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Dear TBZ Community,
This Shabbat we read Parashat Beshalach, the Torah portion that tells the story we know so well: the Israelites leaving Egypt and crossing the sea to freedom, escaping oppression.
It is tempting to tell this story as a triumphant march from slavery to liberation, from terror to song. But the Torah refuses to romanticize the journey. Nothing about the Exodus is easy. The people leave Egypt running, afraid of what might still pursue them. They carry only what they can hold. They move toward a future they hope will be better, but they do not know what awaits them. And we know that even after crossing the sea, they will face many more adversities. The journey is long. It is dangerous. It is filled with fear, doubt, and loss.
The journey ahead for the people of Israel will also be one of building a relationship with God. In next week’s Torah portion, revelation will take place at Sinai. As they receive Torah, they will enter a covenant and walk a path that asks for their faith and trust. They will become a people who walk with God.
As the people move into the wilderness, the Torah tells us that God was with them, guiding them:
וַה׳ הֹלֵךְ לִפְנֵיהֶם יוֹמָם בְּעַמּוּד עָנָן לַנְחֹתָם הַדֶּרֶךְ וְלַיְלָה בְּעַמּוּד אֵשׁ לְהָאִיר לָהֶם לָלֶכֶת יוֹמָם וָלָיְלָה
Adonai went before them in a pillar of cloud by day, to guide them along the way, and in a pillar of fire by night, to give them light, that they might travel day and night (Exodus 13:21).
And then the Torah emphasizes:
לֹא־יָמִישׁ עַמּוּד הֶעָנָן יוֹמָם וְעַמּוּד הָאֵשׁ לָיְלָה לִפְנֵי הָעָם
The pillar of cloud by day and the pillar of fire by night did not depart from before the people (Exodus 13:22)
A pillar of cloud and a pillar of fire that never leaves.
This image carries a powerful theological claim: the sojourners are not abandoned. They are not alone. Even in the chaos of flight, even in the vulnerability of the wilderness, even in the fear of the journey and the uncertainty of what comes next, there is accompaniment, presence, and care.
This theme recurs again and again in the wilderness narrative. God is not distant or static. God’s presence is dynamic, active, moving with the people. Here, the Divine indwelling is symbolized not through something solid, fixed, or tangible, but through fire and cloud. Mysterious, intangible, and constantly shifting while guiding the people through an untamed and unknown landscape.
And yet, when I think about how God manifests in our world, and in our own lives, I am drawn not only to these biblical images, but to a teaching from the Babylonian Talmud, Sotah 14a, a teaching that is central to how we are called to be in the world.
ואמר רבי חמא ברבי חנינא מאי דכתיב: ״אחרי ה’ אלהיכם תלכו״
וכי אפשר לו לאדם להלך אחר שכינה
Rabbi Ḥama, son of Rabbi Ḥanina, says:
What is the meaning of the verse: “Follow Adonai your God”?
Is it possible for a mortal to follow the Divine Presence?
The question approaches the verse very literally (pshat): how could a human being actually walk after God?
And the Talmud answers:
אלא להלך אחר מידותיו של הקב”ה
Rather, one should follow the attributes of the Holy, Blessed One.
The text then makes this radical idea concrete, reminding us that this is possible, by offering examples of God’s actions that we are meant to imitate:
Just as God clothes the naked – clothing Adam and Eve – so too, should you clothe the naked.
Just as God visits the sick – visiting Abraham after his circumcision – so too, should you visit the sick.
Just as God comforts mourners – comforting Isaac after Abraham’s death – so too, should you comfort mourners.
Just as God buries the dead – burying Moses – so too, should you bury the dead.
These are not lofty abstractions. They are acts of real care for human beings. This is what God does – and this is what we are called to do. These are acts of presence, empathy, and deep human connection. To follow God is not to chase fire or cloud, but to see: to see the person without clothing and respond to their vulnerability; to see the sick person and sit with their pain; to see the mourner and refuse to turn away; to honor the dead with dignity.
It is simple, and yet it has become radical. To care for other human beings is to follow God. God manifests in this world through us. Not only through pillars of fire and cloud, but through human hands, human voices, and human courage. We become vessels for God’s presence.
Torah is unequivocal about our obligation toward one another. And this teaching is painfully urgent right now.
In our country, especially at this moment in Minnesota, we are witnessing immigration enforcement that has led to terrorized communities, profound trauma, and death. At the end of last Shabbat, we learned of another killing by ICE agents: Alex Pretti, an ICU nurse and protester who was trying to help another person. We grieve his loss and hold his family in our hearts. We are watching fear spread among people who are simply trying to live, work, and care for their families. We are also witnessing lies building upon lies. And this is a moment when we must speak up.
