The situation here on the border is serious. Refugees fleeing violence, persecution, extreme poverty and natural disasters from all over the world have found their way, through horrifically dangerous conditions, to the Mexico-U.S. border. The asylum-seekers, even counting only the survivors who make it across, constitute higher numbers of border crossings than ever before. People involved in the situation at all levels and of all political persuasions are overwhelmed.
There are many legitimate debates to have about just and feasible policies, about logistics, about law and about the big picture of how to keep the world healthy enough that mass migrations are not necessary.
But one question should not be up for debate, and every one of us, right and left, immigrant and citizen, must all agree on: The fundamental humanity of all people is not to be debated. The basic human right to seek asylum, enshrined both in international law and in U.S. law, is not to be debated. The right of asylum-seekers to humane treatment is not to be debated. As Nobel laureate Elie Wiesel is attributed with saying, “No human being is illegal.”
No matter how overwhelmed we are, we must not harden our hearts.
We are in the midst of the Jewish holiday of Passover. We commemorate the biblical story of the exodus. That story begins with a pharaoh looking at a minority population that had fled famine and settled on his land. He sees them, he feels scared and he convinces the other Egyptian people to fear the foreigners, too — and to neutralize the threat by oppressing them. The biblical text is clear that the driving force behind the Egyptians’ persecution of the Israelites is fear. Nor does the Bible say that the pharaoh has no reason to be afraid — it is the biblical narrative, not the pharaoh, that describes the Israelites as swarming and increasing and filling the land.
Like us in America, the Egyptians had a reason to feel overwhelmed. They are judged by history based not on their fear but on how they choose to respond to their fear — and we in America will be judged for the same. We have the choice whether or not we harden our hearts like the pharaoh.
Here in Arizona, I have learned what the other option is. I have learned through working over the past five years with nearly 100,000 individuals who crossed the border and were picked up by federal immigration authorities. We support the newcomers’ most basic needs of food, shelter, medical support and hygiene, including a new mobile shower unit that has already, in just its first year, provided 10,000 people with the opportunity to shower privately.
Working alongside a Mexican recipient of the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program, a Native American leader and many other wise and caring staff, volunteers and fellows, I witness every day the potential of responding to an overwhelming crisis with hope rather than fear. I experience the power of softening my heart to the other, rather than hardening it.
The central reason of the Passover night is summarized right in the middle of the Seder, the ritual meal: “In each and every generation, a person is obligated to see themselves as if they left Egypt.” There are two key messages embedded in this obligation.
The first is empathy for the oppressed. We are instructed over and over again in the Bible to care for the stranger, the widow, the orphan and the downtrodden “because you were a slave in Egypt.” When we encounter someone fleeing starvation, political repression and threats to their life and liberty, we should see ourselves in them. They are not a threatening, enemy “other,” because they are us. We know what it is like to need support, care and compassion, to need to be trusted though we are strangers. And so we will offer our support, care and compassion to those who need it now, and we will open our hearts with trust.
But there is another message. We are not only obligated to see ourselves as if we were slaves in Egypt; we also are obligated to see ourselves with the knowledge that we left Egypt. Whatever misfortunes we live with, we must know that we are free. We have power. When we see ourselves as downtrodden and powerless, we react to outsiders as a threat and justify any hostility on our part as self-defense.
The great message of Passover and the exodus story is to remind us that we have already been liberated, we have power, we are secure. We need not fear the other, and we have instead the great privilege and responsibility to welcome.
The freedom of Passover is not freedom from responsibility. It is liberation from oppression and entering into responsibility to God and to our fellow humans. As American novelist Toni Morrison said, “If you are free, you need to free somebody else. If you have some power, then your job is to empower somebody else.”
Rabbi Dr. Shmuly Yanklowitz is an educator, activist and the author of 24 books on Jewish ethics. In 2012 and 2013, Newsweek named him one of the top 50 rabbis in America. He was raised in Deerfield and conducts work in Chicago.