Author: Rabbi Seth Limmer

Categories
Immigration Reform Judaism Social Justice

One Big Victory, No Matter How Small: Immigration Reform

Yestel Velasquez is a deeply-rooted member of the New Orleans community who has literally helped rebuild the city in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. Yestel is a community leader fighting against civil rights abuses and racial profiling in New Orleans. He is also an undocumented immigrant who has lived and worked in America for nearly a decade.

On May 13, 2014, Yestel was caught up in a raid by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) while getting his car fixed at an autoshop frequented by Latino clients. Detained by ICE, Yestel filed a complaint with Department of Homeland Security Office for Civil Rights and Civil Liberties, and was soon after granted a three months stay of his deportation.  He was not, however, released from detention.

On Monday, August 4th, Yestel was informed by ICE that his stay would be revoked and he would be deported by the end of the week.

How do I know about Yestel Velasquez?  Because over a year ago, as Rabbis Organizing Rabbis, we pledged as Reform rabbis to work for Comprehensive Immigration Reform. We rejoiced when bipartisan immigration legislation passed the Senate, but did not stop our work once the House of Representatives refused to act.

Instead, led by our intrepid Lead Organizer, Joy Friedman of Just Congregations, we worked to find out how we could make a difference in the lives of undocumented Americans. At our Chicago CCAR convention, we learned about the movement to prevent deportations that would not occur were the bill passed by the Senate to become the law of the land. By the spring meetings of our Commission on Social Action (CSA) in May, we decided the Reform Movement would engage in immigration reform, one human being at a time, by protecting immigrant families from being torn apart through deportations.

It is a long and instructive (but not appropriate for this piece) story about how we worked closely with the CSA to find national partners who would ask us to help in the defense of potential deportees.

Last Tuesday, the National Day Laborer Organizing Network (NDLON) heard of Yestel’s plight and asked us to act quickly. The CSA leadership thoughtfully and quickly vetted the case, and by Wednesday, the 20 rabbi ROR advisory team was authorized to act. We had our phone scripts and were armed with information and the moral high ground. Alongside partners across the country, we were ready to help save Yestel and his family. In just a few hours, ROR made eleven phone calls to ICE Deputy Director Daniel Ragsdale, and another eleven to Director David Rivera of the New Orleans ICE office.

We all called to share our concern with the deportation of Mr. Yestel Velazquez. Sometimes we had no choice but to leave voicemail messages; other times we were able to engage in conversation. I made our first phone call to Deputy Director Ragsdale’s office and he didn’t understand why a rabbi from Chicago was calling. By our last call of the day, we had made an impression – “And where are you calling from, Rabbi?” he asked.

By Thursday, we heard great news from our partners at NDLON: ICE released Yestel from detention and granted him a new one-year stay of removal! More importantly, ICE guaranteed Yestel protection from retaliatory deportation.

I do not know if we saved a single life.  But I am glad to have been part of the team that is working, one person at a time, to save the entire world.

Next time the chance comes, do you want to join the team?

Rabbi Seth M. Limmer is rabbi of 
Chicago Sinai Congregation, in Chicago, IL.  

Categories
Ethics News Rabbis Reform Judaism Social Justice

Affirming Affirmative Action

When I was a high school student, I had clear-cut ideas about affirmative action: it wasn’t fair. Inspired by that great principle of American Democracy that “all men are created equal”, it seemed simply unjust that students who might not otherwise be as qualified as others should be granted admission to top universities on the basis of their racial background. If all people were created equal, then objective measures should be the only standards used for admission, employment and more: anything else was simply unfair.

This was a remarkably easy conclusion for a young white male teenager of privilege to reach in the comfortable confines (if not ivory tower) of an upper-class suburb. While I knew about the generalities of injustice in the world, and had been taught by my parents’ actions how to see to the needs of the vulnerable, I never questioned the role that the accident of birth plays in determining so many lives. I imagined a talented teenager from the South Bronx had as good a chance of becoming a corporate CEO as an equally endowed student in Great Neck. I never considered that children growing up in poverty might go through half the school day hungry, until they eat their first food of the day at a federally-funded lunch program; so how could I have imagined the impact that severe hunger (let alone the emotional angst that might have accompanied it) on a student’s academic performance? After school, I could choose between being a Jock or a Theater Geek; there were no gangs tempting me to drop the charade of public education to live a different life on the street.

