Last month, The New York Times published a disturbing story about the expiration of health protections for migrant children in custody. The protections, which were the result of a legal settlement in 2022, implemented measures to safeguard the well-being of children held in certain areas along the southern border. The impending end of essential safeguards for migrant children at the border signifies more than just a straightforward change in policy; it highlights a serious moral crisis that requires our urgent focus and response.
As a religious leader and an individual who cares deeply about the dignity of the vulnerable, I feel a strong obligation to address this situation.
The fact that migrant children, already separated from their caregivers, had to rely on a court order to ensure access to basic necessities such as toothbrushes, blankets and proper medical care highlights a major flaw in our immigration system. Particularly, the reports from Dr. Paul Wise, a pediatrician who served as a juvenile care monitor, reveal ongoing struggles that should trouble any conscientious spectator: consistent reports from children of cold conditions, inadequate food accommodations for toddlers and continued family separations that inflict profound trauma. The 2023 death of 8-year-old Anadith Danay Reyes Alvarez — explained as “clearly preventable” — stands as a stark reminder of what happens when we as a society fail to maintain interest in populations that need our support the most.
At the most basic level, the Jewish tradition implores us to not oppress the stranger. This mitzvah (commandment) appears 36 times in the Torah, more than any other. Why the repetition? Because the treatment of the vulnerable among us serves as the ultimate test of a society’s moral character. The potential dismantling of these crucial oversight mechanisms for detained migrant children strikes at the heart of this sacred obligation.
And from a Jewish ethical perspective, the principle of pikuach nefesh — the preservation of human life — holds paramount importance, outweighing almost all other religious obligations. This principle should undoubtedly supersede bureaucratic convenience or political games. The fact that we are even considering removing crucial oversight mechanisms, while simultaneously planning to escalate deportations, marks a dangerous moral regression.
We must also reflect on the significant moral consequences of viewing children — specifically asylum-seekers and migrant minors — as nothing more than security risks instead of recognizing them as vulnerable individuals deserving of compassion and support. The Times article highlights that these facilities were originally designed for adult male workers. The unwillingness to adapt this system to meet the needs of its current inhabitants demonstrates a troubling lack of moral vision, a challenge we must confront with immediate action.
The Talmud teaches us, “Whoever saves a single life is considered to have saved the entire world” (Sanhedrin 37a). Conversely, when we deliberately remove protections that preserve lives, we become complicit in the consequences. The independent monitor role has repeatedly demonstrated its importance, from addressing overcrowding to enhancing medical record-keeping. To eliminate this position now is to close our eyes to potential abuses and the real dangers children face.
The Jewish prophetic tradition calls on people to speak truth to power and to protect the vulnerable. In the words of Isaiah, “Learn to do good. Devote yourselves to justice; Aid the wronged” (Isaiah 1:17). This isn’t hollow religious talk; it’s a crucial principle that should shape our policies, especially regarding how we care for children in government custody.
The declaration from Customs and Border Protection regarding its so-called extensive measures falls flat when contrasted with the findings from the pediatric monitor. Authentic repentance — called teshuvah in Hebrew — and reform demand true accountability and transparency, rather than superficial solutions that fade with shifting political landscapes. In the absence of ongoing oversight and substantial action, these measures are likely to devolve into mere symbolic gestures, neglecting the fundamental issues that lead to harm.
As a rabbi and advocate for human rights, I call on elected officials and, more importantly, all people of conscience, regardless of political party, to demand the continuation and expansion of these vital protections. But even more than that, the conditions at these facilities compel us to rethink the basic structures of how we care for children in custody. We must push for a new agency, one that is specifically focused on child welfare and that transcends partisan divisions and political gamesmanship.
As we stand at this moral crossroads, let us remember that how we treat migrant children will be judged not only by our contemporaries but also by history itself. We cannot claim ignorance about the conditions or the ramifications of removing oversight. The real question is whether we will have the moral courage to maintain and strengthen these protections rather than allow them to be discarded. The choice before us is clear: We can either uphold our highest values and moral obligations or turn away from them.
The ancient sages taught that “in a place where there are no leaders, strive to be a leader” (Pirkei Avot 2:5). Let us rise to this challenge and ensure that the protection of vulnerable children remains a nonnegotiable priority in our immigration system for the foreseeable future.
Rabbi Shmuly Yanklowitz is an educator, activist and author of 27 books on Jewish ethics. He was raised in Chicago and continues to do work here while primarily residing in Scottsdale, Arizona.
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