Rabbi Pete’s broadcasting ‘career’ began next door to his beloved Watford Football Club’s home ground, on Watford General Hospital Radio.

While at UAHC Camp Eisner in Massachusetts in the summer of 1988, Pete presented the morning wake-up show which was broadcast to the campers within a radius of just a few hundred metres. He did some radio work on BBC Radio WM (West Midlands) while in Birmingham between 1990 and 1993 but it was in Scotland, on BBC Radio Scotland that his love of broadcasting blossomed. As well as frequently presenting ‘Thought for the Day’ on ‘Good Morning Scotland’, Pete also featured in several longer broadcasts about various aspects of his life and the place of Judaism in it.

When he moved south in 2003, Pete was fortunate enough to make contact with the producer of ‘Pause for Thought’ on BBC Radio 2’s ‘Wake up to Wogan.’ He appeared regularly on that show and now appears on the Chris Evans show, and also with Aled Jones on ‘Good Morning Sunday’. He still keeps up his contacts with BBC Radio Scotland and often broadcasts from the local studios to listeners up north.

Scroll down to read some of Pete’s ‘Pause for Thought’ scripts from over the years:

BBC Radio Scotland: Thought for the Day:
October 12th 2001: In the wake of 9/11 – a defence of God and religion
February 20th 2002: Reflections on my son’s bar-mitzvah ceremony
March 13th 2002: A criticism of Ariel Sharon’s policies (this one got me into lots of trouble and also a mention in the annals of the Scottish Parliament (motion no S1M-2902): http://www.scottish.parliament.uk/business/businessBulletin/bb-02/bb-03-14f.htm

BBC Radio 2: Pause for Thought:
August 2nd 2005: Mixed faith blessings
July 19th 2006: Just after the outbreak of war between Israel and Hizbullah
April 2nd 2007: A Passover message
May 14th 2008:  Beer and Swords in exams
Feb 5th 2008 : Super Tuesday
June 18th 2008 : Football, Life & Statistics
January 26 2010: A Future and  Hope

Pause for Thought - BBC Radio 2 - 26th January 2010 - "A Future and a Hope"

Imagine the scene: Poland sixty-five years ago today. Just another cold, grey January day, like any other. The sun didn’t really rise over Auschwitz on this morning – but then it seemed to have set on this place a long time ago, never to rise again.

Then imagine that, somewhere in a corner of this grey scene, there is a young girl staring at the horizon. A combination of determination, luck and a refusal to give up hope means she can still imagine a future beyond this place, even though for almost three years, her world has stopped at the barbed wire fence.

As she stares into the distance beyond that fence, her mind fills with images of her past – family meals with her grandfather, her time at university, her childhood days … And she closes her eyes to imagine a future outside this place, one in which she might have a family of her own, see her children go to university, raise grandchildren…

All around her is despair, in this place that seems to symbolise the death of all hope for her, for her people, for humanity. But still, on this grey January day exactly sixty-five years ago today, she allows herself to imagine a future that none in this place would even dare to dream of.

But in places where all hope seems to have died, the human capacity to retain a vision of a future still remains. In places of the greatest despair, human beings can still retain their dignity, their humanity and their faith. We see it even now, as people emerge from the rubble of collapsed buildings, clinging to life against all odds. We see it in our response to such disasters, we recognise a common link that unites us all. And what unites us is our refusal to give up, even in times of great darkness and despair.

Sixty-five years ago, the young girl still sits, imagining, dreaming, hoping. It is January 26th 1945. She does not know that tomorrow Russian troops will enter the gates at which she stares. They will open the eyes of the world to the horror that humankind can inflict upon itself. But they will also allow the dreams of the young girl who stared at the horizon sixty-five years ago today to come true…

Thought for the Day - Radio Scotland 12th October 2001
It’s times like this, I suppose, which give religion a bad name. For many, it could have no other type of name, having been a source of conflict between human beings throughout the ages, a divisive and destructive force which belittles and degrades humanity.

