Dear Friends,
I am away on vacation, but wanted to share a few thoughts before Shabbat arrives.
When I was growing up, we spent every July 4th at my grandparents’ lake house in Shrub Oak, New York to celebrate my Grandpa Alex’s birthday. He LOVED sharing a birthday with his nation of choice.
It was only after his death that I learned the truth—July 4th wasn’t his actual birthday. He had simply chosen it to show how proud he was to be an American citizen. And while he professed his love for America, after his death I learned stories about how difficult it was when he first arrived.
As I reflect on his journey as a new immigrant coming to a land that did not always welcome him with open arms, I wanted to share a shortened version of the sermon I gave a few weeks ago.
This past June, less than a mile from our synagogue, there was an ICE arrest.
We don’t know who was arrested or why. But we do know this: it happened in public, and it left many in our community—citizens and non-citizens alike—feeling anxious and afraid.
That alone should give us pause.
We also know that ICE operations are intensifying nationwide, sometimes even supported by military resources. And as often happens in such moments, the conversation quickly becomes polarized: us vs. them, legal vs. illegal, safety vs. chaos.
Before we get pulled into politics, I want to root us in something more enduring—our Jewish values.
Judaism could not be clearer about our obligation to welcome and protect the ger, the stranger. In fact, no commandment appears more often in the Torah.
In Exodus 22:20 we read:
“You shall not wrong or oppress a stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”
In Deuteronomy 10:19:
“You shall love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”
Not just “don’t harm,” but “love.” Not tolerance. Not fairness. Love.
The great commentator Rashi notes that the stranger often lacks family and protection. That’s why the Torah puts the responsibility on us—not the government, not border agents. Us.
The Talmud reinforces this ethic. In Bava Metzia 59b, it says:
“The Torah warns against wronging a stranger in 36 places, and some say 46.”
Why so many times? Because it’s easy to forget. Because it’s easy to look away.
Let me be clear: Judaism does not advocate for a world without borders or laws. The Rambam teaches that the ger toshav, the resident outsider, is subject to societal rules. Process and order matter.
But so does the person behind the process. And our tradition never lets us forget that each person—refugee, immigrant, asylum-seeker—is still a child of God.
This is not a political message. It’s a values statement. Politics is where we debate implementation. And our values should guide our politics and not the other way around.
So, what do we do in times like these?
We remember who we are. We show up. We speak out. We stand with those who feel unsafe. We teach our children that Judaism demands more than silence.
We build a society where law is tempered by compassion, where justice walks alongside empathy, and where no child lies awake at night fearing a knock on the door.
I don’t know the specifics of this arrest. But I know what our tradition teaches. And I know that it calls us to act.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Daniel Cohen