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Hi Identity Crisis listeners. This is Yehuda. I'd love to study with you in Jerusalem this summer. Every summer our campus hosts the Community Leadership Program, transforming Jerusalem into a gathering place for learners and leaders committed to wrestling with the big questions facing Jewish life today. This summer, you can be part of this experience, learning with me and my wonderful colleagues, joining a community rooted in hope, curiosity and possibility. Join us in Jerusalem from July 1 through 7 for the community Leadership Program. Space is very limited. Visit shalomhartman.org CLP to reserve your spot. Hope to see you there. Hi everyone. Welcome to Identity Crisis, a show from the Sholem Hartman Institute, creating better conversations about the essential issues facing Jewish life today. I'm Yehuda Kurtzer. We're recording this introduction on Friday, February 20, 2026. It's inevitable in a weekly podcast that some episodes land much more powerfully than others. We see often that when we're really pegged to the news cycle amidst a horrific war or a domestic crisis, that our shows do better. I think this is just because the urgency of the issues creates a different relationship to the listener, who may be coming in need of something more than entertainment. I've heard from enough people over the years that at times this podcast, or for heaven's sake, can serve a pastoral role. It can be calming or agitating in ways that feel more interactive than a one way medium normally should. This knowledge has helped me reconcile myself to this medium because I never went into this line of work to become a media personality and I thought I had left behind my radio DJing days when I graduated from college. This work, these kinds of podcasts, make me feel like an educator. Our podcasts from two weeks ago, America Betrays the Stranger, was one of those episodes that landed differently. We have some scientific ways of measuring this, but I can usually tell from the text messages, the reposts, and from what I'm told by friends and colleagues. It felt differently recording it. I was in Jerusalem at the time and I was sleep deprived. I wrote it from a place of anger and sadness and desperation, and it was much more direct and candid than I usually am. It was an effort to speak a language of moral truth, which is a departure for a podcast that tries to give airtime to complicated ideas, to let them breathe and to create conversations about them. Moral truth. This is a hard idea in pluralistic society. I really believe in moral conviction, in trying to speak and lead from a place of well thought out and serious commitments. And sometimes I believe in moral clarity, which is the willingness to believe that you've come really close to fully clear, clearly articulating an ethical position. But to speak in the language of moral truth is to go one step further. It's to claim to speak a language of certainty, even on issues that are so clearly publicly contested. I generally fear such claims, one of the reasons I prefer the rabbi to the prophet. I identify with thinkers like Isaiah Berlin, who asks us to build bridges rather than to stand on ledges, and Yitz Greenberg, who argued that one of the lessons of the Holocaust is that we may make no absolute truth claims anymore about anything, because the Nazis represented absolutism and they showed us how absolutism can lead to destruction and dehumanization. But this episode pushed us into moral truth territory. It was complicated to write, and it may have been different for some of you, may be difficult to hear. You know you're living in perilous times when you find yourself speaking differently than you ever anticipated. Another good indicator that this podcast landed differently for people was in the mail. I didn't hear a lot of disagreements to my core claim that it was a morally clear obligation for us as Jewish Americans to stand up against what's been happening not only in Minnesota but all over the country in these often illegal, violent, unconstitutional immigration crackdowns. Maybe some people dissented quietly. Maybe some people I managed to persuade. But I do want to respond to two pieces of mail that came in that largely agreed with what I wrote, but felt that I missed something. One came from Judy and from Susan in New York, in which they took issue with my characterization that major Jewish institutional leaders were too silent in response to this crisis. They cited to me the work of HIAs, major rabbis, many synagogues, and many local activists. I appreciate the correction. And of course that's right. In fact, in the podcast itself on social media about this podcast, I expressed admiration for those who had taken to the streets in Minnesota and and of course, hias, whose work we've talked about in this podcast last summer, and JCPA and other