Not knowing any of these things, I certainly couldn’t have encompassed the remarkable role race often plays in issues of poverty and policy. I didn’t dwell on the inherent biases of SAT and ACT tests; I wasn’t equipped to consider how a growing test prep industry turned these purported examinations of intelligence into an inquiry of the financial resources students’ families had to properly prepare them to game the system. I had learned about the victories of (my personal hero) Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., and honestly (and naively) thought that Civil Rights in America had been secured for all.

There was a lot I didn’t know when, as a teenager, I believed Affirmative Action was wrong. I rejected this unfair policy because I genuinely didn’t know the world wasn’t fair. My textbooks and privileged reality prevented me from learning just how unfair our world, our nation, is for so many people.

Our world remains unfair. And, this morning, I woke up to the sad news that for those in our nation who tend to be the disproportionate victims of injustice, the balance has skewed even further against them. Our Supreme Court, in a 6-2 decision, upheld a Michigan constitutional amendment that bans affirmative action in public universities. Chief Justice Roberts, writing for the majority, stakes out a position as naïve and uniformed as the one I have outgrown since high school: “The way to stop discrimination on the basis of race is to stop discriminating on the basis of race.” It sounds as perfect and tautological as any argument ever mounted. And it works very well if you are male, white and privileged.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERANot surprisingly, our Court’s two female Justices dissented from this disappointing decision. Justice Sotomayor, herself the beneficiary of Affirmative Action policies, recast Roberts’ ruling: “The way to stop discrimination on the basis of race,” she wrote, “is to speak openly and candidly on the subject of race, and to apply the Constitution with eyes open to the unfortunate effects of centuries of racial discrimination.”

When I was a child, I had dewy optimistic eyes that looked at our nation through its lofty rhetoric and aspirational ideals. Part of meaningful maturation is opening our eyes to the world around us and allowing reality to challenge our preciously held positions. With a ruling made, in my opinion, with six sets of eyes widely shut, our Supreme Court yesterday made it harder for all of us to overcome the unfortunate effect of centuries of racial discrimination in America.

Rabbi Seth M. Limmer is rabbi of 
Congregation B’nai Yisrael of Armonk, New York.  

Categories
Immigration Prayer Rabbis Reform Judaism Social Justice

The Fast That I Desire: Honoring Esther, Seeking Justice

Our world has not been perfect for quite a long time.

In every age, our people have struggled to act in ways that can bring our world as-it-is ever closer to the world we know needs to be.  Two thousand years ago, when facing ravaging drought, plaguing disease, or devastating pestilence, our ancestors would abstain from food and drink.  We read of their reasoning in the Talmud: a fast day is decreed to petition God for compassion and the removal of calamity (Palestinian Talmud, Taanit 4a.  The title of the tractate, Taanit, is the word for “Fast”).   The hope of old was that the community’s choice to deprive itself of basic necessities would arouse Divine Compassion, and change the future for the better.

As we prepare for Purim, we remember how our heroine, Esther, spoke truth to power in Persia.  When Mordechai told her of Haman’s horrendous plot, Esther advised Ahasuerus to alter the royal decree; the story of the Megillah that bears her name testifies that Esther’s bravery and leadership prevented a great calamity from befalling our people.  But if the vivid picture that remains in our mind is of the Queen daring to speak up and challenge the King, often we forget a small detail that precedes this epochal moment.  When Mordechai tells Esther of Haman’s wicked counsel, her response is simple: Esther asks Mordechai to proclaim three days of fasting for the entire Jewish community of Shushan.  Esther hoped that a community united in purpose could not just alter royal rule, but even could help avert an unfortunate Divine Decree.

Our Jewish calendar commemorates Esther’s request by observing Taanit Esther—the Fast of Esther—every year, on the day before Purim.  In my entire life, I must admit, I have never observed this “minor fast” (as our tradition calls it).  But this year is different.  From the evening of March 12th through to sunset on the 13th, I will observe Taanit Esther as I never have before: I will abstain from food and drink.  What make this year different from all other years?

