‘Like one single person:’ that is how Rashi explained the Torah’s use of the singular verb to describe the Children of Israel when they pitch camp before Mount Sinai. They were ‘of one heart and mind;’ their differences disappeared as they prepared to hear God’s word.

It’s not like that today. These are difficult times. We are conflicted, and our differences matter. While we do our best to stand together against antisemitism and hatred from without, we also face a struggle for the soul of Judaism from within.

We are not at liberty to be silent in that struggle because it concerns the very essence of our Judaism. The issues could not be greater: what kind of Torah do are we receiving at Sinai? What do we believe God is telling us?

This is how Raoul Wootliff, who grew up in our UK Masorti community but has been living in Israel for many years, answered these questions. He had not long beforehand been beaten up by thugs at a rally in support of Tommy Robinson for protesting against his racist values. On this occasion Raoul was addressing a crowd outside the police station in Modi’in where Alex Sinclair (also brought up in our congregation and also for decades in Israel) was detained for wearing a kippah embroidered with both the Israeli and Palestinian flags. This, said Raoul, is what it meant to be a free Jew in Israel:

The right to think. The right to believe. The right to express who we are – even when it is complex, even when it is uncomfortable…especially when it is uncomfortable.

That, he said, ‘is not the struggle of one kind of Jew – It is the struggle of all of us,’ and it shows not weakness but strength.

Alex himself, discharged unceremoniously from the station with the Palestinian flag cut from his kippah, spoke on Israel’s national media: ‘I am a Zionist, a Jewish educator; I have been for years.’ He is also an observant Jew. The two flags represented his hope for a better future.

I’m proud of Alex and Raoul; I admire their courage and commitment whether or not I share all their views. Immersed in Jewish practice, devoted to Israel, guided by Torah, they are dedicated to the dignity of all persons, Jews and non-Jews, to the rule of just, impartial law, to democracy and to hope. These values are as essential for the Judaism of the Diaspora as they are critical for Israel.

This Shavuot I’m taking their words with me to Sinai.

Sadly, I’m also taking the response of former Mossad chief, Tamir Pardo, who said when he witnessed the lawless anarchy underway in the West Bank: “I feel ashamed to be a Jew.” I’ve seen similar scenes for myself and felt likewise. Others, too, have spoken to me about their feelings of shame. I never thought I would hear such words about our compassionate, just, life-affirming, wise and beautiful Jewish heritage.

We can’t push all this aside as ‘not religion but politics.’ We can’t say, either, that this has nothing to do with us in the UK because it’s only about Israel. It impacts us profoundly. It provides ammunition for the constant media and social media fixation on the ethics of parts of Israeli society and some of its leadership. It’s manipulated and twisted into vicious antisemitic hate speech and murderous attacks aimed evilly at any and all Jews. It divides our communities and hearts, and challenges our loyalties.

Painful and severe as these impacts are, they are not my focus here. My concern is that what’s happening is being done in the name of Judaism and that it profanes our religion and our God.

So what then is the Torah I hope to hear at Sinai? There is, of course, no single answer because ‘the Torah has seventy faces,’ and seventy times seventy voices. But here is what I’m listening for, not just at the foot of the mountain, but always.

I seek to hear God’s voice as Rebbe Yehudah Aryeh-Leib Alter of Ger (1847 -1905) described it, when he wrote that, at the words ‘I am your God,’ all creation grew still. Every living being felt: ‘God is speaking to me,’ because God’s spirit is the sacred essence of all life. For all life bears God’s image and is sustained by God’s spirit.

I seek to hear the commandment ‘Don’t take my name in vain’ in the way Maimonides understood it when he wrote, in the Laws of the Foundations of Torah, that sanctifying God’s name means endeavouring to conduct ourselves with empathy, compassion, fairness and humility before everyone.

I want to understand ‘Don’t steal’ and ‘Don’t covet’ not just as the condemnation of robbery and theft, but also through what they imply about the need to work for societies which care for the needs of everyone, as Isaiah proclaimed: ‘If you see the hungry, feed them; the naked, clothe them; the dejected and homeless, give them shelter.’

These are the words of God from Sinai which I seek to follow and understand. From them, I believe, all the commandments, observances and teachings of our religion can be derived. This is my Judaism, by which, with all my failings, I endeavour to live. I believe it is true to, and in line with, the long, faithful, resilient, tradition of Jewish practice, discourse and commitment.

I believe, too, that we urgently need to teach, live by and stand up for this Judaism. The times are fraught and frightening. All the more, therefore, must we not allow this Judaism to be side-lined, delegitimised and silenced.

I believe, further, that this Judaism offers an essential voice not just within, but beyond, our own Jewish communities, out there in this world of growing uncertainly, fear, and indirection, where other, more dangerous, voices are busy seizing the space.