organizations. Those folks have indeed been out front. I still think, though, that my point stands as relates to the organizations who claim to represent the American Jewish community more generally to the public, to public officials, some of whom constitute what's called the Conference of Presidents of Major Jewish Organizations. I think their silence is, frankly embarrassing. In the same week that we released the podcast, I read a quote from the executive director of the conference, who said that mainstream Jewish leaders are nearly all in agreement on most of the core issues, such as the centrality of Israel in Jewish life, Jerusalem as the eternal capital of the Jewish people, and a basic understanding of Israel's roles and rights in a hostile region. Those are the core issues, as he articulated, and not some basic elements of American democracy. Those are left out. I truly think this is shocking and helps to explain why only some of our organizations in America, and not all of them, have the courage to speak out right now. But thank you, Judy and Susan, for the opportunity to correct and clarify the record. I also heard from Rabbi Barry Block, who nudged a bit on what criteria I was using to endorse the kind of prophetic protest voice in a moment like this and not in others. It's a fair question at times. Our organization, the Hartman Institute, has embraced and endorsed participating in protests, even though our idea of the Beit Midrash as a place for healthy, combative ideas predominates in what we do. And even as we know that moving out of that lane to the protest lane always comes with consequences to that core mission. The Institute, for instance, marched officially in the Pride March in Jerusalem in 2016 because Shira Banki had been murdered the previous year, and we felt that religious institutions in Jerusalem had to show up to make the case for a Judaism that cared about human rights. Both Daniil Hartman and I spoke at various rallies during the Judicial Reform protests in Israel in 2023 because we felt we were standing with the majority of Israeli society in defense of democracy. And similarly, we have stood up against Itamar Bengvir and Bizala Smotrich through public letters and other forms of Protestants. And of course, we went as an organization en masse to the solidarity rally in November 2023 in D.C. just weeks after the attacks of October 7th, to do what I felt was the bare minimum of being with our people in that moment of crisis. So the criteria on when to speak up are not an exact science, but we're usually motivated to do so, that is to say, to make clear statements rather than to educate through our conventional means, when we can do pretty much all of the following when something feels like an unusual moral imperative, and when our voice can give cover to other leaders, to exhibit moral courage, and when we can contribute our ideas and wisdom to the cause that enables us to step out of our lane once in a while, while maintaining a commitment to the integrity of our work, of building an expansive Jewish people, a culture of pluralism, an embrace of the Jewish people's commitment to striving for greatness, to, again, once in a while, step out of the classroom and participate in other ways of Creating the plausibility structure to make those ideas come alive. Once in a while, you shed your fears about nuance and insist on some clarity. Once in a while, with the blood of our neighbor in the streets, we dare to speak the language of moral truth about what has gone wrong all around us to lead us to this catastrophe. On February 11, there was a Jews Against Ice rally in Washington that was led and overwhelmingly attended by the Shalom Hartman Institute's favorite people, a bunch of rabbis. I couldn't go, but a few of my colleagues could. I'm thrilled to hand over the mic today to our producer, Tessa Zitter, who is behind the scenes doing the great work of making this podcast great every week, and who this week walks us through what it meant to actualize this momentary shift from the classroom to the street.
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Hi, I'm Tessa Zitter, the producer of Identity Crisis. I really wanted to go to this protest. My family has a long history of protest, and I'm a firm believer in the power of collective action. The opportunity to attend came up just two days before the rally, and it immediately brought to mind something that Yehuda said a few weeks ago in that episode, America Betrays the Stranger.
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None of what I'm talking about today is about me. None of it specifically about you. It is about we the People must
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raise our voices, must raise our voices in re accepting the covenant of America,
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the promise of the rule of law.
