Dear JCOGS family,
Here are the words I will be sharing at tonight’s Shabbat service. Beyond these words, I offer heartfelt prayers to those injured and fearful in Amsterdam after the recent attack. Shabbat Shalom.
At our first of a three-part series of Judaism is About Love book reading and mindfulness practice this past Wednesday night, we began with meditation—a few moments to notice our breath and to take stock of Hineini/Here I am and how we are holding ourselves right now in light of the election. As you listen to/read this, perhaps notice your own breath as it is now, and sense where you are.
Folks that night shared their unfiltered Hineini around the online/in person “circle” we created: “disappointment,” “shock,” “hope,” “numbness,” “I am old enough to remember, I’m 90 years old, and I am scared we are in 1930’s Germany again,” “this offers an opportunity,” “fear,” “everything happens for a reason,” “anger,” “surprisingly calm,” “thinking about the most vulnerable among us,” “depressed,” and “rage.”
I want to first address those who are most scared and angry right now. I want to echo what past JCOGS intern Rabbi Hayley Goldstein recently posted: “I want to offer a big hug to those of us who are… feeling deeply alienated. Those of us whose rights to be ourselves… are very clearly at stake.” She continues: “We get to be scared, angry, confused, or numb. We get to just be.”
So as we consider those who are vulnerable and worried for the future, I ask, who are we most responsible for? Our tradition says we are most responsible for those on the edges of society. The Torah says it is to the widow, the orphan, the poor, and the stranger.
At the risk of leaving some out, today I hold in my heart the unhoused in search of shelter, safety, and dignity; immigrants and refugees fleeing hardship in the hopes of a better life; people without access to quality food, education, healthcare, or stable livelihoods, struggling to pay their bills; women who wish to have dignity and control of their own bodies; communities where climate disasters have destroyed homes and ways of life; LGBTQ+ individuals facing harassment and yearning to just be who they are, especially transgender folks whose lives are especially threatened; Black, Indigenous, Latino, and other People of Colour, who are continually marginalized and face barriers that limit their potential and security; Jewish people enduring antisemitism and Muslims confronting Islamophobia; formerly incarcerated people facing barriers to reentry; individuals with disabilities who face discrimination and limited access to the world around them; those struggling with mental health in need of better care; elders and youth in need of our attention; and all who are undervalued, underprotected, and underserved in a system that does not prioritize their well-being.
Whether 2000 or 2016, 2020, or now in 2024, I have and will continue to be particularly concerned for the voiceless and marginalized and disenfranchised and those feeling scared right now among us. This cuts far, far beyond party affiliation and goes back to the deepest values in our Torah.
I grew up with the Yiddish expression describing America emblazoned on my consciousness: Der Goldene Medinah, the golden land, whose streets were seen as covered in opportunity, prosperity, and freedom. While America has in an unprecedented way given upward mobility and safety to generations who have the privilege of living here, we remain responsible to all those who have not yet secured safety and justice and opportunity.
Though the people we elect to represent us make an enormous impact, elections are not really about them. Elections are about “we the people,” including and especially about we—the tired, we—the poor, we—the voiceless, we—the most marginalized.
In this time when many of us are deeply shaken, I want you to know that JCOGS is here to be a place where you can feel secure, and where you can find comfort and belonging. Our JCOGS community remains a place where people come together—across whatever differences that divide us—as Rabbi Sharon Cohen Anisfeld wrote: “to declare the dignity of all life with our words and with our deeds.”
Drawing together in community for this sacred purpose feels especially crucial right now after an election and campaign that was so incredibly divisive. We live in historic times, in the U.S. and throughout the world. So much more outwardly hate-filled—may the incitement of hate be called out. So much more tumultuous—may the chaos come to an end. This was the most fraught election of our lifetime, and we live in the most polarized America in over a generation.
What I think actually unites most people in this country is an understanding that we live in imperfect times. We disagree on what would make us a more perfect union—the causes of the imperfections, the policies, and even the very culture and way that we interact with one another that would move us positively forward. But the majority of us can agree—the fabric of American society is fraying. With these fraying edges, I come back to the question, what and who are we most responsible for and how do we act?
Take the words of Rabbi Shai Held in Judaism is About Love: “The Jewish tradition is not optimistic about human nature but it is stubbornly, insistently, possibilistic. Its deeply held conviction is not that we will choose the good, but that we can do so. Although we so often fail, it teaches, we are capable of succeeding. We can choose love.”
We, the people, must remember our sacred covenant with each other to uphold everyone, especially those in greatest need. Especially if for you, there is less personally at stake in this election, please pray and work with me for those who are most scared and who need our attention, and join in courageously loving them and all of life.
Regardless of one’s politics—and even if we grow more apathetic or withdrawn in the face of the results—our work in these next years is to stand up fiercely for love, especially for those who are voiceless. The work is no different than it was just a few days ago, no different than in Torah times, but the work now feels more urgent that we might choose to repair the deep rooted fissures that divide this country.
Voting is but one (small, but important) way that our voices are heard. But now, moving forward and always, all of us must stand up for love. To choose courageous love.
This is the promise—which is not a given—that Judaism offers. And this is the promise—though not a given—that America offers. That the better angels of our nature offer.
This week in our Torah, Abraham is told:
לֶךְ־לְךָ מֵאַרְצְךָ
“Go forth from your land…”
Go forth… and I will make you a great nation… and you shall be a blessing.
What land are we now leaving? And what land—what country is it ours to now build together that we might be a blessing for all?
Hineini, Here I am, ready to build, ready to show up for those around me suffering and in need, with courageous love for all of life. What is your Hineini? What are you ready for at this historic moment?
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi David
