A D’var Torah for Parshat Vayigash by Rabbi Susan Goldberg
I have just returned from the borderlands, where the conjoined cities of El Paso and Ciudad Juarez meet. It was a border delegation organized by T’ruah and HIAS, bringing rabbis to bear witness to what is happening at our borders for refugees and asylum seekers. The people we met shared stories filled with incredible traumas; danger and abuse led them to undertake a desperate journey to seek protection and safety. Their odysseys were perilous and filled with still more stunning abusive and perilous situations. When they finally made it to the border, they were met by the inhumanity of our current system for asylum seekers. We also heard and witnessed stunning resilience, hope, and faith in what could be possible. We heard their dreams for their own lives and dreams and visions for a transformed, humane immigration system.
We have been inside of dreams in Torah, since Jacob set out from his parents’ home in a hurry and dreamt of the ladder of angels. This week in Parshat Vayigash, God appears to elderly Jacob and tells him not to fear going down to Egypt. (Genesis 47:3) Jacob’s dreams are about the present. His son Joseph’s dreams are about the future. Joseph dreams about very different realities than the ones he is living in. Joseph’s fluency with dreams allows him to transform them into government policy. Last week, in Miketz, he hears the dreams of Pharaoh, about times of abundance followed by times of famine, and he then works to prepare to take care of the people when the crisis times arrive. He moves from the dreams to create new policy realities for the land he ends up helping to govern.
On the border delegation, after our first 12-hour day of listening, learning and bearing witness to the experiences and realities at the border, we came together in the evening to connect and debrief. After a bit of discussion of the intensity of the day, Rabbi Asher Lopatin, perhaps a bit overwhelmed as many of us were, asked: How could this be different? What is the dream of how this could be? What is the dream? This became a hanging question over the next couple of days: What is the dream?
The immigration and asylum system is complex, and it is broken. Homeland Security Secretary Mayorkas, who was in El Paso at the same time we were, said that very thing on his trip. This administration has yet to share their dream, their vision of how they are going to fix this brokenness. So far they have tried to keep some of the worst aspects from the previous administration, such as Title 42, which immediately expels most asylum seekers. It is absolutely legal under domestic and international law to request asylum here, inside of the United States. It is unclear how this administration is going to proceed, but so far they have not indicated that they are going to assure fair, humane access to all asylum seekers. But it could be different. This moment holds the possibility of change at our borders, and now is the time to advocate strongly for new policies rooted in our shared humanity, in the deepest values of the Jewish tradition.
On one of the days of our trip, we visited the Otero Detention Center (run by the private prison company MTC) and Annunciation House, a shelter created by social doctrine Catholics and staffed by volunteers. Both facilities are full of asylum-seekers. Yet the contrasts couldn’t be more stark. The detention center is in the paradigm of law-enforcement and rooted in fear. Everyone there is locked up. They are “detainees” held behind locked doors and barbed wire, clothed in uniforms, with every aspect of their lives controlled and observed. At Annunciation House, the paradigm is humanity, compassion, and care. They are “guests” coming through an open front door, greeted warmly, and brought downstairs to choose clothes, shoes, diapers, and games from donated items. There are common spaces for play and conversation, a kitchen for making meals together, and there are rooms with beds and bathrooms where families can stay together.
When we first encounter Joseph, his father sends him to look for his brothers. These are the brothers who will soon conspire to murder him, then instead sell him to traders in a story of human trafficking and forced migration. When he is looking for his brothers, he cannot find them. He sees a man and tells him: “I am looking for my brothers.” The man responds: “They have gone mi-zeh, from this [place].” (Genesis 37:16-17)
Rashi comments on this verse and tells us that “they have gone from this” is not about a place, rather that they have departed from all feelings of brotherhood. They did not just leave this area; they left being a brother to you.
We have left our humanity with refugees and asylum seekers. And we need the will, the commitment, and the dreams to build a humane welcome system for our brothers, our sisters, our siblings.
Rabbi Susan Goldberg is the founding rabbi of Nefesh in Los Angeles, a vibrant, diverse, spiritual community on LA’s east side. She serves on the national board of Bend the Arc and is a collaborator and consultant in art, film and television projects.