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This week's Torah reading of Parshat Kedoshim questions us about our human relationships, how we treat our siblings, and how we relate to our neighbors to make this world a better place to live. So here I go back to the beginning. When I read in Kedoshim, "Do not stand before the blood of your neighbor" (Leviticus 19:16), I feel the moral obligation to shout that it is not nationality that makes a life something sacred and that we have the responsibility to watch over our neighbors.

For the rest of us, it took ground penetrating radar, and other technologies which render the invisible visible, to wake us up. But for the Indigenous communities most directly affected, none of that was needed. The voices we most desperately need to be listening to already knew. They already saw.

Jewish leaders need to be authoritative and steadfast in ensuring that September 11th and its commemorations do not provide annual pretense for rage against Muslims (and Sikhs and the countless others conflated with Muslims). Nor can we allow political opportunists to seize upon our unresolved grief and pain once again. 

The illusion of security, the illusion of living in a world not deeply steeped in racism, and the comfort of staying committed to our illusions ultimately cuts us off from the fullest joy of life radically open and in relation to that which is. 

As our ancestor Abraham experienced, our most liminal moments also often coincide with moments calling for meaning-making and the rituals that bring us spiritually home. Yet few who flee by forced circumstances arrive with the means that Abraham had to purchase the dignity of sacred space and time.

Like Jacob’s dream, our justice work must be grounded in this world, absorbing the pain of everyday injustice with our hearts open to those suffering. And yet, our work must remain aspirational, reaching for the sky and not settling for anything less than our basic demands of human dignity and human rights.

To me, Jacob feels human for his fearfulness — and even more human for his backsliding. Some of us may carry ourselves with confidence and consistency as we fight for what’s right, but others — and I’ll include myself here — may have moments of glorious God-wrestling, after which we may retreat back into our more cautious selves. This doesn’t make us pushovers; it  just makes us human. 

While we are deeply connected to the land of Israel, with spiritual roots that seek to implant themselves in its rich soil, connection is not predetermination. What we build on top of the land, as a civilization with our own agency, matters just as much. Whom we build it with matters.

When anger is a mode of life or when expressed in an unjustified manner, it is prohibited by Judaism. But if a person is wronged, they are allowed to express their natural feelings, including anger.

Our movements for justice rely on the ecology of different people and different groups bringing the contributions that make our hearts sing.