Abraham, Albert and Armando
I am thinking about immigrants and refugees.
Perhaps it is because I recently watched this moving video about a New York synagogue’s custodian, Armando:
Immigration continues to captivate my thoughts and animate my concerns.
I turn to this week’s Torah portion.
In it God commands Abraham to leave his native home and journey to the land of Canaan. There God will make him a great nation. And so what does Abraham and his wife, Sarah, do? They go. They travel from what is today modern day Iraq and make their way to what will become the place that Jews continue to hold in their hearts, the land of Israel.
Our Jewish story begins by leaving home. Our journey begins because Abraham got up and left. We are forever defined by journeying. Even the term Hebrew, Ivri, means to cross over. What makes us Jews is leaving and going, and crossing over one border to another.
This is why we say at the Passover seders, “My father was a wandering Aramean.” We think that holiday celebration is about the blessing of gaining freedom and escaping slavery. It is of course. That is its larger message. But Passover is also about affirming wandering. Passover is about going out. It is about leaving. And the most interesting, and curious, thing is that we never arrive. The seder concludes with a promise.
We only leave. We never get to where we are going. We conclude, “Next year in Jerusalem.” Next year it will be better. Next year our lot will be improved. We say goodbye to our seder guests with a lingering hope on our lips.
This is the immigrant’s dream. The Jewish hope is the refugee’s dream. Abraham embodies every immigrant’s aspiration and every refugee’s longing. They say, “We are leaving. We are running. Because there it can be better. Because tomorrow can be better than today.” That’s why people try to sneak across borders or why they risk their children’s lives by placing them in rickety boats. That’s why Abraham left Haran. He had faith in the promise of tomorrow. Next year it will be better.
This is our people’s most important legacy. “Next year” encapsulates our ethos. The hope that tomorrow can be better than today. That’s why Abraham runs. That’s why people continue to try to cross over dangerous borders.
Today we recall the many Jewish immigrants who found their way to this country’s shores. Today we recall that 85 years ago today Albert Einstein arrived in the United States as a refugee.
Today we reaffirm this Jewish hope when we read (again) about Abraham’s journey
Who among these “huddled masses, yearning to breathe free” will be the next Albert? Who among these “homeless, tempest-tost” will be the next Abraham?
Perhaps it is because I recently watched this moving video about a New York synagogue’s custodian, Armando:
Perhaps it is because the Trump administration has reduced the number of refugees allowed into this country to a four decade low. Or perhaps it is because the administration continues its policy of separating immigrant children from their parents. Then again perhaps it is because the president today threatened to take military action to stem the flow of people trying to cross the US-Mexico border.
Immigration continues to captivate my thoughts and animate my concerns.
I turn to this week’s Torah portion.
In it God commands Abraham to leave his native home and journey to the land of Canaan. There God will make him a great nation. And so what does Abraham and his wife, Sarah, do? They go. They travel from what is today modern day Iraq and make their way to what will become the place that Jews continue to hold in their hearts, the land of Israel.
Our Jewish story begins by leaving home. Our journey begins because Abraham got up and left. We are forever defined by journeying. Even the term Hebrew, Ivri, means to cross over. What makes us Jews is leaving and going, and crossing over one border to another.
This is why we say at the Passover seders, “My father was a wandering Aramean.” We think that holiday celebration is about the blessing of gaining freedom and escaping slavery. It is of course. That is its larger message. But Passover is also about affirming wandering. Passover is about going out. It is about leaving. And the most interesting, and curious, thing is that we never arrive. The seder concludes with a promise.
We only leave. We never get to where we are going. We conclude, “Next year in Jerusalem.” Next year it will be better. Next year our lot will be improved. We say goodbye to our seder guests with a lingering hope on our lips.
This is the immigrant’s dream. The Jewish hope is the refugee’s dream. Abraham embodies every immigrant’s aspiration and every refugee’s longing. They say, “We are leaving. We are running. Because there it can be better. Because tomorrow can be better than today.” That’s why people try to sneak across borders or why they risk their children’s lives by placing them in rickety boats. That’s why Abraham left Haran. He had faith in the promise of tomorrow. Next year it will be better.
This is our people’s most important legacy. “Next year” encapsulates our ethos. The hope that tomorrow can be better than today. That’s why Abraham runs. That’s why people continue to try to cross over dangerous borders.
Today we recall the many Jewish immigrants who found their way to this country’s shores. Today we recall that 85 years ago today Albert Einstein arrived in the United States as a refugee.
Today we reaffirm this Jewish hope when we read (again) about Abraham’s journey
Who among these “huddled masses, yearning to breathe free” will be the next Albert? Who among these “homeless, tempest-tost” will be the next Abraham?