Richard Dawkins, the evolutionary biologist, suggests that before September 11th most people viewed religion as harmless nonsense. Now, he says, it must be viewed as lethally dangerous nonsense. But religion is primarily an ennobling factor. Thousands of years ago, in societies less certain than our own about how the world worked, humans looked beyond their own understanding for a source of power which ordered the world. They treated the unseen force they perceived with an awe and respect which was neither nonsense nor dangerous; believing that danger dwelt in neglecting or ignoring that force, not in acknowledging or embracing it.

Nowadays our knowledge of the world has increased to such an extent that we no longer need to look beyond our own understanding for explanations. We believe that we know everything there is to know, everything our ancestors did not know and which required them to look beyond their own existence for a divine presence.

And so we no longer look beyond our own lives to seek explanations or, rather, to recognise that there is much in our world and our lives which defies explanation, even from such scientific giants as Richard Dawkins.

The purpose of religion is to remind us that there is much in our world which we do not understand. Religion becomes dangerous when it claims certainties in a universe in which there is only uncertainty, when it claims absolute truth in a world which contains many truths. When it makes such claims, it has truly lost its way and has, indeed, become dangerous nonsense.

Religion began as a search to explain that which could not be explained. In our bewildering world, it would seem that we are faced with much which defies and requires explanation. Perhaps now religion can reclaim its true role and enable us to respect our world and recognise our vulnerability in it. And may it also reclaim another of its vital functions, also badly needed in these dangerous days: may it offer us hope and comfort, faith and direction in a world which seems to be losing its way.

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Thought for the Day - Radio Scotland 20th February 2002

Two weeks ago, my son celebrated his bar-mitzvah ceremony. This is when a Jewish child, on reaching the age of thirteen, reads from the Torah, the holy scroll of Judaism, in the presence of the community. My son’s reading was on the theme of revelation, the legend of the appearance of God at Mount Sinai over three thousand years ago. Every religion has as its origin such a moment, when heaven and earth meet one another and humanity is briefly touched by the divine.

Whatever dwells in the mystery beyond our comprehension reaches down to us at such times, and we, in ways which are equally impossible to explain, rise up to meet it. This does not just occur in powerful moments of revelation like the one experienced by the Israelites at Mount Sinai, but also in very private, personal moments in our individual lives. My son standing before the community declaring his commitment to it was one such moment. It was an occasion where heaven and earth briefly met, where I was able to step out of the everyday to a level of experience which exists on a different plane.

It was on that same plane that I felt the absence of my late father from that ceremony. Yesterday was the first anniversary of his death - known by the Yiddish word Yahrzeit. In Jewish tradition, a memorial candle which burns for 24 hours, is kindled on the anniversary of the death of a loved one. I lit the candle and left it flickering in the hallway of my house. I passed by it many times during the day and experienced a gentle sense of its warmth and light each time I acknowledged its presence. Perhaps I even engaged in a private conversation with it on occasion, I couldn’t say for sure. But I know that I had a keener awareness of my father’s presence - and absence - each time I glimpsed that candle.

Once again, heaven and earth had met. I cannot say for sure where my father now dwells - the mystery is too impenetrable - but I have no doubt that he was closer to me while that candle glowed in my home. And he was there also at my son’s bar-mitzvah ceremony, touching this life in a way that is always possible when heaven and earth draw close to one another.

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Thought for the Day - Radio Scotland 13th March 2002

As a Rabbi, it’s difficult for me to express criticism of the bloody and brutal policies of Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon.

It’s difficult precisely because for the rest of the world it appears to be almost too easy to do so.

It’s difficult because media reports of the appalling incidents in the blood spattered area of the Middle East have used the words Israeli and Jewish interchangeably, as though there were no distinction between the two.

It’s difficult because offering such criticism might place me in the same camp as those who would make absurd and offensive comparisons between Israel and Nazi Germany, or between what’s happening to the Palestinians and the genocide of the Holocaust.

It’s difficult because criticism of Israel seems to fall so readily from the lips of Israel's detractors that to add one's voice to over-simplified and often simplistic views would be seen as a betrayal of the Jewish community, already beleaguered and sensing something more sinister beneath the easy diatribes.