This year, the National Council of Jewish Women has led the charge in organizing Jewish women to fast on Taanit Esther in order to speak truth to power—human and maybe even Divine—in our day.  A national group, We Belong Together, is partnering with SEIU and the Fair Immigration Reform Movement (FIRM), in leading a month-long, nationwide women’s action involving daily fasts for immigration reform. NCJW is sharing in this project by bringing together Jewish women (and some sympathetic male rabbis, such as myself) in a religious fast on March 13th.  On that day, our community will be united in speaking up for the immigrant women and families in our communities who suffer because of a broken immigration system that divides families and keeps many of our undocumented neighbors fearfully living in the shadows.   In the spirit of Queen Esther, Jewish women will fast on this sacred day in order to rouse compassion—Divine and maybe even human—for the immigrant community in America.

I hope our fast brings not only compassion, but also justice.  Unfortunately, in today’s immigration system, justice is far from achieved. Justice is delayed for the millions of family members who face up to decades-long backlogs in acquiring visas. It is denied to the 11 million undocumented immigrants who must live in the shadows of our society, away from the protective shelter of workplace standards and legal recourse. It is delayed for the 5,000 children who entered the foster care system when their parents were deported. It is denied for the LGBT Americans who cannot sponsor the visa of a spouse or partner the same way that a straight husband or wife can. We as Americans—we as Jews—can no longer delay our own pursuit of justice. The time is now to fix this broken system.

When our ancestors faced the broken systems of winds that brought locusts, or skies that held back the rains, they organized a fast.  They wondered, as Ruth Calderon captures:  What has the power to cause rain to fall?  What can bring the abundance of the heavens down on a parched Earth? What succeeds in piercing the hardened heart of a God who withholds rain? (Ruth Calderon, A Bride for One Night, p. 4).

I wonder in our day: What succeeds in piercing the hardened heart of a Congress, a House of Representatives, the government of the United States of America, who withhold justice? Our current immigration system fails to reflect the values I hold most dear as a Jew and an American. For too long, justice has been denied to 11 million undocumented men, women, and children.  As a Rabbi, I am proud to stand with American Jewish women: united, we have the power to stand together and use the Fast of Esther to demonstrate our resolve to ensure immigration reform remains a top priority in the House of Representatives and becomes a reality for the United States of America.  As happened to our heroic Queen Esther, the time has come for us to speak truth to power.

Rabbi Seth M. Limmer is rabbi of 
Congregation B’nai Yisrael of Armonk, New York.
This post originally appeared on rabbilimmer.cbyarmonk.org.

Categories
Ethics Israel News Rabbis Social Justice

Learning from the Matter: Our Fallen Leaders

Mine is a strange relation to the tragic 50th anniversary we commemorate today, because I was not alive the day John Kennedy died.  I came into this world a decade later, and when I was finally ready to learn about the 1960’s, I studied as one unit the assassinations of three national leaders: the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Robert Kennedy, and John F. Kennedy.  November 22nd is not a date that sticks in my memory, as I do not belong to that generation that heard reports on radios and then steered cars to the curb with tear-filled eyes.  I carry mental images of Kennedy’s children at Arlington National Cemetery, but would have been hard-pressed (until recently) to remember even in which month this tragedy occurred.

November 4th, 1995: that date I remember very well.  We had just bid farewell to Shabbat in Jerusalem, and before hitting the still-opening city, some friends and I gathered in my sixth-floor apartment.  Before we walked out the door, the phone rang.  I was shocked to hear the voice of a friend who had just returned to the States the previous week.  “What’s going on over there?” he demanded.  When I reported it was just an average Saturday night, he cut right through: “Seth, didn’t you hear the news?  Yitzhak Rabin was just shot at a peace rally in Tel Aviv.”

We are in a month of remembrance for fallen leaders, for symbols of a better tomorrow who were shot down in their prime.  Today we mark the 50th anniversary of the assassination of an American President; earlier this month we marked a significant 18 years since an Israeli Prime Minister was murdered after singing a song of peace.  We are in a season where we confront continuous violence and base hatred.  We risk doing dishonor to our dead if we memorialize their passing with only words of sadness and regret, without doing the difficult work of learning the lessons of these tragedies.

