(M)oral Torah

Rabbinical Student and T'ruah board member Kelly Whitehead on Juneteenth and collective memory.

We are not bound to the worldviews and ideologies of those who came before us, but neither can we discard the ancestors with whom we disagree. How do we engage in the often difficult spiritual task of recognizing the image of God in the forebears with whom we deeply disagree, without capitulating to or validating the ideologies they espoused?

To put our trust in the gods of militarism and brute strength, to conflate the presence of God with armed combat, is to succumb to idolatry, to assimilate into a culture that conflates might and morality, violence and virtue.

Just as the Menorah is juxtaposed to the appointment of the Levi’im, so too do we have a responsibility – not just to our veterans, but to those who died defending this country.

Everyone in Jerusalem – every Palestinian resident and citizen, every Jew, every activist standing in solidarity across lines of difference...was at one time a child, ready to receive a parent’s tender blessing given in love.

But whether or not the Sinai wilderness was ever ownerless as the midrash suggests, in North America, the so-called wildernesses never have been. Those places — and indeed every square mile of North America — have always been, and continue to be, the home of specific tribes of Indigenous peoples.

That’s how I found myself chanting and marching, yelling to children that they were not forgotten, that they were loved – while holding the hand of my youngest son, whom I love so much it hurts. Having a child is like letting your heart walk around outside of your body.

Rabbi Elana Nemitoff-Bresler on how thinking of Lag BaOmer as the end of shloshim also reminds us that we have to move from grief into action.

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.

The experiences of those returning from incarceration recall the Torah’s description of someone with tzara’at, an infectious and highly stigmatized skin disease.