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As a member of we the People that called me to show up, the events of the past weeks and months, not just in Minnesota, but across the country, have weighed heavily on me. Watching people being taken from their families and their communities, murdered in the streets and stripped of their rights through tiny screens has been heartbreaking and at the same time paralyzing. I was craving an opportunity to get out and do something, to stand in community with others and raise my voice. I will admit I was also curious. I wanted to hear what was bringing people, particularly Jewish people, out for this moment. After years of watching so much of our community turn inward and isolate as a means of self protection, I was excited to see such a range of Jewish organizations opening up once again and choosing to reach out to others beyond our own circles, I wanted to join them in saying, we want to be in community with you. We are here for you. I also recognize that I, Tessa, and we at Identity Crisis have an opportunity to make an impact. I have the privilege of making a show every week that is heard by thousands of Jewish leaders across North America and the world. By going to this rally with the express purpose of speaking up, I would do what I could to amplify the voice of this protest and call others to join in. So I bought a train ticket to D.C. and gathered my equipment. And a colleague, Annie Beierchafetz. There's a running joke that Annie and I tend to come as a package deal, but she had her own reasons for wanting to attend.
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I felt the absence of good thought leadership around this, and that episode had a clear call to action that despite all of the concerns and anxieties about being part of a movement, being, you know, in community, maybe with some organizations that we have felt alienated from over the past couple of years, and showing up in public as Jews at a time when showing up in public as Jews is scary. It felt very clear to me and very continuous to me that if we were going to issue that call to action, and in my job at Hartman, a lot of what I'm doing is building calls to action. It felt very hard for me to promote that idea without living out that truth and taking Yehuda's advice and going and being Jewish in public and saying, we don't stand for this.
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Annie and I have gotten to spend a lot of time digging into Hartman ideas together. And aside from it being nice to get out of the office a little, I was intrigued to hear about her own experiences with protest, which were pretty different from my own.
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So I mentioned to my mom that I was going to D.C. for work to go to this protest, and she asked me how I felt, and I was like, I feel fine about it.
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Why?
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And she's like, I don't know. I just don't know you to be someone who goes to protest, which, just as an aside, is hilarious to me because I famously started a playground riot in elementary school over kickball rules. So there is this, like, revolutionary streak within me that is very drawn to protest and activism and always has been. But my relationship to protest has gotten complicated. I worked in politics for a brief stint after college, and I found that very disillusioning. I saw that very few things actually move the needle other than money. And the things that you see as an activist and a volunteer are very disconnected and different from what's going on behind the scenes a lot of times. And I was living in D.C. during a time where there were a lot of protests there that looked less like civic engagement and more like street fairs. And many of them seemed like excuses to break COVID protocols more than anything. So that really made me question, what is a protest? What does a Protest. For what does a protest do? Is protest important? Does it matter?
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The crowd was packed in front of the ICE headquarters building. Rabbis, cantors and lay people wore kipot and talitot and carried shofars and whistles and giant cardboard signs, some even in the shapes of shofars and whistles. They contained slogans like Faith melts ice. Ice is Ashanda, Let my people go. And this is what theology looks like. They sang protest songs old and new in English and Hebrew. The rally was organized by TRUAH and Bend the Ark, but they were joined by more than 60 co sponsoring Jewish organizations from highest to if not now,
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we call upon ICE agents to leave their jobs and to join us.
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Join us, join us.
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At Hartman, we usually traffic in ideas. We wrestle with them in the Beit Midrash, where we have the space and time to dive deep into issues and swim around in the nuance at protests. Between the megaphones and the slogans and the throngs of strangers, it can be far more challenging to find that nuance. The beauty of collective action is the power of many voices raised together in solidarity. But it can also reduce our demands and ideas to their simplest form. And for that very reason, many people would rather not engage in the act of protest at all. So how do you possibly create a space where people who disagree with one another can stand in solidarity with each other anyway without worrying about signing on to ideas that they don't believe in?
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We've certainly had a lot of divisions in the Jewish community and beyond over the past couple of years, mostly around Israel and Gaza and Zionism. And sometimes those differences have threatened to tear us apart. And the fact that more than 60 organizations, including synagogues, that don't necessarily normally sign on to rallies for anything, have chosen to support this shows that, that this is a consensus issue in the Jewish community.