I can only share a single story.  I lived in Jerusalem in the fall of 1995, when Israel’s election season was in full swing.  On my daily walk through downtown streets on my way to the Hebrew Union College, I saw almost every empty wall plastered with posters: for Labor, for Likud, against Likud, against Labor, and—of course—with the positions and politicians of every other party.  Some of these political posters were remarkably troubling: Yitzhak Rabin against giant letters declaring him a “TRAITOR”, Rabin’s face superimposed over the infamous keffiyeh of Yasser Arafat, and—most painfully and inexplicably—the elected Prime Minister of the State of Israel dressed as a member of the Nazi SS.

UnknownSuch base hatred sickened me.  Yet, I remember well, it seemed par for the course for Israeli discourse, especially regarding politics.  The days after Rabin was killed, I remember Israel was—almost to a person—in shock that the assassin was Jewish.  It was simply inconceivable to Israelis that a Jew could perpetrate a heinous crime against a Jew.  “Why,” I recall thinking, “Are so many Israelis surprised?  Had they not seen the literal signs?  When an elected government official can not only be called a traitor but also labeled a Nazi, when such hate is fomented on such a widespread scale, what other outcome could have been predicted but this?”

This week’s Torah portion, Vayeishev, tells a similar cautionary tale of unchecked antipathy.  We are familiar with the famous story of Joseph the dreamer, who regales his brothers with visions of how he will one day rule over them; we also know this leads to his brothers’ conspiracy to sell Joseph into slavery, to deceive their family into thinking he died.  Often lost in this saga is the pivotal role played by a silent bystander: Jacob.  We read in Genesis 37:11 that: [Joseph’s] brothers became jealous of him, and his father observed the matter.  On first glance, the meaning of the verse is obvious: Jacob does nothing about the growing and apparent enmity between his children.  Various commentators, favorable to Jacob, have tried to mitigate this passivity: Saadiah Gaon claims he “entered the matter into his memory”, as if to do something about this strife in the future; Rashi reads the second half of this verse against its context and hints that Jacob was ignorant of the discord in his home.

Jacob’s silence in the face of growing hatred was a contributing factor to the enslavement and imprisonment of his favorite son.  His guilt is not on the level of Judah, who negotiated the sale, or the other brothers who were willing accomplices. However, it seems clear to me that Jacob bears responsibility for failing to try and mitigate a remarkably hostile situation.  Likewise, only one assassin killed Yitzhak Rabin.  While those who helped create and foster that hate didn’t have their fingers on the trigger, they are nonetheless accessories to the crime.  And, as we learn from the story of Jacob’s stony silence, those of us who literally walked through Israel’s environment of animosity on a daily basis—and could pretty well guess where it might lead—are not without blame ourselves.

Those who fan the flames of hatred bear responsibility for the ultimate incarnation of the hostility they generate.  But those who stand by idly while they watch temperatures boil, in my opinion, need to bring themselves to account as well.  I cannot comment on the killing of Kennedy; that was not my time.  But as we—on this 50th anniversary of his life being stolen—gather to learn the lessons of painful assassinations, we should examine the epidemic of enmity in our world today, and figure out how we make sure we do not replicate Jacob’s sin of keeping silent.  On this day of sad memorial, let us work to unsure there will be fewer days of sad memory for our children and grandchildren.  Let us commit to counter the culture of ceaseless hatred that threatens to unravel the very fabric of our civilized society.

Rabbi Seth M. Limmer is rabbi of 
Congregation B’nai Yisrael of Armonk, New York.  

 

Categories
CCAR Convention General CCAR Rabbis Reform Judaism

See You in Chicago!: From the First CCAR Convention Registrant

I must admit it’s more than a little embarrassing to receive an e-mail from a classmate (and Jerusalem roommate!) telling me I was the first colleague to register for our upcoming CCAR Convention in Chicago. It’s one thing to be an enthusiastic member of our Conference (which I am), but it’s another matter entirely to be the loudest guy cheering at the pep rally.

But I’m glad Joui Hessel reached out to let me know I was the very first registrant, because it’s given me a chance to reflect on why I rushed to make sure that I would be a part of yet another meaningful, productive, and refreshing CCAR convention.  And I can boil all that down to two things: learning with colleagues, and doing with colleagues.

