Jewish Relationships Initiative

Category: Civil Rights

  • Terumah-Power to the People

    In Parshat Terumah, the transition from Sinai’s abstract thunder to the Mishkan‘s detailed blueprints offers the ultimate master class in institution-building. It suggests that while revelation provides the “why,” the institution provides the “how”—transforming a fleeting spiritual moment into a sustainable communal reality.

    At Sinai, the relationship with the Divine was a “top-down” event—overwhelming and temporary. In Terumah, this is reversed by the command: “And let them make Me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them” (Exodus 25:8). The shift here is profound, creating sustainability. Inspiration was found at Sinai. It is a spark; an institution becomes the hearth that keeps the fire burning. The text then speaks of a dwelling, with an interesting word choice: it doesn’t say God will dwell in it (the building), but among them (the people). The institution is not the goal; it is the vessel that allows the communal presence to persist. The idea is further elucidated as the focus shifts to the people’s action.

    The word Terumah means “to lift up” or “set aside.” Crucially, the materials for the sanctuary were not collected through a flat tax but from “every person whose heart prompts them to give.” This reveals two core principles of healthy institutions. The first is shared ownership; when people contribute their own “gold, silver, and copper,” they are no longer spectators; they are stakeholders. The second is the diversity of people’s contributions. The Mishkan required everything from precious metals to goat hair. This teaches that an institution is only robust when it integrates the varying capacities of its members—from the wealthy benefactor to the skilled artisan.

    This Parsha is known for its precise measurements—cubits of gold, rings of silver, and specific wood types. These details serve a vital purpose. They instill discipline and consistency. Without a structured “sanctuary,” collective energy dissipates. The Mishkan’s physical boundaries protected the sanctity of the community’s mission. This consistency ensured that the institution’s values of justice and holiness weren’t subject to the leader’s capricious mood or the crowd’s whims, but were anchored in a permanent, repeatable structure.

    Our times test our understanding of what it means to live in community, bound together by the rule of law, freedom, dignity, and respect for all people. We need each other, and together we are stronger and less susceptible to those impulses. To ensure our country and its institutions endure, we must give of ourselves, investing in its care and championing the values at our core.

     

     

  • Remembering the Rev. Jesse Jackson

    We mourn the death of Reverend Jesse Jackson. Jackson was a complex individual and a person of great accomplishment.

    In this world of purity litmus tests, cancel culture, and identity politics, it is easy for some to write off this icon of the civil rights movement, focusing on shortcomings and missteps rather than accomplishments.

    He helped move the arc of justice forward.  We can and should remember him for all the good he did, and hopefully find space in our hearts, even though he, like all of us, had flaws.  Jackson fostered a sense of pride and self-esteem in those who struggled in a society determined to deny them, as captured in his well-known saying, “I am Somebody.”  Jesse Jackson was Somebody.

    This is a moment to rededicate ourselves to the vision of respect and dignity for every person that Jackson preached.  The work is far from over, and it is ours to do.

    May his memory be for a blessing.

  • Mishpatim and the Modern State

    Ra'anan
    Ra’Anan

    In Parashat Mishpatim, we move from the heights of Sinai and the grand laws given by God to Moses to the granular details of civil law. The shift teaches that a righteous society is built not on abstract ideals but on the daily, impartial application of the Rule of Law.

    Mishpatim introduces three pillars essential to our current struggles:

    • Resistance to Tribalism: Exodus 23:2 warns, “You shall not follow the multitude (the mighty) to do evil.” In an era of “mob justice,” strongman tactics, and polarized echo chambers, this mandate requires that truth must supersede the pressures of the crowd.
    • Absolute Impartiality: The text prohibits favoring the wealthy or the poor in judgment. Legitimacy and order collapse when the law is seen as a tool for the powerful or a shield for the ideologically aligned. The blindfolded Lady Justice proclaims that all should be treated equally under the law.
    • Protection of the Vulnerable: By repeatedly centering the “stranger,” the Torah insists that legal structures are only as strong as the protections they afford the marginalized. A society’s greatness is defined by how it protects its most vulnerable.

    Our institutions are threatened as society’s trust in them erodes. Mishpatim reminds us that an orderly society is a deliberate choice, one that requires our involvement and confidence. Our future as a nation and world leader depends on upholding a system in which the rule of law anchors us against the storms of political passion

  • Shabbat Shalom

    One Day

    Mattisyahu’s song One Day is our hope – but it will take a our concerted effort to realized the dream of peace.  Shabbat is our taste of what it could be,  Now more than ever we must commmit to making our dream a reality.

  • History should be Embraced

    Trying to rewrite history cannot deny its truth.

    Slavery is a moral stain on the United States. No matter how much bleach we use, we cannot scrub it out, nor can we pretend the stain doesn’t exist. Removing historically accurate plaques that teach the fullness of our history at the President’s House exhibit on Constitution Mall, the paradox of Freedom and Slavery, does not make the events they depict any less true. The attempt to deny our past keeps us from learning and growing from it. Our challenge is to rise above it, not to define ourselves by it and remain mired in it.

