Resources

The unfinished story at the end of the Torah is a continual reminder that even our greatest leader couldn’t complete the work, and neither can we.

Akiva had to do the terrifying work of giving up the narrative … that we are always just, and we are always right, for a newer, truer one: We are sometimes unjust, and we are sometimes wrong.

What America means for [Emma Lazarus] in [“The New Colossus"] … is an utter repudiation of the scapegoating and demonizing of immigrants that America has seen so much of recently.

Moses could have handed the Torah to Joshua and called his work done. Instead, he makes sure it belongs to everyone who will need it, including those whose voices are too often left out of the room.

It is not enough to say “treat marginalized people fairly;” the simple absence of unfairness doesn’t make us welcoming. Instead, we must examine the roots of injustice and take active steps to create change.

To live re’eh anochi is not to pretend that danger, hatred, or difference do not exist. It is to refuse to let fear have the final word. It is to keep choosing… presence over retreat, curiosity over certainty.

Power doesn't just tempt toward corruption; it reorganizes justice around itself until the bias no longer feels like bias.

In this week's commentary on Devarim, Rabbi Francine Roston reflects on the need to understand and process trauma before moving forward.

“Standing at the border of the Promised Land, God declares that [Moses’ deeply human chronicle of the Exodus] belongs within the eternal text of Torah. The messy, contingent experience of history is revealed to have been Torah all along."

This, to me, is the Torah: It is liberation. It is the release that comes from being seen, truly seen, in our whole, struggling, imperfect selves.