The learning at Convention is always top-notch.  Be it the speakers (Michael Chabon last year was a highlight for me) or the smaller sessions, there’s always something new to think about, a new perspective provided, and thoughtful friends (unfortunately scattered across North America) with whom to discuss.  And then there is the incredibly important informal education: catching up with colleagues in the hallways, restaurants and [let’s admit it] bars, to see what’s happening in their lives, and to talk about common challenges we face.  There’s no better course of professional development than conversing with CCAR_LB-0660colleagues of all ages to help orient me before I return back home.

Learning is good, but doing is more important.  (That’s in Pirkei Avot, I’m pretty sure, but this isn’t a scholarly article.) And the “doing” that we rabbis get to work on together changed profoundly for me last year in Long Beach.  There we launched the first campaign of Rabbis Organizing Rabbis, which has led to a massive year of continued effort and focus on helping Comprehensive Immigration Reform pass through Congress.  The Convention not only allows our strategy team to meet face-to-face (in place of bi-weekly conference calls), but it more importantly allowed all of us to connect to colleagues who soon became comrades-in-arms in this crusade.  It was incredibly energizing to see a room full of rabbis engaged in an issue; it’s more encouraging, many months later, to see how many of those rabbis have found meaningful ways to remain connected to and involved in the work since Long Beach.

254I find that time away from home and hearth and study allows me time to get better perspective on my life and career.  For thirteen straight years, I find no better partners in finding that perspective than my friends who share CCAR Convention with me.  Because these times are so precious to me, I’m proud I was the first to register.

And I hope you’re the next one to do so!  See you in Chicago!

  Rabbi Seth M. Limmer is rabbi of 
Congregation B’nai Yisrael of Armonk, New York.  

Categories
News Rabbis Reform Judaism

Perspectives on the Pew

And how do we keep our balance? That I can tell you in one word: Tradition!

—Fiddler on the Roof 

Is Judaism a religion? Is Jewishness a matter of culture? Are the Jews a nation? These are modern questions….

—Leorah Batnitzky, How Judaism Became a Religion

October 1st was a funny day.  I woke up to a stuffed e-mail inbox filled with messages from family, friends and colleagues, who all sent me a link to the same article in that morning’s New York Times.  The Pew Research Foundation had just published the results of a major population study entitled, “A Portrait of Jewish Americans”, and it seemed everyone wanted to talk about it.  An hour later, when I walked into a meeting at the offices of UJA in White Plains, everyone in a room filled with Jewish professionals either had their nose in the newspaper, or was waving around the front page as we wondered what it all meant.

I imagine the Jewish community will be responding to the data from this survey for quite some time, just as we did following the Jewish Population Studies undertaken by the United Jewish Communities in 1990 and 2000.  But there is one major headline from this survey that I think is more interesting and complex than even the people at Pew realize: the discovery, which represents a significant increase, that 22% of American Jews describe themselves as “having no religion”.  This revelation, as you might imagine, is the source of great consternation in the organized Jewish community.

But this number is not surprising to me, and, in some ways, not even troubling.  I will tell you why.  Often, people come into my office—especially when they are joining the synagogue—so we can begin building a meaningful relationship.  We talk of families, upbringings, relationships with synagogues and much more.  And a line I hear more often than not—importantly, from people who are about to join a temple!—is something along the lines of the following: “Being Jewish is really important to me, but I’m not religious.”  To me, this is the same phenomenon of someone replying, “no” to the Pew poll’s question, “Are you Jewish by religion?”  And to me, for years, this is a fascinating phenomenon.

I have long wondered what it means for a Jew to claim that being Jewish was vitally important at the same time they downplayed the role of religion.  I used to think these people were ceding the definition of “religious” to the Orthodox, and were basically distinguishing themselves from Jews who wear black hats and earlocks, or wigs and long skirts.  But soon I came to realize that something deeper was happening.  As I became more and more comfortable probing the statement “I’m Jewish but not religious” with people, I began to discover (in my very unscientific sampling) that people were expressing either an ambivalence about belief in God or a disconnect from the power of prayer.  Sometimes, “I’m not religious” was code for saying, “Judaism is incredibly important to me, even though I’m not sure I believe in God and don’t really feel anything significant is happening when I sit in the sanctuary for services.”  To my ears, that statement translates as follows: I’m a committed Jew, but no synagogue or individual has ever helped me understand how I can consider myself fully Jewish if I have doubts or reservations about faith and prayer.  And if that’s what people really mean when they say “I’m Jewish but not religious,” then it’s a miracle that only 22% of American Jews feel this way!

