Refugees are in our Midst

Passionate exchanges about the executive order regarding refugees fill my work and home tables.  The response from the Jewish community in support of refugees largely focuses on the fact that we came to this country as refugees.  The unique trauma of the Holocaust motivates many of us.  The biblical command to care for and to love the stranger because we were strangers in Egypt is a recurring theme.

But this challenging moment provides an opportunity and an obligation to delve deeper into Jewish texts in order to contribute additional nuance to these conversations.  A closer look at Jewish texts strengthens the case and adds further motivation.

The Talmud teaches about the many arguments between the schools of Hillel and Shammai and notes that the law almost always follows Hillel.  Why?  The Talmud answers:  It is because the students of Hillel were kind and gracious.  They taught their own ideas as well as the ideas from the students of Shammai.  But not only this, Hillel’s students went so far as to teach Shammai’s opinions first. (Eruvin 13b)

In that spirit I acknowledge that terrorism is a genuine threat in our world.  Of course thorough vetting is crucial for those entering this country.

The current average two year screening process for refugees allows only 1% of those in need to enter the United States.  If there are any holes in that extensive process, let’s repair them.   But the recent executive order is based more on fear than on any real security gaps.

We don’t need Jewish texts to prove that we don’t become safer by confusing terror with those who are fleeing terror, or by closing our doors, even temporarily, to all who are most vulnerable.  We certainly can’t justify these actions based on fear rather than fact.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, former chief Rabbi of Great Britain wrote about the repetition of the command to remember that we were strangers in Egypt. The experience of being a stranger is the reason behind the command to love the stranger as yourself.  Rabbi Sacks writes (italics his):

Jewish law is here confronting directly the fact that care for the stranger is not something for which we can rely on our normal moral resources of knowledge, empathy and rationality. Usually we can, but under situations of high stress, when we feel our group threatened, we cannot. The very inclinations that bring out the best in us – our genetic inclination to make sacrifices for the sake of kith and kin – can also bring out the worst in us when we fear the stranger. We are tribal animals and we are easily threatened by the members of another tribe.

During times of danger and stress the Jewish people are chosen and commanded to remember the experience of vulnerability.  That is why seeing refugees turned away reminds us of what we felt when we had nowhere to go.

But what happens if we don’t both remember and then also act?  The Torah is clear:   If you oppress the stranger, the orphan, the widow – categories that represent the most vulnerable people in ancient societies – then they surely will cry out to me, says God in Exodus 22, using the same Hebrew word used to describe the cry of the Israelites oppressed under Pharaoh.  God continues:  If you oppress the vulnerable, then you will suffer the same fate as the Egyptians.  Why?  Because God hears the cry of the truly oppressed – whoever they are and wherever they may be.

In addition, Rabbi Shai Held teaches that the Torah, alone among ancient legal texts, commands the individual, not just the king, to care for the defenseless among us.  Oppression or even passivity, especially during times of fear, are dangerous to the humanity and ultimately to the physical safety of those who perceive themselves “safe.”

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We often hear that the Torah’s central concern is for the vulnerable.  We too often ignore the Torah’s deep concern for the humanity of those with the capacity to support and care for the vulnerable.

Finally, there are those who argue, rightfully, that the biblical command to love and care for the vulnerable stranger refers to the stranger who lives with us –  in our midst בקרבך   or within our gates בשעריך.  It doesn’t speak directly about immigration policies.   To this, I offer the following replies:

1. Many refugees in this country are separated from treasured family members. Uniting them with loved ones, many in mortal danger, is an essential element of loving and caring for those in our midst.
2. The rhetoric around refugees, too often now painted as “other” and as dangerous, contributes to an environment of fear and increased hate crimes against many minorities in this country, especially those targeted by the executive order.
3. Perhaps most significantly, what does “in our midst” mean in the 21^st century? The pained faces of refugees present themselves to me in my living room through my television screen.  They sit daily at my table, filling the front pages of my newspaper.  Driving to work, voices of desperate parents and children join me as I listen to news.  In this world, with distant faces and voices constantly calling out in need, may I honestly say that they aren’t “in my midst?”

Today, it isn’t a stretch to translate the word stranger as refugee.  They most certainly live “in our midst.”  During this time of stress and fear, how will we respond to their cries?