She was, of course, the head of the Church of England, a devout Christian, the Defender of just one Faith.

And yet in the life of the Queen there was so much that resonated with British Jews.

‘Duty’ is a word that we've heard a lot this week about her devotion to her country. But nowadays it's more common to talk about personal growth and passions, wanting to make a difference and find our unique path. But ‘duty’ is the word that my father would use when he talked about why he went to shul every week. It was his duty as a Levi to be there to wash the hands of the Cohanim (At 94 he’d like to continue, but he suffers from mobility problems - as the Queen, his near contemporary, did too.)

His mother would also use the word 'duty' to explain why she kept an immaculately kosher home, why every speck of chametz had to be eliminated before Pesach. For them Judaism was a gift, or an heirloom, to be handled carefully and passed to the next generation. It is our version of the Crown.

Both Royals and Jews held fast to ancient traditions, in part because they understood how near the world came to losing them. Queen Elizabeth knew that if Hitler had invaded Britain her family would have had to flee for their lives. That generation of British Jews grew up with a similar sense of jeopardy. For many, that knowledge made them cling to tradition, to duty and to ritual, to make victory over fascism meaningful.

Sometimes that meant - as the Queen had to tell her sister Margaret - not marrying someone deemed unsuitable. Jews more than most understand the way that Royals felt constrained in who they might love and marry.

Judaism - even the most Orthodox kind – adapts to the modern world around it. So did the Queen. How many of us, watching her on television last night as a 21-year-old pledging herself to a life of duty, commented: ‘No one speaks like that any more.’ It was her vowels we meant, as much as the sentiment of self sacrifice. And just as we’ve got used to different ways of pronouncing Hebrew, we’ve also shifted on many social issues too. She showed us how a venerable institution can change with the times. It’s not easy, and should not be taken lightly. But it is possible.

Like many a Jewish matriarch she combined family life with public service and remained loyal and loving despite the most awful broigeses. And like many a Jewish family, the Royals are now gathered together in the wake of a death, going through a ritual period of mourning in which they can (it is to be hoped) reconnect, heal old wounds and come together.

A shiva can be a powerful tool of family therapy. I know the Royals won’t be sitting on low chairs and eating bagels, but I hope they take this opportunity to talk honestly, and show each other love, understanding and support.

When my mother-in-law died, just before Rosh Hashanah 17 years ago, someone told me that the most righteous people are often taken just before the High Holy Days. Of course our Queen was not Jewish! But somehow, dying in the month of Ellul, as we reflect on what has been and what is to come, feels fitting.

When someone dies, we British Jews - uniquely – wish their family ‘a long life’. And of course, in our national anthem (sung at so many British Jewish weddings) we wish our new king the same - ‘long to reign over us’. The loss of our Queen, for many of us, feels like we've lost one of our own.