Rabbi Marshall Meyer, a master of masters, used to say over 50 years ago that one must hold the Torah in one hand and the newspaper in the other. As Jews, we cannot remain indifferent to what happens in our societies. As rabbis, we must raise our voices.
Rabbi Shai Held, perhaps one of the most sensitive thinkers of our time, recently reflected on why he, once very outspoken about his political views, has chosen to remain silent:
«I have been struggling in a really deep way with the sense that no one is listening to anyone or anything they don’t already agree with—that is part of what ails us as a culture and a society, and it also makes figuring out what to say, and how, and to whom, extremely difficult. I for one have not been able to crack that nut. And yelling into an echo chamber gets boring—and you (or at least I) don’t really grow from it.”
I find myself caught in this same tension. On the one hand, I have my own political and social convictions, shaped by my personal experiences, my studies in political science, and my rabbinical work. But at the same time, “no one listens to anyone anymore.” We all cling to preconceived ideas: we tend to see the candidate we vote for in a positive light and the opposing one in a negative light. We no longer evaluate individual policies but treat politics as an all-or-nothing game. We defend everything on “our side” and attack everything on “theirs.”
Adding to this complexity is the fact that I am a rabbi—a rabbi of a beautiful congregation filled with people committed to Judaism, Israel, and the welfare of the United States. Some are Republicans; others are Democrats.
I want to address certain topics because I am a rabbi, a teacher, and because I believe Judaism has something meaningful to say—not to impose or claim to have all the answers, but simply to be a voice.
Now then: immigrants.
What a challenge! What a difficult issue! We are Jews, migrants by nature. We have experienced both the pain of nations that shut their doors to us and the blessings of those that opened them. We have emigrated legally when possible, but often, we did so illegally.
Consider the Aliyah Bet, when the Haganah helped Jewish immigrants enter British Mandate Palestine illegally as the British restricted immigration. Or think of the thousands of Jews who ended up in Argentina in the early 20th century after being rejected by ships arriving at Ellis Island.
And let us not forget the tragic story of the MS St. Louis in 1939, turned away by Cuba and the United States, carrying over 900 Jews fleeing Nazism. Forced to return to Europe, the majority of these passengers were later murdered in concentration camps.
The Torah commands us, “Do not oppress a stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Exodus 22:20). In the face of pain, we can either close ourselves off or open our hearts wider.
Today, however, many of us, just a few generations removed, have forgotten what it means to migrate—what it means to be forced to leave the land of your birth due to lack of opportunity, persecution, war, or hunger. As Jews, we have often been exemplary migrants: within a generation, we learned the language, worked hard, and integrated into the societies that welcomed us, rising from the lower class to the middle and even upper class.
Not everything is so rosy.
Slogans, grandiose declarations, and goodwill can sometimes lead to naivety and awaken real dangers.
Today, the United States and Europe face uncontrolled, undocumented immigration. For various reasons—some stemming from the migrants themselves (we must not deny people agency) and others from the receiving societies—many immigrants struggle to integrate. Among these challenges are violent groups, refusal to adopt certain norms of Western conduct, and a lack of emphasis on work, effort, and education.
Resources are limited. Citizens often bear the cost of medical care, education, unemployment insurance, and other subsidies for millions who do not contribute to the public coffers. A country must undoubtedly have secure borders and an immigration policy aligned with its national needs, but it must also maintain open doors for exiles, the persecuted, and the less fortunate.
The United States is a land of immigrants. Natives, alongside British, Irish, Italian, Scottish, Jewish, Cuban, Mexican, and dozens of other ethnic and national groups, built this nation, which has blessed the world in countless ways.
Yet the United States, like Europe with Africa, shares some responsibility for the political and economic instability in its southern neighbors due to its historical support of dictatorships and other policies. This drives tens of thousands to seek the “American Dream” daily.
Immigration: Blessing or Curse?
Immigration can be both a blessing and a curse. Currently, we must all acknowledge that there is a problem with immigration in the United States. Approximately 12 million undocumented immigrants live in the country, with half a million entering illegally each year.
In addressing this issue, we must balance our positions: supporting certain policies that restrict immigration or deport undocumented individuals without losing our humanity or empathy. We can back a cause while still feeling for those who suffer its consequences.
Equally important is the rhetoric we use. Supporting policies for stricter border security, restricting certain migrants, deporting undocumented immigrants with criminal records, or prioritizing local employment must never lead to hate speech, generalizations about immigrants, or xenophobia.
We must hold multiple truths at once and approach the complexity of this issue without oversimplifying:
The United States neglected immigration reform and border security for decades, creating systems that house immigrants without integrating them, wasting billions of dollars.
At the same time, we must be empathetic to the stranger (a central Jewish value), avoid harmful generalizations (we Jews know this all too well), and reject hate-filled rhetoric (which we have also suffered).
A Way Forward
We must regulate, control, and reform immigration policies. Some undocumented immigrants, working in construction, agriculture, or behind the scenes in restaurants—men and women who simply seek a better future for their families—will suffer under new policies. Others, whose actions harm the moral, financial, or physical security of the U.S., will be deported—and rightly so.
But this nation of immigrants, this melting pot, will only remain blessed if it continues to be a land of opportunity for those who come with goodwill and effort to work this blessed soil. When there is a hemorrhage, the wound must first be closed, and difficult decisions must follow. A serious, structured policy is essential to support skilled immigration while providing asylum, protection, and opportunities for the impoverished and displaced.
Returning to the Torah: “You shall not wrong or oppress a stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Exodus 22:20). Ibn Ezra explains that this commandment applies to strangers who renounce idolatry and accept the norms of their host society. Rashi, on the other hand, reminds us that if we mistreat the stranger, they could remind us, “You too are descendants of strangers.”
Let us not forget that we too are immigrants. Let us avoid the extremes of unlimited immigration and xenophobia. Instead, let us be intelligent, cautious, and guided by our Jewish heritage. Let us pursue tikkun olam—repairing the world—not with unrealistic slogans, but with concrete, small-scale solutions that make laws fairer and society better.
