As we approach this Shabbos, the residents and staff at JSL carry with us the weight of the week and the gravity of this historic moment. Just days ago, more than seven million people across the United States, and countless more around the world, stood up, walked together, and raised their voices in a collective call for freedom, democracy, and human dignity.
What compels millions to take to the streets, walking beside strangers, chanting, carrying signs, even in inflatable dinosaur suits?
For many at JSL, these protests stirred powerful memories of past decades when they marched to end the war in Vietnam, for women’s rights and the right to vote, for civil rights and voting rights. And here we are again.
Today’s protesters are rising against white supremacy, antisemitic hate, the treatment of women, the use of federal force in American cities, rollbacks of environmental protections, withdrawal from the Paris Climate Agreement, misleading public health messaging, and more.
At the heart of it all is a longing for lives of meaning. A world shaped by conscience.
The ability to live with integrity and remain faithful to our most sacred Jewish values.
We march for deep connection and for bonds that link us to our families, our congregations, our neighborhoods, and the broader human family. When those we love are threatened, or when we witness harm done to others, something within us is stirred. And so, we march for justice.
We can’t endure this constant cruelty. When the systems we rely on reward harm, overlook the innocent, and silence the vulnerable, rising up is not just political, it’s profoundly moral.
We march for truth because without truth, even our strongest values can falter.
Lies and falsehoods erode public trust and dim the very light that guides us. Truth is the scaffolding that holds up justice and gives weight to love.
Some say we walk because it’s about freedom.
The freedom to speak. To live without fear.
To stay true to who we are, even when doing so asks something of us in return.
We are asked to show up even when it’s inconvenient, uncomfortable, or unclear whether it will make a difference.
To lend our voices, our presence, and sometimes even our safety to something larger than ourselves.
To be brave and speak out when silence feels safer.
To stand beside people we may never meet again, because their dignity is bound to ours.
To listen to truths we’d rather ignore.
To recognize the pain of others and to reflect on our role in shaping the world as it is, and as it could be.
To hope and believe that walking together means something.
That millions of feet pounding pavement are not just making noise, but making history.
Above all, we can’t give up.
Because change is slow.
And the cost of staying true to who we are is high.
But the cost of losing that truth is higher.
These protests, these mass marches, follow in the footsteps of a long Jewish tradition.
Our collective story began with a march, a journey out of Egypt, in resistance to slavery and tyranny, and in search of freedom and dignity. Across deserts, continents, and oceans, our ancestors walked not for power or conquest, but to live in freedom and with integrity. To live free from fear, with compassion for others, and to leave this world without regrets.
As we enter Shabbos, a time for rest and renewal, we can’t forget the struggles beyond our own communities. While we hold the quiet of the seventh day, we can’t turn our eyes from the fierce urgency of the events unfolding around us.
We pause to regain our strength. We pray. We sing. We light candles… not just to erase the darkness, but to honor the light that is still ours to kindle.
This Shabbos, may we find peace. May rest bring us strength and open our hearts.
And may our steps, whether walking or marching, carry us forward toward a world that is more just, more compassionate, and more rooted in our sacred quest for freedom.
Shabbat Shalom