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That's Jill Jacobs, CEO of TRUAH and one of the organizers of the rally.
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I really believe, and TRUAH believes that in coalitions you come together about what you can agree on. And it might be that you don't agree on other things, but that's how we win. And especially now when there's so many emergencies and when democracy is at stake in the United States and when there's rising autocracy, we knew that we had to take action. But of course, once the ICE raids became more intense in Minneapolis and in Chicago, before that in la, it became clear that lots of members of the Jewish community wanted to come out and to be with us. And we asked everybody who was interested in co sponsoring to agree to the message of the rally and to be clear that it's about ICE and it's about immigrants. It's not about anything else. We ask people not to bring flags of other countries, for example, not to bring either Israeli flags or Palestinian flags or whatever flag of whatever other country you might be thinking about. This is a rally that is hyper focused on ICE and on immigration and not on anything else.
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As I mentioned, I'm a believer in the power of collective action. And I'm still sometimes confronted with the fear of my voice getting lost among the crowd, lumped in among broad sloganing and ideologically estranged organizations that I don't feel represented by. But there is something so empowering about showing up anyway. It's not that I don't care or worry, but that I think it's more important to show up worried and uncomfortable than to not show up at all. In this climate, it is too rare to find ideas that have escaped being turned into political binaries or, or communities who refuse to see them that way, to wait for the perfect time and place. It takes a strong force of unity to rally people together. And in a lot of places across the U.S. the pull to protect our neighbors has become one of those forces. I was glad to know that I might be standing next to people that I don't agree with and that they knew that they were standing next to me too.
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I see the faces of Jews who sometimes disagree with each other,
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but this rally really was laser focused. Everyone I spoke to that day kept coming back to the same point. Protecting our neighbors isn't a partisan issue. It is a moral responsibility. And no matter where we are coming from, that is something we can agree on.
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Immigration is a consensus issue in the Jewish community. And this is something that the Jewish community understands stands really well because of our own family history as immigrants, because of our own history of our people being displaced over and over. And so the Jewish community, as we saw today, can put aside differences that we have in other issues and say, yes, this is the thing that we can come together on because it's urgent.
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We know why we're here. We are here to stand for our immigrant neighbors and loved ones. We do this because we are furious. We do this because we know it is a threat to the democracy that we need to keep all of us safe. And we do this to say in one voice, get ICE out of our cities.
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Get ICE out of our cities. Get ICE out of our cities. Get ICE out of our cities.
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I mean, look, Jews have Been having many of the same arguments for 2600 years. I take it back to, like, the first exile in Babylon. So we have these arguments. We've been having them a long time. Since October 7th, our communities, our hearts have been ripped apart in really impossible ways, I think. One thing Jews overwhelmingly know, however they feel about Israel and Palestine, however they pray, religious, secular, Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, Haredi. We stand with immigrants. We are immigrants. We stand with immigrants. And you can feel that here today.
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You may recognize that last voice. Brad Lander, the former city controller of New York, and in his words, most importantly today, a Jew against ice. He, like me, was one of the many Jews who flocked to D.C. from far and wide to attend this action, driven by a sense of moral responsibility and love for his fellow New Yorkers. The focus of this rally was really driven by this message of a moral imperative to speak up. And as each rabbi continued to mention, it comes straight from our tradition for
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drought, plagues and collapsing buildings. The rabbis argued about whether neighboring towns should also sound the shofar. How. How far should the loud alarms spread? How many neighboring cities need to know and muster to protect the people for blight and locust, for dangerous peace and violent attacks? Matrim begot ma com, we sound the shofar everywhere because those are calamities that spread. What about when a city is occupied by a fighting force committed to dehumanizing, violent and cruel action? The Mishnah teaches that when such a group surrounds a city, we sound the shofar everywhere, everywhere. Jewish tradition gives us a roadmap in our most profound grief. When we feel too broken and enraged the world, we are reminded that this agony is not hell, that there is. When we recite our Mourner's prayer, we declare at the moment it feels most impossible to believe that there is a world that is aching for peace and justice and wholeness.