It’s difficult because those who demand that Israel return to the pre 1967 borders seem unaware that the reason Israel stepped beyond those borders 35 years ago was to defend herself against the openly stated - and still not fully rescinded - desire of her Arab neighbours to push the inhabitants of the then 19 year-old country into the Mediterranean Sea.

But as a Rabbi it’s difficult not to criticise the bloody and brutal policies of Ariel Sharon. They lack morality, they lack integrity, they lack humanity and they lack purpose, unless that purpose be to match the Palestinians’ hatred of Israel with a similar hatred. And so, at the risk of falling foul of all the difficulties I’ve outlined, I will most certainly and most vociferously criticise the bloody and brutal policies of Ariel Sharon. They’re an affront to Judaism, they’re an affront to humanity, they’re an affront to God. And so I criticise them. But criticism is of no value unless it offers an alternative, a tangible and achievable hope of peace. Until something more positive and constructive than empty rhetoric emerges from all sides, we shall simply continue to hide behind our respective prejudices and versions of history and the blood of innocents will continue to flow.

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Pause for Thought: BBC Radio 2 August 2nd 2005

Well Terry, last Sunday I had the pleasure of giving a blessing at a wedding between a Jewish bride and a non-Jewish groom. Mixed faith weddings are becoming increasingly frequent in our multi-cultural society – Liberal Judaism recognises this and permits its Rabbis to give blessings at such weddings.

But civil law only permits a Rabbi to officiate at weddings between two Jews and so before I can give my blessing to the couple, a civil ceremony, overseen by a registrar, must first take place. The very first mixed faith blessing I ever did was in a hotel deepest Yorkshire. All the non-Jewish guests and family sat on one side of the room and the Jewish people were on the other. The registrar entered and announced: ‘We are here to celebrate the wonder that is love...’ Only once the registrar had left was I allowed to step forward and introduce God into the proceedings – registrars are very strict in excluding anything or anyone religious from civil ceremonies.

I do have some sympathy with them. Religious weddings are filled with wonderful symbols and rituals but if you trace them back, most of them are based on archaic superstitions to encourage the couple to produce the next generation of a particular tribe or group. And some elements of this tribal mentality still prevail in certain religious groups where a marriage between people of two different faiths is frowned upon or rejected.

My role in a mixed faith wedding ceremony is to point out that love does not take any notice of cultural distinctions. In our modern world, there is every chance that people from different cultures will meet and want to marry.

Differences in culture will always prevail – like at the end of that Yorkshire ceremony, where the non-Jewish guests all stood up and ambled towards the bar while the Jews sprinted to the food. But everyone there was celebrating the fact that two people had found one another and wished to make a commitment to sharing their lives together.

That’s what weddings are all about, regardless of the religious persuasion of the participants. And I’m delighted that my religion permits me to offer God’s blessing to a couple who have discovered that mystical attraction which crosses cultural boundaries – or, as someone once said, to help them ‘…celebrate the wonder that is love.’

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Pause for Thought: BBC Radio 2 July 19th 2006

Thousands of years ago, according to my tradition, God was very evident in the Middle East. Prophets beheld visions of peace, heard God speaking to them in a still, small voice and they recorded those visions and that voice in texts to which I look for inspiration in a different time and a different place.

Other traditions also have their roots in the Middle East, revelations and perceptions that were experienced in this land, where God spoke to humanity in a variety of languages and symbols, offering blueprints for people to grow and fulfil their divinely implanted potential.
Where now can we find God in the Middle East? God is not in the air strikes or the missiles which rain destruction and death on the towns and cities of Lebanon and northern Israel. God is not in the rhetoric of politicians and military leaders who threaten to bring ever greater showers of destruction from the skies to those who live a few miles away across a physical border which has become an ideological chasm.

