Diary – 15 January 2026
25 Tevet—this year on 14 January—we observed the yahrzeit of our eldest son, Yisrolik, of blessed memory (z”l). He passed away five years ago in London, where he lived. We were unable to attend his funeral because of the coronavirus. Normally I am reserved about our private life, but because our daughter-in-law—his widow—has dedicated an impressive poem to him in the Jewish Tribune, and his date of passing has therefore already been taken out of the private sphere, I want to mention it here as well.
Losing a child is no small matter, and yet life goes on as it does. When a child is born we rejoice; at death there is intense sorrow. But if we (can) set emotions aside, joy and sorrow are not so self-evident. Who knows whether a newborn baby will develop into a good person? Of course we hope so, but it is not a given. Our world does not lack great and small villains. So what, then, is the joy at a birth? But when we see that someone, after a very good life, exchanges this earthly existence for a higher life, then joy and gratitude would be appropriate. And so Blouma, I, and Nechummele—his widow—are grateful that for forty-seven years Yisrolik managed to mean so extraordinarily much to others. He carried a long list of phone numbers in his head of people he regularly called to support them with their problems or to break through their loneliness with an interested and, above all, sincerely meant “How are you?”
Last night we attended an evening with the business club of Christians for Israel. As I understood it, a little over 250 of the 420 club members were present. What an enormous pro-Israel gathering. In fact, I don’t need to go to such a meeting, because they stood, stand, and will continue to stand behind Israel. Why, then, did I feel I should go anyway? To show how much their “standing behind Israel” is appreciated by us Jews.
During the walking buffet I was bombarded with a range of questions, most of them about texts from the Torah, Prophets, and Writings—so from the Tanakh. The answer often lies hidden in the Hebrew text, or better put: in the absence of the original Hebrew text. The plain text has many meanings that are lost in translation. We translate Shabbat as “day of rest,” but I am usually exhausted at the end of Shabbat… And in Dutch we call a man “man” and a woman “vrouw”—two words that have nothing in common, which is actually illogical, because in essence men and women are the same: the man is the male version of a human being and the woman, as it were, the female edition. But that is not visible in our Dutch language. It is in the language of the Torah. Man and woman have the same name, only declined differently: masculine for the man and feminine for the woman—ish and ishah. And so we could go on for many diaries! Conclusion: without the original text, a great deal of meaning is lost.
And so, when the official program had ended and everyone was free to enjoy the buffet, I felt like a kind of tourist-information pillar! Certainly fun and interesting, but extremely tiring. And so, after all the questions and upon returning home, I dove into bed. That dive was necessary, because the next morning—this morning—I had to be up at the crack of dawn!
At nine o’clock in the morning Blouma and I were already picked up to drive to Hotel Adagio in Amstelveen for a conference of the ICCRR on minorities in Israel, to which we were personally invited by Mr. Marty Hamburger. Don’t ask me what ICCRR stands for; that remained unclear to me. But what did become surprisingly clear is that the Middle East problem, which the conference addressed, is far more complex than is assumed in our black-and-white, Calvinistically thinking little frog country. It is not only Jews versus Palestinians; far more, it is about a whole range of minorities, each with their own culture, area of residence, language, and religion. To achieve peace in the Middle East, peacemakers must first understand the illness and be deeply aware that the Middle East problem is not black and white, but intensely gray. And if there is a good physician who wants to heal the patient and fully understands the nature of the disease we are dealing with, then—according to the Talmud—the patient is already half cured. But as long as the physicians are more concerned with self-enrichment and lack insight into the disease—and often even refuse to make a diagnosis out of selfish self-interest—healing is unfortunately still not in sight.
Then I went to something of an opposite: Saïd & Lody. A Jew and a Moroccan who have been working together for fifteen years, seeking common ground and trying to fight against hatred and for brotherhood. What colleague and friend Rabbi Lody van de Kamp has managed to achieve is impressive. If only there were Saïd & Lody figures in more countries and cities… Engaging in conversation, meeting one another, being allowed to disagree. But whether many Saïds and Lodies can be found in many places in our country, I do not know. Most Saïds have been raised with a deep, unmentionable hatred of the Lodies, or—as I wrote in an earlier diary—antisemitism and anti-Zionism are fed with the mother’s milk. Precisely for that reason, my heartfelt compliments on “15 years of Saïd & Lody.”
In a moment there is still a Zoom interview. This time not for radio, television, a documentary, or a livestream, but for a Dutch couple in Israel who have already shared a commendable number of decades together—difficult, beautiful, and wonderful years alike. That is the beauty of my chief-rabbinical job. Even if I were to say nothing to the bridal couple and only nod to them kindly and festively, they would be happy and grateful because the Chief Rabbi personally congratulated them. Dear bridal couple: if you read my diary, then from this place already—as an appetizer for the Zoom interview—mazzeltov, mazzeltov! Many more years in health, prosperity, and shalom!