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The passion behind that moral imperative at the rally was palpable and moving. And it was moving to watch people recognize our Hartman hats and welcome us into the crowd, happy to see us there. It reminded Annie of an experience that she had a while ago, attending another protest with Hartman.
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About a year ago, we signed on to a anti ben GVIR demonstration and petition. I went with another colleague to that demonstration, and there were people who saw us and recognized us from, you know, the logos on our clothes and talked to us and said, you know, it means a lot to us that you're here, and also, what are you doing here? You don't usually show up to these things and where have you Been.
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Being present means something to people, and being willing to stand next to others means something, too. It's meaningful to the people that you're showing up for. It's meaningful to the people that you're showing up next to. And adding one voice to another always makes the collective harder to ignore, even when you don't have any words left.
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When we come to the end of our words, when we have spoken everything that is on our hearts but there is still more to try, we reach for Shofar. Shofar holds the wailing we know intimately and the grief we know as our own. And it holds the wailing of another's grief, the grief we have told, observe, or imagine from farther away. Shofar's wailing lift all of this grief up in one voice.
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I was glad to add my voice to that collective wailing, but I kept coming back to this question that Annie asked me at the beginning of all of this. What does protest actually do? If it's about making your voice heard, protect. What does it mean if no one's listening? If your impact was small or nobody heard you, did you still fulfill your moral obligation to oppose cruelty? If a Jew attends a protest and nobody hears them, did it even happen? I learned later that Annie was still asking herself those questions, too. But during her crisis of faith, something happened.
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I was in an Uber in D.C. and this Uber driver, who is a Kurdish immigrant, is here trying to earn money any way that he can and send it back home to his family in Turkey and hopefully bring them here at some point. And we're just having a friendly chat, and I get a call from our boss, Maital, about something else entirely. And I'm on the phone with her, really feeling the push and the squeeze of like, I'm here to do this thing, but it's a work day, and, you know, should I have really come all this way? And I'm talking to her on the phone, and suddenly I realized that my Uber driver is also talking on the phone, on speed speakerphone, in the car. While I'm talking on the phone and I'm getting very distracted. I wasn't really tuned into what they were saying. I had my headphones on. And so I. I asked my tall to hold on a second. And when I took my headphones off, I realized that the person that he was talking to was very angry and yelling at him in English, and he really wasn't able to understand her. And because we were on speakerphone, she could also hear me. And so she started asking, like, hello, I hear you. Can you talk to me, please? And so I start talking to her, and she's very upset. She has clearly hired this Uber driver to do some work for her, and she seems to be under the impression that he took photos of private information of hers and posted them online and wanted them to be taken down. I was like, I don't know how I can help, but tell me how I can help. She was very upset, and she was screaming at me and saying, I don't even know if he's legal. I think I should call ice and it was so shocking to me because I've never heard anybody threaten to call ICE on somebody. It obviously happens, but it felt so strange to be in an actual situation where somebody was questioning the status of somebody and they wanted to wield this power over him, knowing everything that that would entail. And I said, look, I'm just a stranger trying to help the two of you get through a miscommunication. I don't think you need to call ice. Tell me what it is that you want, and I will try to help communicate that to him because he doesn't speak very good English. And then she started to calm down, and she said, yes, and thank you, and I'm sorry. I'm just upset. And it felt a little bit like I was being punked, like I was on hidden camera or something, because here I am in D.C. but it was a situation I've never found myself in before. And suddenly the question of, does showing up matter? Looks very differently to me, because had I not literally gone to D.C. to go to this anti ICE demonstration, I would not have been in the Uber to. To be there to talk to this woman. And I don't know if us going and standing outside of an ICE building with a bunch of shofars and signs changed anybody's minds or moved the needle on any of the policies that we were out there protesting against. And I don't know if talking this woman down on the phone changed the way that she's going to treat her neighbor. And at the same time, it helped clarify for me what matters to me and why it feels important to me to show up and why it feels important to me to be engaged in this project.