jew-overview-2For as long as there has been a Jewish people, Jews have had serious questions and conflicts about faith and prayer.  Pharaoh in Egypt was the first one to call us a people; the same generation he enslaved, once they were free and found themselves at Mt. Sinai meeting God, fell into such a quandary of faith forty days later that they built the Golden Calf.  Before this generation, Abraham—the first Jew—questioned whether God would deliver on the divine promise for a large family, considering Abraham was 100 years old and had no son.  His daughter-in-law Rebekkah, and her daughter-in-law Rachel also confronted God with fundamental, existential anguish.  Our Prophets castigated our ancestors for roughly 200 years of questioning God; our biblical books of Job and Ecclesiastes wonder aloud how anyone can believe in God, given the state of the world.  As much as Jews have been a people of The Book for millennia, so too have we been a people of questioning and doubt, especially regarding the God we call Adonai.

But this lack of faith, or evolving faith of every individual, has done little to stem centuries of Jewish commitment to a Jewish way of life.  Generations of Jews have embraced Torah—literally and figuratively—even though they didn’t necessarily embrace God or prayer at the same time.  Judaism has long been much more about living a certain way of life, following a certain path, halakha, a way of walking through our world, than it has been about subscription to any sort of creed of belief or fidelity.   We are obligated to mitzvot, commandments, even if we have our doubts about Who issued those commands.  Agnostics and athiests light Shabbat candles, lead Passover Seders, and engage in the work of Tikkun Olam as much as do the fully faithful.  Our tradition considers all these people Jews, with no distinction.  They are all part of the Jewish people, regardless of belief.

Importantly, the Hebrew language has no word for “religion”.  The word dat, which is Modern Hebrew for “religion” is in fact a loan word from ancient Persian that snuck itself into the book of Daniel in the mouth of a Persian politician describing our people.  The Hebrew way—and thus authentically Jewish way—to talk about Judaism has nothing to do with religion: we are a people.  We are called Am Yisrael, the people of Israel, or B’nai Yisrael, the children of Israel.  We are a conglomeration of ethics, morals, rituals and practices accumulated by people willing (sometimes in the least friendly of environments) to call themselves Jews.  Princeton Professor Leora Batnitzky rightly teaches us that Jews only began to consider themselves a religion (which is a European, Christian way of understanding faith) when Jews began to live in closer emancipated quarters with non-Jews in the modern age.  Going back through history to Abraham, fewer than 22% of Jews in history would even know what the word religion (in any language) meant, let alone consider themselves “religious”.  Instead, we would likely define ourselves as Tevye did so aptly in the great Broadway musical: we Jews are a tradition.

So I am one Rabbi, and perhaps the only Rabbi, who is not terribly concerned that many modern Jews do not define themselves by a term neither Jewish nor particularly descriptive of Jewish practice: religious.  Instead, I am encouraged that so many Jews (69%) express that leading an ethical life is essential to their Jewishness, that an equal number (70%) attended or hosted a Seder last year, and that more than half (56%) say that working for justice (what we call tzedakah) is core to their Jewish identity.  These Jews are all maintaining Jewish tradition and building their Jewish identity, which has been the real work of our people since the days of Abraham and Sarah.

  Rabbi Seth M. Limmer is rabbi of 
Congregation B’nai Yisrael of Armonk, New York.  

Categories
CCAR on the Road General CCAR Immigration News Rabbis Reform Judaism Social Justice

Rabbis Organizing Rabbis: Immigration Reform Lobby Day in DC

Rabbis Organizing Rabbis Lobby Day in DC

(The CCAR “Gang of Ten”: Rabbis Michael Namath, Baht Weiss, Sam Gordon, Esther Lederman, Greg Litcofsky, Ari Margolis, David Adelson, RAC Deputy Director Rachel Laser, and Seth Limmer)

 It started as a question: as part of our Rabbis Organizing Rabbis campaign for Comprehensive Immigration Reform, would colleagues be interested in journeying to Washington, D.C. for a Rabbinic Lobby Day on Capitol Hill?  If so, would Senators and their staffs be willing to meet with national representatives of CCAR, even from out of state? If so, would we as rabbis be able to make any impact on the success of the legislation’s passage through Congress?