    The fear of some who see this as an attack on our country and turn a blind eye is baseless. I am ashamed of slavery and the hatred it embodies, while remaining proud of the aspirations our vision embodies. We have a long journey ahead of us to right the wrongs and heal the lingering pain and injustice. But we are better off when all are better off. When every person is treated with justice, dignity, and respect. These are the principles of this nation, principles we must remain dedicated to championing.

    When we hide from things that make us uncomfortable, we miss the chance to engage with and learn from them.  We are better than slavery.  It is our history.  But it does not have to be our legacy.  We are better than that.

     

     

  • Shabbat Shalom

    The Shvesters share their rendition of a poignant Yiddish song Vi Iz Dus Gesele, Where is the little street? A song of longing, nostalgia, and lost love.

    It is a way to help us perhaps enter this Shabbat.  Given the current turmoil, we seek a better time.  May we work to see that time come soon.

    Wishing you Shabbat Shalom.

  • Do You Care?

    We are horrified that Temple Beth Israel in Jackson, MS, was firebombed. It is a violent act of hatred targeting Jews. As antisemitism continues, we find ourselves vulnerable and seeking support.

    The community of Jackson, MS, has rallied around its Jewish community in wonderful ways. Many of us, however, feel abandoned by others across the country who have not expressed support for their local Jewish communities amid escalating threats. This is counterproductive, creating divisions and exacerbating tensions where they should not be.

    Sadly, there is too much violence and hatred. It is impossible to respond to every incident. The Jewish communities could not meet that standard either. We would spend substantial time issuing statements of outrage and comfort instead of devoting ourselves to the important work of uniting against these blights and working toward changes in our society to create a safer space for all.

    Too many understand the pain, often through lived experience. We need solidarity and action, not just words.

     

  • Shemot in our Times

    Anthropologist Margaret Mead shared, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has”.

    Shifrah, Puah, Miriam, and Yocheved embody the courage to defy brutality and embrace life.  It is our turn.

    To those who value our democratic principles, most notably the rule of law, we applaud the courage to fight in the courts and to march in the streets. It is everyone’s responsibility to join and champion the aspirational values at the core of our country.

     

     

  • Does the kippah on my head place a target on my back?

    With the increasing violence in public spaces, maybe the answer is yes. What should I do about it? I could cower; many people have said they remove their Jewish symbols, like a Chai or Magen David, because they fear being targeted.

    I have been wearing a kippah for many years, and since the war started, I wear a kippah with the Israeli flag and the words “Am Yisrael Chai” stenciled inside. I am proud to show who I am and what I stand for. But does it come with any risks?

    My kippah has actually been an invitation for people from all walks of life to approach me. At a Costco, on a turnpike rest stop, or while walking on the street, people offer words of encouragement and support. Most people are decent folks. Most are not looking to harm others; they are living their lives and caring for their loved ones, just as I strive to do.

    We must not allow acts of violence from uncontrolled radicals to control us. Those responsible for protecting us face a significant challenge, and a system based on freedom rather than repression often leaves them a step behind in safeguarding our rights and safety. They require additional support to perform this vital work. We can help.

    We need to get out, gather, socialize, and connect with others. We don’t have to agree, but we must show we care. We need each other. The hateful rhetoric shouldn’t be fought with more hate, but by reaching out, creating, and living in the society we believe in.

    My kippah is a symbol and a call to the people I meet that our humanity continues to thrive. That is the kind of target I strive to be.

     

  • What’s in a name?

    What’s in a name?

    Genocide is a highly charged word.

    In Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, Juliet asks, ‘What’s in a name?’ Names are simply labels we use to identify things, but the true nature of those things exists regardless of what we call them. Genocide is a highly charged word. We get so caught up in the word and all of the intense emotional baggage it carries that we forget the underlying tragedy: it is an attempt to understand what is happening in Gaza.

    One side calls it a genocide; the other disputes that term, accusing the accusers of deliberately misusing the word, targeting the victims of such an experience as if they were the perpetrators of that very same horror. We get caught up in definitions, a kind of territorialism, claiming ownership of that word, and in doing so, we completely miss the point.

    The people suffering in the war in Gaza are truly experiencing pain. It’s not just about numbers—whether it’s one person or many—innocent victims of the Hamas-Israel conflict have died. They go hungry. They are homeless. They are victims. Although I do not trust the statistics from the Gaza Health Ministry, there’s no way to measure the full extent of the carnage accurately, and Hamas’s role in this is dehumanizing Palestinians, echoing what the Nazis did to Jews.

    We must navigate this challenging space and find ways to offer humanity and hope that we were denied, and, sadly, to the Palestinians as well. From the ashes of Auschwitz, we proclaimed Never Again. Was this declaration meant only for us? Our Jewish duty to be a light to the nations requires that it not be. We must uphold our tradition’s promise by maintaining our humanity and embracing the virtues of Pirkei Avot (2:5); in a world that has no worthy men, strive to be a man.

    Whatever you call it, the war and anguish must end.