So where is God in this carnage and chaos which blights the very place where once the divine voice was heard so clearly? The vision of peace has been obscured by the clouds of smoke which rise from shattered buildings, reduced to rubble by high explosives. The still small voice has been drowned out by the babble of threat and counter-threat, accusation and counter-accusation which fills the air and bewilders us as we listen. And so this place, so filled with history, scratches another ugly scar upon the records and the conscience of our time.

Our consciences cry out in protest at the hatred, the despair, the futility of such senseless carnage. Every day we see more proof, more demonstrations, of God’s absence from this place.

But God is with us as we watch, sharing our revulsion, filling us with horror at this shameful spectacle of human intolerance. As long as we feel that horror and are moved to speak out against it, God’s voice will continue to be heard. The still small voice which once spoke to us of peace lives on in the hopes and prayers of those who wish that its message will once more be heard in this place, bringing consolation to those who suffer and hope to us all.

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Pause for Thought: BBC Radio 2 August 2nd 2005

Well Terry we’re on the eve of another Jewish festival – I hope you’re managing to keep up with all this. The cakes on which you’re chomping while I give you a two-minute pause are made of ingredients that are suitable for the festival of Passover, which begins tonight.

It’s become a bit of a standard line that Judaism is all about food and its festivals reflect this. One of the biblical instructions about Passover is that no leavened goods should be eaten during he seven days of the festival – another opportunity for us to agonise over what we can and can’t eat. And as you can testify, this prohibition doesn’t stop us producing cakes and other goodies to ensure that we won’t waste away during the next seven days.

But the Bible says something else about this festival. It tells us that we observe it to remind ourselves that our ancestors were slaves in Egypt and that they found freedom at this time thousands of years ago. The Torah, the holy book at the heart of Judaism constantly repeats the message that ‘you were slaves in the land of Egypt therefore do not oppress the stranger.’ You know what it was like to be a slave so don’t do it to anyone else – and make sure that no-one else suffers like you did.

And that is the point of the festival of Passover. In fact, it’s the whole point. And the problem I have is that we seem to get so hung up on what we should or shouldn’t eat that we forget what the actual message of the festival is about. I suspect that’s true of religious ritual in general – ritual is meant to serve as a reminder to encourage us to act in an appropriate way.

But all too often, ritual becomes an end in itself; we get stuck on the detail and forget the principle that underlies it. If the painstaking inspection of food over the next seven days encourages my fellow Jews to work for the liberation of those who are oppressed, then all well and good. But my fear is that the observance of Passover begins and ends with the dietary regulations and that the cry for liberty, which resides at the heart of the prophetic religious message of my faith will be lost. And that, I believe, is a betrayal of my ancestors’ experiences and of the religion I have the privilege to follow and represent.

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Pause for Thought: BBC Radio 2 May 14th 2008

Why is it that exams always take place at the warmest time of the year, when the heat saps your energy and concentration? It reminds me of a story about a student who was sitting his final exams at a well-established English university. Just after the exam started, he summoned the invigilator and demanded his free pint of beer, as stated in an archaic set of university exam rules he had discovered. After much debate, his pint of beer was begrudgingly delivered. The following day, the same student was summoned to the office of the university chancellor and fined for sitting the exam without wearing a sword…

My thoughts and sympathies go out to all those students taking SATs, GCSEs, ‘A’ levels and who knows what other tests we put our children through in this summer heat. I don’t know about you, Johnnie, but I have pretty unpleasant memories of my exams. The desperate attempt to remember information, that gut-wrenching feeling that everyone around me knew more than I did. I think that one of the reasons I spent several years teaching before I became a rabbi was to get my own back on a system that seemed determined only to test how much we could remember and regurgitate rather than ascertain what kind of people we were and could become.

In the examination halls across the country, there won’t be pints of beer being ordered or swords being worn this summer. But there will be several empty tables that should be occupied by teenagers who have lost their lives in our troubled, violent society. The absence of Jimmy Mizen and so many other innocent victims like him who could have given so much more to the world than a few correct answers on a piece of paper, who have been let down by a society that seems determined to label people as successes or failures.

