Photo by REUTERS/Rachel Wisniewski
G!d of Justice — אֱלֹהֵי צֶדֶק
Injustice abounds.
In Israel and Iran, missiles fly.
Shabbat gatherings are canceled.
Children know the sound of sirens like a lullaby.
Peoples who are now used to war
must endure it even more.
In America,
our fascist president prepares a show of force —
not to protect, but to intimidate.
He gathers soldiers for a spectacle,
as ICE raids knock on doors before dawn.
Families go silent.
Neighbors disappear.
The sound of boots and buses
replaces the sound of lullabies.
This is all happening
on the Shabbat of B’ha’alot’kha,
when the Torah says:
וַיְהִי בִּנְסֹעַ הָאָרֹן וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה”
קוּמָה יְהוָה וְיָפֻצוּ אֹיְבֶיךָ
“:וְיָנֻסוּ מְשַׂנְאֶיךָ מִפָּנֶיךָ
“And when the Ark set out, Moses would say:
‘Rise up, HaShem, and let Your enemies be scattered;
may Your foes flee before You.’”
(Bamidbar 10:35)
But we do not lift the Ark for conquest.
We lift it in the hope that someday
it can come to rest.
We do not scatter enemies.
We scatter fear.
And we do not scatter
before parades of military power,
or the quiet terror of ICE before dawn.
We gather —
in courage,
in solidarity,
in sacred defiance.
Let this be our prayer.
Let this be our stand.
Let this be our refusal
to accept empire as sacred,
or militarism as holy.
Shekhinah, go before us —
as a pillar of cloud by day,
and a pillar of fire by night.
Transform our rage into steady commitment,
our fear into courageous readiness.
Let our voices rise as prayer.
Let our silence hold presence.
Let our movement be holy.
Let us march with kavod — honor —
crying out for all who cannot.
Let us protest with rachamim — compassion —
even when our hearts are broken.
And let us never forget:
the work of justice
is also the work of Shabbat.
To pause.
To remember.
To refuse our modern Pharaohs —
especially in advance.
To dream of a world redeemed.
כֵּן יְהִי רָצוֹן
Ken y’hi ratzon.
May it be so.