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Putting aside the Uber and the podcast and the interviews and the institutions I attended, the protest, I affirmed to the world, to my neighbors, and to myself what I will and won't stand for. That was enough of a reason for me to show up. How about you?
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And now at Hartman, we go back to our regular business. The work of ideas, leadership, the slower work of discerning truth through complexity, the work of moral striving while building expansive community across difference. I appreciate those of you who may disagree with what I say on this podcast or what I said a few weeks ago, but who listen anyway. And I appreciate those of you who wouldn't go to the protest, maybe even think we shouldn't either, but were willing to hear us out. You too are part of this growing Hartman community. We go back to business as usual, but our commitments don't on March 12, we'll be hosting a major online day of Learning, including a live podcast recording with Professor Shaila Ben Habib on this very issue of how we think about our responsibilities to neighbors and strangers. I hope you will be with us that day as we continue to work our way through this darkness. May Torah be our guide.
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Here are some other things that are happening at the Sholem Hartman Institute this week. Educators from summer camps, hillels and day schools across North America will gather for our Winter Educational Impact Summit to explore and address the big questions and ideas facing Jewish educators today. This summit also marks the launch of the Hartman Educators Network, a growing community of Jewish educators who have engaged in our transformational learning experiences through ongoing learning, educational resources, and access to a diverse community of practice. The network will support educators as they translate Hartman ideas into their classrooms, institutions and communities.
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Thanks for listening to our show and special thanks to everyone who showed up and shared their perspectives with us for this episode. Identity Crisis is produced by me, Tessa Zitter and our executive producer is Maital Friedman. This episode was created with production assistance from Annie Byer Chaffetz and edited by Josh Allen with music provided by so called transcripts of our show are now available on our website. Typically a week after an episode airs, we're always looking for ideas for what we should cover in future episodes. So if you have a topic you'd like to hear about or if you have comments about this episode, please write to us@identitycrisisalomhartman.org for more ideas from the Shalom Hartman Institute about what's unfolding right now. Sign up for our newsletter in the chat show Notes and subscribe to this podcast everywhere. Podcasts are available. See you next time and thanks for listening.
Podcast Summary: Identity/Crisis — “On Not Standing Idly By”
Host: Yehuda Kurtzer, Shalom Hartman Institute
Date: February 24, 2026
This episode of Identity/Crisis dives into the obligation of moral action in times of crisis, focusing on the Jewish community’s response to recent aggressive immigration enforcement actions in the U.S. Yehuda Kurtzer reflects on the challenges of claiming “moral truth” in pluralistic society and introduces producer Tessa Zitter, who reports from the “Jews Against ICE” rally in Washington, D.C. The discussion mixes reflections on protest, Jewish values, communal leadership, and the complexities of collective action, exploring what it really means—and costs—to show up and “not stand idly by.”
[00:00–08:42] Yehuda Kurtzer
[08:42–13:50] Tessa Zitter & Annie Byer Chaffetz
[13:50–18:22]
[18:55–23:31]
[23:31–27:44]
[28:06–29:09] Yehuda Kurtzer
On Not Standing Idly By examines the urgent need for moral clarity and communal action in the face of injustice, especially for Jewish Americans responding to immigration crackdowns. The episode offers a rare glimpse into how one thoughtful, values-driven organization navigates the balance between nuance and prophetic activism. It features deeply personal stories from the field, honest reflections on the limits of protest, and a call to act—even when results feel intangible. Whether or not listeners attend protests themselves, the episode urges all to consider what it means to be part of a moral community that refuses to stand idly by.
For more conversations on contemporary Jewish life and values, visit the Shalom Hartman Institute website or subscribe to Identity/Crisis wherever you get your podcasts.