This week, my heart feels heavy – because this week has required us to bear witness.
Bearing witness is not simply noticing what is happening around us. It is allowing what we see to enter us and change us. Judaism teaches that once our eyes have seen, once our ears have heard, and once our hearts have discerned what can no longer be ignored, neutrality is no longer an option.
For us as Jews, bearing witness commands responsibility.
This understanding is not theoretical for me. It was instilled in me at a young age. My father taught my siblings and me that Judaism does not permit the luxury of looking away. He taught us that once your eyes have seen and your ears have heard, you are commanded to respond. Bearing witness is not optional. It obligates action. One of his favorite Jewish teachings was Leviticus 19:16 from the Torah which names this obligation clearly:
“Lo ta’amod al dam re’echa – do not stand idly by while your neighbor bleeds.” Jewish tradition understands this as more than a prohibition against indifference. It is a command rooted in seeing. Once your eyes have seen and your heart has heard, you must act, to do your part to repair what is broken.
This week, we bore witness to many things.
On Saturday, on a brutally cold day in Raleigh, nineteen Buddhist monks entered the city on the 91st day of their 2300-mile “Walk for Peace.” This was neither a political nor a religious demonstration. It was an offering rooted in their core values of peace, compassion, and mindfulness, extended to a nation hungry for all three. North Caroline Governor Josh Stein declared January 24th “Walk for Peace Day” as thousands gathered at the North Carolina Capitol to greet them. In his remarks, he acknowledged not only those present, but the many more following their journey from afar via social media. He said, “You are bringing people hope. You are inspiring people at a time when so many are in need of inspiration… In our heart of hearts, we don’t want to feel on guard against our neighbors. We want to come together… No matter your faith or where you call home, we all have a role to play in bringing about peace.”
How striking that the monks arrived in Raleigh this particular week.
Earlier that same day, in Minneapolis, Alex Pretti, a thirty-seven-year-old ICU nurse for the United States Department of Veterans Affairs, was shot and killed by federal immigration agents while trying to help someone in distress. This occurred during a gathering of approximately fifty thousand people following the January 7th killing of Renee Good, at an event called “ICE Out of Minnesota: Day of Truth and Freedom,” organized by community leaders, clergy of many faiths, and labor unions. Leaders from across the Reform Movement traveled to Minnesota to stand alongside the community, to offer solidarity, and to bear witness in person. Presence matters. Refusing to look away matters.
Our hearts ache for what is taking place in our country. A nation fractured by fear. A people struggling to recognize one another as neighbors rather than threats. Bearing witness to this reality is painful, but refusing to see it would be far more dangerous.
This same week brought another kind of sorrow. On Monday, January 26, the remains of Master Sergeant Ran Gvili, z”l, age 24 were finally returned to Israel. Ran was the last remaining hostage in Gaza after being abducted by Hamas on October 7 and murdered. At last, his family was able to lay him to rest. For the first time since 2014, no Israeli hostages remain in Gaza. Yet this moment brings neither relief nor closure. It brings sorrow layered upon sorrow. Every hostage was a whole world. Every family now carries a future forever altered by violence.
We send our deepest condolences to Ran Gvili’s family and to all the families of the hostages. May they, and all who mourn, be surrounded by compassion. May they find strength, healing, and the possibility of life beyond trauma. May all who dwell in the land of Israel, and all who long for peace, come to know safety, dignity, and security in the days ahead.
On Tuesday, January 27, we observed International Holocaust Remembrance Day. A day that demands memory, not only of the six million Jews who were murdered, but of the moral cost of silence, denial, and indifference. Holocaust remembrance is itself an act of bearing witness across generations. It reminds us what happens when hatred is normalized and when the world stands idly by.
So much heaviness to hold in a single week, layered atop the personal burdens many among us are already carrying.
Judaism teaches us that it is not enough to wring our hands and say, “Woe is me, how terrible.” “Lo ta’amod al dam re’echa.” We cannot stand idly by. Each of us must take action, even when it feels overwhelming.
Where do we begin?
Some of us will volunteer our time, offering our hands and hearts where they are most needed. Some will write or call our members of Congress, using our voices to advocate for policies rooted in dignity and justice. Some will make donations to organizations that are doing the difficult work of protecting the vulnerable and effecting change. Some will show up, again and again, for neighbors who are afraid, hurting, or marginalized. Action takes many forms. All of them matter.
The Buddhist monks embarked on their Walk for Peace. Others traveled to Minnesota to stand shoulder to shoulder with a community in pain, offering presence, support, and solidarity, and bearing witness in person. Not all of us can do these things. That does not diminish our responsibility. It clarifies it. Each of us must find the action that is ours to take.
This week, Zemer Lexie Nuell, our TBO Director of Music and Community, also felt the weight of what we have been witnessing. She saw the monks on their Walk for Peace and followed the events in Minnesota. She wondered how she would one day explain this moment in history to her children. She wrote, “It’s easy to feel beaten down or helpless watching the news right now. I know there is power and comfort that comes from singing together… I texted about this with another TBO member and knew if she and I felt like that, probably others did as well.” Her response was to act. Within two days, she organized an evening of “Songs of Peace and Protest,” even composing a new original piece for the gathering. With little notice, people came. They needed to be together. They needed to sing, to hold one another, and to remember they were not alone. The evening met the moment with grace, poignancy, uplift, and most of all bonds of unity and community.
Her response is music. Mine is words.
As an intentional interim rabbi, it is not my habit to regularly comment on political matters. But these are not ordinary times. If I do not speak up, I would not be living up to my Jewish obligation of “lo ta’amod al dam re’echa,” the very obligation my father taught me to take seriously. With my words, I hope to inspire, motivate, or encourage others to speak up, volunteer, contact elected officials, support organizations doing good work, and take meaningful action in whatever ways they are able. It does not have to be on these particular issues. It can be for any issue that matters deeply to you.
Judaism teaches that disagreement is not a failure. It is part of sacred community. We can disagree, sometimes passionately, as long as we do so with civility and kindness, and as long as we continue to sit together as one community.
This week’s Torah portion (B’shalach from the Book of Exodus) includes Shirat HaYam, the Song of the Sea. After the Israelites cross to freedom, the Egyptian army drowns behind them. The rabbis imagine the angels rejoicing, only to be silenced by God, who says, “How can you rejoice when My people are drowning?” This is why, at Passover, we remove ten drops of wine from our cups. Even our joy must be tempered by the suffering of others.
We are all God’s children. Even those with whom we profoundly disagree.
If God grieves, if God cries, when enemies perish, how much more must we grieve when innocent people are persecuted, targeted, or killed. How much more must we refuse a world in which fear determines who may safely work, worship, or walk freely.
The monks remind us that peace begins with compassion. Torah reminds us that compassion must lead to action. Bearing witness demands both.
We pray for a world where God no longer cries nor grieves over what is taking place because we have figured out how to live with one another in compassion, kindness, harmony, justice, and peace.
“Then all shall sit under their vine and fig tree, and none shall make them afraid.” (Micah 4:4).
If Not Now (by Carrie Newcomer)
Shabbat Shalom!