This week, the Brookline Interfaith Clergy Association – a group I have the honor to co-convene, and a community whose relationships have been nurtured over more than twenty years of monthly gatherings rooted in deep friendship and shared values – came together to issue a statement, Standing Together for Justice and the Protection of Immigrant Communities:
“As faith leaders in Brookline, we stand together at a moment of deep moral urgency. We stand with our immigrant neighbors, and we stand against injustice wherever it occurs. We stand together, fearful for the soul of our country, and yet we commit ourselves to act — to fight for a world where human dignity is honored, and all are safe.”
The statement reminds us that caring for the vulnerable and welcoming the stranger are not political talking points, they are the core teachings of all our faith traditions. It names our heartbreak and outrage at violence carried out in the name of enforcement. And it affirms a shared commitment to act, to speak, and to protect life. (The full statement appears below.)
We commit to this work because to follow God is to follow God’s attributes. Because to be a community of faith is to refuse to let fear or power override human dignity. Because love of neighbor must shape not only our prayers, but our public life.
I write this message from Israel, where I am spending ten days at the Hartman Institute as part of my three-year Rabbinic Leadership Institute fellowship. I arrived here just in the nick of time, leaving on Sunday morning as the snowstorm began.
At 4:30am the next day, as I arrived at Ben Gurion Airport, I took a picture of the final hostage’s poster, Ran Gvili z”l. For the past two and a half years, walking through the airport meant walking past the faces of the hostages, lining the halls in silent witness. One by one, as hostages returned home, the posters were taken down. That Monday morning, I saw the last one still standing. Just a few hours later, Ran Gvili was returned home to be laid to rest with dignity. His family can perhaps breathe, just a little more, after 843 days.
For the first time in twelve years, there are no hostages in Gaza. There is real relief in that truth. People here feel a sense of release, hoping that perhaps there can be some form of closure to this tragedy and the darkness of the last two and a half years. And still, there is so much more work ahead: work of healing, reckoning, and building a future in which all people in this land can live in peace and safety.
The fight to bring the hostages home was, and remains, an act of imitating God. It is rooted in the belief that no human being is expendable. That every life matters. That abandoning people to suffering is not an option.
And yet, Parashat Beshalach reminds us: crossing the sea is not the end of the journey.
The people will sing, yes. But soon they will complain of thirst and hunger, and they will fear again. Their freedom does not mean the road suddenly becomes smooth.
These past week, I have found myself humming Leonard Cohen’s “Anthem”:
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in
Maybe some light will enter through the cracks. Through our heartbreak. Through our refusal to turn away. Through our commitment to keep walking, even when the wilderness stretches on.
May we be pillars of presence for one another.
May we follow God by embodying compassion.
And may our steps, even the trembling ones, lead us toward dignity, justice, and peace.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rav Claudia
Statement from Brookline Interfaith Clergy Association: Standing Together for Justice and the Protection of Immigrant Communities
As faith leaders in Brookline, we stand together at a moment of deep moral urgency. We stand with our immigrant neighbors, and we stand against injustice wherever it occurs. We stand together, fearful for the soul of our country, and yet we commit ourselves to act — to fight for a world where human dignity is honored, and all are safe.
We start here in Brookline, recommitting to: caring for our neighbor, protecting the vulnerable, welcoming the visitor, practicing compassion, justice, and loving-kindness. These are not abstract ideals — they are the core teachings of the world’s great religious traditions and the lived expression of genuine faith.
In Judaism, the Torah teaches us, “Love your neighbor as yourself,” and to love the stranger, for we were strangers in the land of Egypt. In Christianity, Jesus calls us to care with compassion for the poor, the sick, and the marginalized. In Islam, true belief is shown through care for orphans, travelers, and those in need. Bahá’ís commit to loving and serving humankind in pursuit of unity. Hinduism calls for selfless service and respect for the divine in every being, and Buddhism teaches compassion and loving-kindness toward all.
It is because of these shared spiritual commitments that we are outraged and heartbroken by the violence unfolding in Minneapolis and across the United States — where federal immigration enforcement has resulted in deaths, terrorized communities, and sparked protests in the streets. These actions are not isolated incidents; they reflect a system that too often prioritizes power over human life, enforcement over justice.
We mourn with all who grieve — especially immigrant families, people of color, and those who now fear seeking safety or accessing basic services. We call for immediate accountability for these actions, transparency in enforcement, and systemic change to ensure that no one is treated as expendable. Violence and fear have no place in a society that claims to honor the image of God in every person.
Now more than ever, our moral and spiritual traditions demand that we see the humanity and dignity of every person, regardless of immigration status, and that we stand boldly, speak out clearly, and act decisively in defense of those most vulnerable. Loving our neighbor must be more than an ideal — it must guide our policies, our communities, and our public life.
As clergy of many faiths, we affirm:
We pledge to be steadfast in our witness, resolute in our compassion, and united in action — until the day when all who seek refuge, safety, and dignity are met with justice and love.
Brookline Clergy Association