Good morning. This week we've been celebrating Hanukkah, the Jewish Festival of Freedom,

and what a week it's been. On Monday night, together with thousands of people, we had a

Hanukkah ceremony in Trafalgar Square, with choirs, a rock band and chocolate coins for the children.

And I thought this would have been inconceivable even a generation ago.

So haunted have Jews been by a history of prejudice and persecution, that we often used to hide

our identity in public, and yet here we were sharing our joy with others in confidence and pride.

On Tuesday, together with Jewish and non-Jewish members of the Metropolitan Police,

we lit candles in Scotland Yard. And I recalled the extraordinary remark I heard some years ago

from one of the people who'd been rescued from Nazi Germany by Kinder Transport, the operation

that saved 10,000 Jewish children in 1939. She spoke of the shock of freedom she felt

when she realized that in Britain a policeman might not be an enemy but a friend.

Last night we lit candles in the Speaker's residence in the House of Commons.

And again I had that same feeling, remembering that not until 89,

two centuries after Jews returned to Britain, could someone of our faith be admitted as a member

of Parliament. These are by any historical standards, extraordinary times, and this a remarkable

country. There are a few places in the world, where the leaders of our many faiths are such close

personal friends, and where minorities have the confidence to share their celebrations with

neighbors and strangers.

So, when the results of the census came out this week, showing that there are six million fewer

religious believers than there were ten years ago, but that the minority faiths are getting

stronger. I thought perhaps heaven is summoning us to a deep and difficult truth, that all

religions are at their best when they are a minority voice, when they have influence but not power,

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