The answer to all these questions, I discovered on our first Rabbis Organizing Rabbis Lobby Day,  is a resounding: YES.

May 22 was an auspicious date for many reasons. We knew it was one of the final days Senators would be in town before their June recess.  We knew we had a team of ten colleagues taking trains, planes and automobiles to meet up at our Religious Action Center.  But we didn’t realize that late in the evening on May 21 the Senate Judiciary Committee would vote S. 744 [the bi-partisan bill for Comprehensive Immigration Reform, or CIR] out of committee by a margin of 13-5.  When we entered the halls of Congress, our Senators all knew that a vote on CIR was coming their way.

After a thorough prep session at the RAC, our day began by meeting Senator Daniel Bennet [D-CO], one of the members of the bipartisan “Gang of Eight” who championed CIR.  Led by David Saperstein (and together with our allies from the UUAA) we thanked Senator Bennet for his leadership, asked him how we could help ensure the passage of the Bill, and charged him (as he was happy to hear) to “get this work done”.

From that session, our own CCAR “Gang of Ten” fanned out over Capitol Hill to meet in smaller groups with the offices of  seven key senators.  We heard interesting messages from two other members of the Gang of Eight with whom we met: Dick Durbin [D-IL] charged us to help secure the vote of his IL colleague, Mark Kirk [R-IL]; Robert Menendez directed our focus to the House of Representatives, where his staff feels this legislation will face serious and sustained opposition.  Angus King [I-ME] also reiterated a call to ensure the overwhelming passage of CIR in the Senate to put real pressure on the House.

Our teams also scheduled appointments with Senators whose previous statements and records led us to believe we would have to work hard to gain their support. In many ways, it was in these sessions where the real learning of the day took place, and where the greatest optimism was found.  Joe Donnelly [D-IN], heavily influenced by the support the Catholic Conference of Bishops has put behind CIR, was encouraged to hear more faith groups speak of the moral arguments for the legislation he is leaning to support.  His colleague, Dan Coats [R-IN, who had expressed dismay for President Obama’s DREAM act], turns out to be focused on the realism of CIR’s border-security measures, but seeks a comprehensive solution and is very open to the possibility of supporting S. 744.  (Coat’s Legislative Director especially asked us to be vocal on the issue of why this bill didn’t provide “amnesty”, as that was the biggest negative public perception he felt his office needed to overcome.)  Kay Hagan [D-NC], one of five Democrats who voted against the DREAM act, wouldn’t commit to a position, as she faces re-election in a state turning towards the other party.  It was curious that we felt more encouraged by our meetings with “swing”  Republicans than Democrats…..

The most interesting meeting of the day was with the office of Mark Kirk [R-IL].  The importance of Kirk’s leadership in widening the bipartisan support for CIR could be crucial, we had been told when meeting with Durbin’s staff.  So it was with great hope and a sense of urgency that Chicago’s own Rabbi Sam Gordon began our session setting forth a compelling case.  As conversations continued, we learned that Senator Kirk was open to supporting S. 744, and potentially even inclined to do so.  The early and vocal advocacy of the faith community, we were told, was a large reason why.  As the meeting became more and more encouraging, I felt emboldened to share the following with the Senator: thanks to Rabbis Organizing Rabbis, we already have a network of sixteen committed colleagues throughout Illinois who are poised to come out and support and help Senator Kirk arrive at (and keep to) the right vote on this issue.  Sam Gordon listed the many cities in which Rabbis Organizing Rabbis can really make a very public difference for the Senator, and Kirk’s people widened their eyes at the opportunities, took business cards, and pledged to be in touch.

I learned a lot from a tremendously full day in D.C.  From Rachel Laser and the RAC Staff, I learned how important it was, before going to Wasington, to advocate publicly on a local level (I was fortunate enough to have an Op-Ed published on Immigration Reform in the Jewish Week).  Sitting with Senators and showing them my public commitment and leadership definitely made a difference.  From my Just Congregations community organizing training I learned how having people on the ground in states gave us greater power and opportunity when talking with Senators.  From the Senators and staffers with whom we shared such fascinating conversations, I came to understand how much of a real difference it makes in the policy and legislation of our nation that we as rabbis went door-to-door on Capitol Hill.

