On Minneapolis: Responding with our faith
Reflections on Minneapolis from Rabbi Nora Feinstein, NCJW Director of Leadership Development
There’s a line from our sages that has been with me for the last few days, as we bear witness to what is continually unfolding in Minnesota:
ובמקום שאין אנשים, השתדל להיות איש
U’b’makom she’ein anashim, hishtadel lihyot ish.
“In a place where people have lost their humanity, strive to be human.”
(Pirkei Avot 2:5)
I am writing to you today, after we learned that ICE agents killed another legal observer in Minneapolis. Alex Pretti was an ICU nurse who decided to be present to protect his community and bear witness. He was not a threat, but rather he was in the streets of Minneapolis to ensure the law was being upheld and to defend human dignity.
This is unconscionable. It is intolerable. And it must end.
This shooting comes after days of protests in Minneapolis, where I just spent a few days with hundreds of clergy and faith leaders. We came from different religious traditions, flying in from all over the country. We came because the people of Minneapolis are under attack — and because our faiths demand that we do not stand idly by while our neighbors suffer.
Together, we bore witness to the indelible strength, resilience, and courage of the people of this city.
We heard from local clergy of many faiths. We learned from experienced community organizers and seasoned activists, as well as from people who don’t identify as leaders of any kind. People who just see themselves as ordinary. People who simply care about their neighbors. We listened to all of their stories and bore witness to their pain.
We heard about a mother taken just that morning from her three-month-old baby.
Children cruelly detained on their way home from school.
A pregnant woman barely saved by her neighbors, all of whom were maced in the process.
And these are only a few of the stories we heard.
There were tears. There was anger. There was exhaustion. There was fear. In the words of one local leader: “We have to do this afraid. There is no other choice.”
And, alongside the sadness and outrage, there was still music. There was laughter. There was joy. There was strength.
One pastor who serves a local immigrant community closed his reflections by saying he hoped that those outside Minneapolis would, “remember us not by our fears but by our dreams, dreams for what this world could and should be.”
And now — as we grapple with the news that Alex Pretti died at the hands of ICE agents — those words feel even heavier.
Our tradition teaches that we move through our fear in order to bring the world as it is closer to the world as it could, and should, be.
In synagogues around the world this morning, we read Parashat Bo, which recounts the moments just before the Israelites leave the bitter oppression they experienced under Pharaoh.
Moses pleads for his people’s safety, but Pharaoh’s heart remains hard. Even women and children are threatened. No one is spared. No one is safe. (Ex 10:9-10)
Those of us who know the Exodus narrative know that liberation will come. That the people will eventually flee Pharaoh’s oppression, marching toward the Promised Land.
But we’re not there yet in the story. This week, we’re hoping, alongside the Israelites, for redemption. We’re praying that Pharaoh’s heart will soften, that he will stop the suffering before it’s too late.
And so, as I reflect on these past few days, marching with thousands of Minnesotans, I do so with the soul memory of our people, with the knowledge that my faith and my tradition teach us to be with those who are suffering, and to resist the forces that act with impunity and cruelty.
We are with the people of Minneapolis. We are with them as they march into harm’s way to remind their neighbors that they, too, are made betzelem elohim, in the image of the divine.
In a place where people have lost their humanity, we must strive to be human — together.