in our souls and that we are able to transmit it to others.
Peace is our own problem, not one more way in which we are superior to our partners in conflict.
And let us not confuse peace with passivity; peace is strong, it is powerful, and the person who finds it can stand courageously in the face of a violence which will always eventually exhaust itself.
Ghandi springs to mind as an example of this, of the way that peace might be part of the battle against violence, a war against war:
If we are to teach real peace in this world, and if we are to carry on a real war against war, we shall have to begin with the children.
But it doesn’t just begin with the children, he too saw that it begins with ourselves, with the wars that are raging inside of us:
When you find peace within yourself, you become the kind of person who can live at peace with others.
How wonderful that the Talmud tried to teach us this two thousand years ago; how tragic that we seem to have so frequently forgotten it.
May this Shabbat be marked by the spirit of peace, may we welcome it wholeheartedly into our psyches and into our homes. And may it spread from there to the rest of our world, bringing the senseless killing everywhere to an abrupt and lasting end.
May we meditate on the words of the prophet Isaiah, and be pained that all these years later we have yet to bring about his vision:
Nation will not lift up sword against nation, And never again will they learn war.
For you shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace.