Being a Blessing to Our Country

Historically, we Jews have had a cynical view of politics. This sentiment is not entirely surprising, considering our medieval history of ingratiating ourselves with rulers only to have those rulers—or their descendants—turn on us and expel us from their countries. This distrust goes back even further to our earliest texts, where we find numerous quotes reflecting a wariness toward political leadership. For example, in Psalm 146:3 from the First Temple period, we are advised, “Do not put your trust in princes.” Similarly, during Roman times, Pirkei Avot cautions, “Do not draw near to a government.” While it would be easy to advocate for disengaging from politics, next week’s Torah portion reminds us that Abraham and the Jewish people are called to be a blessing to the world. Yet many Reform Jews seem reluctant to express our values publicly, even as we thrive in other areas of American society. So, as we approach election day in 2024, I ask: How can we be a blessing to our nation? What do we Jews have to say to our country today?

You might wonder, “Is the rabbi going to tell us how to vote?” No. While I have opinions about how you should vote, I will not share them. I also know that some will interpret my words as an endorsement—or a rejection—of a particular candidate, but this conversation is not just about the presidency. Our values must be expressed at local, state, and national levels because these issues affect us all, and our Jewish tradition has much to offer. By sharing these values, we carry forward the torch passed from the biblical prophets to the rabbis who marched for civil rights and Soviet Jewry. My goal tonight is to inspire us, as Reform Jews, to participate openly in the national conversation by reflecting on three Jewish virtues: loving the stranger, watching what we say, and engaging in constructive disagreement.

First, ahavat ha-ger, loving the stranger, is deeply ingrained in our tradition. Immigration has become a polarizing political issue, with over 120 million people forcibly displaced worldwide as of May 2024. Of these, the United States welcomed only 100,000 refugees—just 0.2% of the global total. Faced with these staggering numbers, what does Judaism compel us to do? The truth is, there are competing values. We are commanded to ensure national security and remember the Amalekites’ surprise attacks, emphasizing vigilance. But alongside this is the mitzvah of loving the stranger, repeated 36 times in the Torah: “You shall not wrong or oppress a stranger, for you were strangers in Egypt.” Our own history—such as the 1939 poll where 61% of Americans opposed admitting Jewish refugee children fleeing Nazi Germany—demands that we not turn our backs on vulnerable populations today. How can we, in good moral conscience, refuse asylum to others when our tradition and experience implore us to act with compassion?

Second, shmirat ha-lashon, or guarding our speech, teaches us to use language with integrity, transparency, and care. Trust in leaders has been eroded by lies, half-truths, and deceptive clarifications. Judaism recognizes the power of words. Rabbi Judah Loew of Prague noted that the Hebrew word lashon (tongue) starts with lamed, pointing upward to signify speech’s uplifting potential, and ends with nun, pointing downward to its destructive power. Jewish tradition identifies numerous categories of harmful speech, from lashon hara (speaking negatively even if true) to mozi shem ra (spreading slander). Conversely, positive forms of speech—offering words of peace, kindness, and constructive rebuke—uplift us. As this election year unfolds, we must commit to elevating our language and demand the same from our leaders.

Finally, machloket l’shem shamayim, or disagreement for the sake of heaven, reminds us that constructive dialogue requires openness to opposing views. Social media, once hailed for democratizing discourse, has often devolved into a toxic space that stifles honest conversation. Judaism values respectful debate. Unlike Greek philosophical methods where teachers lead students to pre-determined conclusions, machloket l’shem shamayim assumes that neither side knows the answer from the outset. The Talmud teaches that after prayer, we take three steps backward, symbolizing the need to step away from rigid positions before seeking peace. We bow left and right, acknowledging differing perspectives before finding common ground. Imagine the transformation if our leaders—and we—embraced this approach.

As election day approaches, I urge you to vote if you haven’t already. Regardless of the outcome, let us remember that thousands of years of Jewish wisdom guide us. I conclude with a blessing for our nation and its leaders:

May God bless and keep our country and its leaders. May we draw from our traditions to foster community rooted in honesty and mutual respect. May our debates be rigorous yet dignified, honoring human worth. Let us engage ideas on their merits, exercise restraint in expressing our views, and celebrate the diversity of thought that strengthens our democracy. And let us say, Amen.