I don’t know how or even if it’s possible to construct exams that offer encouragement and hope to our teenagers. But there seems little doubt that we have to find a way of valuing people based on who they are and what they can become rather than on what they can remember and write down. If we don’t, the levels of frustration, disappointment and anger will continue to rise in the summer heat and there will be more pints of beer being ordered and more swords being worn by young people encouraged to regard themselves as failures.

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Pause for Thought: BBC Radio 2 Feb 5th 2008

I wanted to ask you what sort of a day you had yesterday. After all, today is ‘Super Tuesday’ for our American cousins, and at the weekend, that annual over-the-top sporting occasion, the Superbowl took place on what they call Super Sunday. But yesterday, as far as I know, wasn’t super for any particular reason, though I hope you had a good Monday nonetheless.

Americans have always been good at making things super, seem larger than they really are. A few years ago I was at a Californian summer camp. Before the children arrived, there was a staff talent show at which one of the counselors sang a song accompanied by his own guitar playing. It was atrocious – but everyone applauded and told him it was truly awesome. Over the next few days I discovered that anything that anyone did or said was truly awesome, no matter how mediocre it was. So I asked my American colleagues what they would say if something actually was truly awesome – surely they had used up all the superlatives. Then a fellow Brit and I worked out a scale of excellence beginning with pretty average and working slowly upwards. Needless to say, the Americans thought this idea was truly awesome.

But that’s the American way. On our very own Celebrity Come Dancing, judges like Len Goodman and Bruno Tonioli offer critical observations and marks that reflect the performances they see, but when it comes to the American version – Dancing with the Stars – they both join the hysterical shouting of ‘TEN!’ that greets every offering, good, bad or otherwise.

I think we need to know that we can’t always be good at everything and that to acknowledge our shortcomings is as important as recognising what we’re genuinely good at.

The rabbis of two thousand years ago asked ‘who is wise?’ and answered their question ‘someone who learns from everyone.’ That means that constructive criticism must be better for us than being told that everything we do is truly awesome or super. And they also asked ‘who is wealthy?’ and decided that true wealth belongs to anyone who is satisfied with what they have.

In an age that seeks to shower itself with ever more superlatives, this is an important lesson to learn. Always striving for more makes us weary and dissatisfied. Today really doesn’t have to be a super Tuesday. A pretty average Tuesday – with or without pancakes – will do just fine, thank you very much.

Pause for Thought: BBC Radio 2 Jun 18th 2008

American Football coach Vince Lombardi once said that ‘football is like life.’ So although it’s a different type of football, I’ve been watching Euro 2008 to see if he’s right. Isn’t it good to be unencumbered by any of that nationalistic angst about how any of the home nations might fare? And life is definitely better without our news programmes and front pages filled with analysis of team selection and concerns about certain players’ knees or metatarsals – never mind what their wives or girlfriends are up to.

But it seems that in this tournament, football isn’t much like life, unless life is statistics. I always thought football was about the number of goals scored – you score more than the opposition – you win. You score less – you lose. You score the same number – well, who knows? It could be goal difference, penalties, sudden death or even a fate worse than sudden death.

But football, like life, is clearly more complicated than that. Now, as well as the score, we get told how many times each team has attempted to pass the ball and the percentage of successful passes. And when a player’s substituted, we’re shown how many metres he’s run compared to the team’s average.

And thanks to a new performance index, we get even more silly statistics. Did you know, for example, that Germany’s Michael Ballack has covered more than thirty kilometres in the three games he’s played, with a top speed of 30.88 km per hour. Did you want to know?

Do all these new footballing statistics teach us something about life? I doubt it. You can’t tell the quality of a player’s contribution based on how far or fast he’s run, any more than you can tell the quality of a person’s life by the number of years they’ve lived. As the poet Philip James Bailey wrote:

We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial.
We should count time by heart-throbs. They most live
Who think most – feel the noblest – act the best.

That may not get you through to the quarter-finals or even enable you to keep up with Michael Ballack et al, but it’s a better way of measuring the quality of our lives and reminds us that life isn’t really like football at all – it’s much more important than that.