Dear T’ruah Community,
By the time we reach this week’s Torah reading, the Israelites have been enslaved for generations. Children are born into slavery to parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents who have never known freedom.
No wonder the people have little appetite for Moses’ lofty promises of liberation. “They would not listen to Moses, out of kotzer ruach (shortness of spirit) and hard work.” (Exodus 6:9) Worn down, as they are, the people have little emotional or imaginative space to consider a possible new reality.
And perhaps they have been burned before. Umberto Cassuto, a twentieth century biblical scholar notes that the first time Moses appears to the Israelites, assembles the elders and performs the wonders that God has assigned to him, they do listen and believe. (Exodus 4:31) What has changed now, two chapters later?
“This time, they did not pay attention, and did not listen to Moses, after the disappointment that they experienced because of the failure of the first attempt, and after the increase in their workload (as Pharaoh’s punishment for seeking liberation), they were depressed and despondent.”
They’ve been here before. They’ve experienced this Pharaoh before. They know that you can work as hard as possible, take the risk of defying authority, dream big dreams of freedom — only to have those dreams crushed in a moment.
Maybe it’s easier just to give up. Life under autocracy isn’t easy, but it’s predictable. Fighting for a different future carries the risk of retaliation, disappointment, and despair.
Four years ago, it was hard to imagine that we would be back here today, facing four more years of cruelty, xenophobia, misogyny, and attacks on the fundamental underpinnings of American democracy.
We are fearful of how the most vulnerable people in our society — immigrants, LGBTQ people, people who are incarcerated, Jews and Muslims, Black and brown people — will suffer under this administration, which is already threatening to carry out mass deportations, to strip healthcare from trans people and women, and to abandon the United States’ longstanding allies.
This month, we watched in horror as wildfires burned through Los Angeles, destroying the homes of many in our own community and beyond, and reminding us yet again of the growing dangers of climate change, and of an administration intent on denying it.
This week, we had a small burst of hope with news of a hostage and ceasefire deal and the relief of seeing Emily Damari, Romi Gonen, and Doron Steinbrecher return to their families. But we know that President Trump’s alliances with Prime Minister Netanyahu and other pro-settlement parties endanger both Israelis and Palestinians.
And we are tired.
After the first Trump administration, with its whiplash-inducing bad policy, the COVID-19 pandemic, and then the horrors of October 7 and the war that has followed, we are weary.
We have marched. We have called our Members of Congress. We have organized our communities. We have wept.
I’ve heard too many people say, “We just can’t do it again.” “We tried and we lost.” “We got through the last Trump administration; we’ll survive this one too.”
For the Israelites, the experience of kotzer ruach, shortness of spirit, and of not having faith in Moses is not the end of their story, but one of many moments on the journey to liberation when they temporarily give in to hopelessness and exhaustion. They lose hope again while standing at the Red Sea, and again in the desert when they are hungry and thirsty. Their weariness is not evidence they have lost the fight; it is simply a reality of their long journey.
Likewise, our kotzer ruach is not a sign that we should give up. It cannot be.
Those of us reading this email may have survived the last administration, but many others did not — as a result of disastrous COVID policy, immigration restrictions, climate change, or lack of health care. We refuse to allow our exhaustion to stop us from fighting policies that threaten the lives and the dignity of even more of our family members, community members, and neighbors.
It’s a cruel irony that this president is being sworn into office on a day that we reserve for celebrating the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Dr. King advocated for radical change — for a world where people would be treated equitably and with dignity, no matter the color of their skin. And while the world has changed tremendously since he was killed, in so many ways, it has stayed the same.
But we are not the same.
We have seen what we are capable of, when we need to stand up for ourselves and for what’s right.
We are capable of showing up by the thousands, whether it is at airports, to stop the Muslim Ban; in the streets to protest for Black lives; in front of a state house or in front of Trump Tower.
We are capable of finding new ways to safely connect with each other, to mobilize and take action, when we aren’t able to freely be together.
We are capable of loving a country — be it Israel or the United States — and of holding it to the highest possible standards, of not being afraid to criticize it and make it better. And we are capable of protecting the free speech of people who criticize our leaders and institutions, even when we find what they say difficult to hear.
Though we are worn down, we are taking all that we are capable of into this new administration.
T’ruah is right here with you. Over the coming months, we will be sharing ways to take action, opportunities for training and connection for our rabbis and cantors as they bring moral leadership to our communities, and spiritual support for all members of our Jewish community , as we navigate this moment together.
We will find in ourselves and in each other the ruach we need to keep marching out of Egypt. Because the story is far from over.
In solidarity,
Rabbi Jill Jacobs (she/her)
CEO, T’ruah