And, lastly, I learned how invigorating it was to walk through the halls of Congress with my colleagues, making a real difference in the governance of our country and the ways its people are able to enjoy justice, peace and civil liberties.  I can’t wait to do it again.

 Rabbi Seth M. Limmer is rabbi of 
Congregation B’nai Yisrael of Armonk, New York.  

Categories
CCAR Convention Ethics Immigration News

Rabbis Organizing Rabbis: Immigration Reform

Zacil addressing Rabbis at CCAR Convention.
Zacil addressing Rabbis at CCAR Convention.

When Zacil finished speaking, I could see they eyes of four hundred fellow rabbis welled up with tears. This undocumented immigrant courageously described living in her shadowland of America, a parallel country to the land of opportunity discovered by my great-grandparents, a land ruled by the principle that–regardless of high school graduation or a university degree–the highest aspiration of person without papers was living in perpetual fear while toiling tirelessly as landscaper or maid.  When Rabbi David Saperstein rose to speak following her standing ovation, he simply stated, “There are eleven million Zacil’s living today in America.”  And so immediately, beginning with over 250 rabbis sending a simple text message to become part of Rabbis Organizing Rabbis, our Central Conference committed ourselves to work for comprehensive, humane and common sense Immigration Reform.

I helped form Rabbis Organizing Rabbis to move the work of tzedek back to the center of my rabbinate, to the center of the Reform Rabbinate.  I knew I wanted to work closely with colleagues on sustained campaigns to bring greater justice to our world; I sensed so many colleagues shared a commitment to tikkun olam that we were just waiting for the moment to act together and reclaim our Reform Movement’s mantle as leaders in repairing our world.  But by the time I wiped the tears from my eyes at hearing Zacil’s story, by the conclusion of a convention which 300 colleagues joined Rabbis Organizing Rabbis,  I was simply grateful that a dedicated and wide-ranging community was ready to get busy in the work that Torah calls us to do: to see to the welfare, the dignity, the humanity of the stranger, the oppressed.

In a workshop, my colleague and friend, Rabbi Larry Bach shared with us a teaching from Deuteronomy 6:

And it shall be, when Adonai your God brings you into the land which sworn to your ancestors, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give you great and goodly cities, which you did not build; and houses full of all good things, which you did not fill; and wells dug, which you did not dig; vineyards and olive trees, which you did not plant; when you shall have eaten and be full, then be wary lest you forget Adonai, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, from the house of slavery.

Larry challenged our complacency, we comfortable citizens of these United States who are not wary Deuteronomy’s warning and frequently forget we are but a generation or two removed from the immigrant experience.  I was forced to think back through the many family stories I have forgotten to try and recall how my ancestors made it to America’s shores.  I remembered the story of my great-grandfather, who [and I appreciate the cosmic irony here] ran away from Russia rather than go to the seminary his parents wanted him to attend.  I had always heard how, in sneaking out of Eastern Europe, he was forced at a certain point to hide from Cossacks in the straw and hay of a mattress lining.  He saved his own life when not making a sound as the Cossack’s bayonets pierced his stomach, causing blood to pool in his shirt and amid the straw.  He carried that scar the rest of his life, across the Atlantic Ocean, and through Ellis Island to America.

I really don’t know if my grandfather was an illegal immigrant or not.  I don’t know how or if he got his papers squared away legally.  But I have realized, thanks to Larry Bach and Deuteronomy, that my great-grandfather must have skirted or violated innumerable laws and ordinances in escaping the oppression of Russia and making his way to safer shores.  I have come to see that I had forgotten: I am the heir of illegal immigrants, real human beings who fled real horror to discover in America a better way of life for their children, and their children’s children.  Quite literally, for me.

So I commit myself, along with countless colleagues, to work for comprehensive and humane Immigration Reform.  Not just because it is the right thing to do; not simply because it will be the first campaign of Rabbis Organizing Rabbis.  I am doing this for my great-grandfather, for my family, and for me.  I will no longer forget who I am, and what my identity compels me to do.  I am the stranger, and knowing what it feels like to be oppressed, I must work on behalf of strangers, aliens, those in the shadows, everywhere.

 

Rabbi Seth M. Limmer is rabbi of 
Congregation B’nai Yisrael of Armonk, New York.