This a text version of my Shabbat sermon from 9/19/17 –
One hundred and thirty one years ago next month the Statue of Liberty was dedicated on a day of great ceremony and celebration. There was a parade through Manhattan that hundreds of thousands of people attended, followed by a nautical parade of dignitaries. The ceremony itself, taking place at the foot of the great statue, was presided over by none other than President Grover Cleveland. In his remarks that day he explained Lady Liberty’s symbolism in the following way: “her stream of light shall pierce the darkness of ignorance and man’s oppression until Liberty enlightens the world.”
It wasn’t until 17 years later that the poem ‘the New Colossus’ was installed at the base of what had become by that time America’s most famous and symbolic statue. Written in sonnet form, the 14 lines of the poem captured Lady Liberty’s symbolism, and also perfectly described the sense of America as a place of refuge, safety, and freedom. I expect some of you probably memorized these lines at some point in school, but it is worth repeating them this morning:
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
The sea washed sunset gates of the poem are the Hudson and East Rivers, framing Manhattan on her east and west sides. The imprisoned lightning? The torch in Lady Liberty’s raised right hand, lit by electric light. The twin cities? New York is obviously one – what about the other? Brooklyn, the true center of the world! And the huddled masses are of course the thousands upon thousands of immigrants who came to these shores through the gates of Ellis Island. A nearly perfect description in words of what the statue had come to mean to our country, and to the world. America, a land of freedom, opportunity, and welcome to all.
The New Colossus was written by a Sephardic Jew named Emma Lazarus. Lazarus lived a largely secular life until she was in her early 30s when she read the great George Eliot novel Daniel Deronda, about a young Jew who suddenly discovers his Jewish identity and decides to devote himself to the Jewish people. She saw in that narrative a reflection of her own life, and from that point forward Emma Lazarus began to devote herself to Jewish causes. She was particularly interested in the eastern European Jews who came to this country in the 1880s and 90s. She was moved by their stories of hardship and suffering, combined with their deep faith and the sense of hope they maintained that they could build a better life here in America. Lazarus saw her poem as an expression of gratitude for the past, for her own ancestors who had made their way to this country and the goodness that they found here, and she also saw it as expression of hope, that future generations of immigrants would be welcomed to these shores, where they could one day build lives of dignity and opportunity.
I’ve often wondered during the last week what Emma Lazarus would have thought about our current debate over the DACA law (deferred action for childhood arrivals) and the so called ‘Dreamers.’ I imagine you have followed the news. DACA was put into place 5 years ago by then President Obama, and its intention was to enable children whose parents who had come to this country illegally to become legitimate citizens. This week it was announced that the DACA protections would expire in 6 months, and if congress does not act (which it seems virtually incapable of) it is possible that as many as 800,000 young adults, who have grown up in this country, many of whom have jobs, or are in school full time, would be deported.
Of course like with everything these days the debate has become intensely politically charged, and there are also legal arguments being made on both sides. But I wonder what Emma Lazarus would have thought in terms of the values that are being expressed in this national conversation. Because at the end of the day this debate really is about values. What do we want this country to symbolize, to stand for? What ideals do we hope the citizens of this country believe in? At the heart of this conversation is a question of whether we still subscribe to the ideals and values that are so elegantly and beautifully laid out in the 14 lines of that sonnet that Emma Lazarus composed 134 years ago.
There can be no question that caring for the stranger is a primary value of the Torah’s. There are no fewer than 46 references to the stranger in the Torah, each of them a reminder of the responsibility the community has to care for those who find themselves on the margins of society. And there are two reasons why the tradition is so concerned with this ideal. The first is it understands the Jewish experience to be that of the stranger. Jews know what it feels like to be ostracized, Jews know what it feels like to be marginalized, Jews know what it feels like to be expelled from a country. And so if any people should have an extra sensitivity to the stranger, it should be the Jewish people.
But the other reason is that Judaism understands that the way a society treats its strangers is a measure of that culture’s quality. There is an odd verse in this morning’s Torah portion. In a series of curses, of bad things that will happen to the Israelites if they don’t obey God, you find the following: והיית ממשש בצהרים כאשר ימשש העור באפלה – you will grope about in the daylight in the same way a blind man gropes about in the darkness. And the commentators are puzzled. Because what difference does it make to a blind man whether it is night or day, dark or light?
The Talmud provides a wonderful answer. If a blind man is groping about in the darkness, no one else can see that man to help him. But in daylight others will see him struggling, and they will come to him to help him find his way.
And that is where we are. We are at a crossroads, not just with DACA, but in so many other ways, of deciding what kind of nation we want to be, what kind of values we want to embrace. Do we want to be the kind of country where we grope about in the dark, each person trying to fend for him or herself, unable or unwilling to help one another? Not able to truly see the other? Or do we want to be the kind of nation that seeks the light, a light that is symbolized by the torch held up in the hand of Lady Liberty, so that when one of us stumbles, when when of us needs help, when one of us can’t see a way forward, he or she is embraced by others, and welcomed home?
What do we sing in the Sim shalom paragraph of the amidah? כי באור פניך נתת לנו ה אלוקינו תורת חיים ואהבת חסד – in the Light of Your countenance, You gave us God a Torah of life, and a love of kindness, righteousness, blessing, compassion, life, and peace.
May that light and those values guide us and our nation in the months and years ahead –