July 4, 2026
The 250th anniversary of the United States arrives at a fraught time for our nation and for American Jews. The Trump administration is methodically dismantling the democratic protections and institutions that the founders of this country established in order to prevent autocracy. And our Jewish community is grappling with increased antisemitism, internal divisions, and debates about the fundamental question of what it means to be an American Jew.
The United States offered Jews a home unlike nearly any other that our people have experienced during the past 2,000 years. For much of Jewish diaspora history, the best we could hope for was governments that ignored us, or allowed us some degree of autonomy or status as a protected minority. In the worst cases, secular governments overtaxed, oppressed, murdered, and exiled their Jews.
The United States offered something different — a chance for Jews to write ourselves into the story of a new nation. In 1790, Moses Seixas, a leader of the Newport synagogue and a descendant of Jews who fled religious persecution in Portugal, wrote to President George Washington to confirm, or assert, the place of Jews in the fledgling country:
Deprived as we heretofore have been of the invaluable rights of free Citizens, we now with a deep sense of gratitude to the Almighty disposer of all events behold a Government. . . which to bigotry gives no sanction, to persecution no assistance. . . deeming every one, of whatever Nation, tongue, or language equal parts of the great governmental Machine.
In a letter of response to the Newport synagogue, President Washington echoed Seixas’s words:
It is now no more that toleration is spoken of as if it were the indulgence of one class of people that another enjoyed the exercise of their inherent natural rights, for, happily, the Government of the United States, which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance, requires only that they who live under its protection should demean themselves as good citizens in giving it on all occasions their effectual support.
Jews were not merely to be tolerated in the United States. Rather, here we could be part of the story, even helping a president to craft the very words that would welcome Jews and others into the United States.
Of course, the story was never so rosy — even as Washington composed this rejection of bigotry, he himself enslaved human beings. The United States had a long way to go before it could claim to protect the “inherent natural rights” of all people.
And the nation’s posture toward and treatment of Jews was not always as positive as this letter might make it seem. The American Jewish community has experienced antisemitism throughout our history, in multiple arenas: legal, political, institutional, and social. At the same time, we have had the experience of finding refuge and comfort in the United States — of experiencing this country as a malkhut shel chesed, a kingdom of lovingkindness, as Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, one of the most prominent 20th century Orthodox rabbis, termed it.
Since the beginning, American Jews have been asking ourselves how to relate to the United States and our place in it. Should we employ shtadlanut — the classic diaspora approach to secular governments, in which our communal leaders appeal to the government for whatever protections we can secure? Or should we throw ourselves into advocating for the United States to do better — for Jews and for everyone who lives here?
The first approach assumes that our sojourn in the United States may be temporary, that secular governments are unlikely to do right by Jews, and that we should just attempt to secure any small concessions that they are willing to make. The second writes Jews into America as a fundamental part of the story of this country. This approach insists that Jewish safety in the United States requires that “every one, of whatever Nation, tongue, or language” is equally part of the country we are building together.
Today, as our community is rightfully scared by rising antisemitism, including violent hate crimes, on all sides of the political spectrum, some leaders and community members want to build our fortresses higher: to retreat inward and isolate ourselves from other communities, to seek out special protections for Jews, and to refuse to build relationships with political, interfaith, or other leaders with whom we may have serious differences.
But there is another vision of what Jewish life could be in the United States — one in which our community fights to ensure that every community is welcome here, that everyone is seen as a crucial part of the American story that we are writing together.
This vision need not be naive about the real physical threats to the safety of Jewish communities. We have seen security systems and courageous security professionals save lives. But ultimately, no number of security systems, guards, concrete barriers, can fully protect us from harm.
As we imagine the next 250 years of the United States, can we imagine a multi-racial, multi-ethnic democracy in which Jews are comfortable being unabashedly Jewish, where we do not fear for our safety when we go to synagogue and drop our children at the JCC preschool — and where people of all faiths, ethnicities, national origins, and backgrounds can also be unabashedly themselves, without fearing for their own safety in mosques, churches, gurdwaras, schools, workplaces, and streets? Can we co-author this story with our fellow Americans of all backgrounds?
Two hundred and fifty years in, we are still writing the story of Jewish life in the United States.
Right now, with your support, T’ruah’s rabbis and cantors around the country are bringing Jewish history, teachings, and commitments to bear every single day as they lead for change.
These clergy are living the Torah of justice by speaking at protests, leading vigils outside ICE detention centers, and accompanying immigrant friends and neighbors to their court hearings. Our rabbis and cantors are preparing to be poll chaplains this fall, to ensure that everyone has the ability to vote freely and fairly.
They are also advocating on a whole host of issues, including an end to racist mass incarceration, for protections for workers of all backgrounds, and for LGBTQ+ rights, moved by Jewish text and tradition.
They know that the well-being of Jewish Americans and the well-being of everyone in our country are not separate interests but one and the same.
Happy birthday, America. The story isn’t finished — let’s keep writing it together.
Rabbi Jill Jacobs
she/her
CEO, T’ruah