Dear TBZ Community,
This Shabbat, as we approach the end of Pesach, we step away from the regular cycle of Torah readings and return to one of the most powerful narratives in our tradition: the crossing of the Sea of Reeds.
It is a moment filled with intensity and drama. The Israelites, newly freed from slavery, find themselves trapped between a surging sea and Pharaoh’s pursuing army. They panic. They cry out. They doubt everything.
And then, a command:
וַיֹּאמֶר יְהֹוָה אֶל־מֹשֶׁה מַה־תִּצְעַק אֵלָי דַּבֵּר אֶל־בְּנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵל וְיִסָּעוּ
Then Adonai said to Moses, “Why do you cry out to Me? Tell the Israelites to go forward.”
וְאַתָּה הָרֵם אֶת־מַטְּךָ וּנְטֵה אֶת־יָדְךָ עַל־הַיָּם וּבְקָעֵהוּ
וְיָבֹאוּ בְנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵל בְּתוֹךְ הַיָּם בַּיַּבָּשָׁה
And you, lift up your rod and hold out your arm over the sea and split it, so that the Israelites may march into the sea on dry ground.
(Exodus 14:15–16)
The Hebrew word for “stretch” is nateh (נְטֵה)—to extend, to reach out, to open. Moshe is asked to stretch out his hand so that the people of Israel can cross the sea.
וַיֵּט מֹשֶׁה אֶת־יָדוֹ עַל־הַיָּם
Moses stretched out his hand over the sea (Exodus 14:21),
And at that moment, Adonai drives back the sea with a strong east wind all night, turning the sea into dry ground. The waters are split.
The people step into the unknown. Not because they are fearless, but because they are called to move forward in the presence of fear.
This year, I find myself returning again and again to that word: nateh. We know God to be the One who took us out of Egypt, as we read in the Haggadah:
וַיּוֹצִיאֵנוּ ה׳ אֱלֹהֵינוּ מִשָּׁם בְּיָד חֲזָקָה וּבִזְרֹעַ נְטוּיָה
Adonai our God brought us out of there with a strong hand and an outstretched arm.
And yet, in the story of the crossing of the Sea of Reeds, God doesn’t stretch God’s own hand—God asks Moshe to do so. Moshe’s hand becomes God’s hand, an extension, a manifestation of Divine presence and power.
We are called, in a moment of fear and uncertainty, not to curl in—but to open up.
In the Torah, nateh is the act that opens a path. But in our lives, what does it mean to stretch out a hand in a time of fear?
I believe it begins with this: we do not turn away.
Right now, in our country, fear and uncertainty are very real for so many. This week, we continue to witness heartbreaking news about deportations to El Salvador—families being torn apart, people returned to danger, a disregard for the basic human dignity of immigrants and asylum seekers. For those of us who are immigrants ourselves, or the children of immigrants, these moments are especially painful. They are not only political. They are personal.
To stretch out our hands means to respond. It means not allowing fear—our own or others’—to render us silent. It means raising our voices, showing up, refusing to look away.
Tonight, I will be at a rally (see below for more information) alongside other clergy, and advocates, standing publicly as witnesses for those facing deportation and detention—especially as many of these deportations are being justified in the name of protecting Jews. This weaponization of antisemitism must be named and rejected.
This, too, is nateh. This is the spiritual work of liberation in our time.
But nateh doesn’t only mean stretching outward. It also means looking inward—toward our own community. Who among us is struggling right now? Who is carrying invisible pain, loneliness, or need?
In moments of crisis, it can be easy to focus on the big picture and forget the individuals who are closest to us. But to extend a hand can be as simple and sacred as asking someone how they are—and really listening. As sharing a meal. As showing up.
This Pesach, we remember that redemption didn’t happen all at once. It happened step by step, hand by hand. Moses stretching out his hand was the first move—and then the people followed. What began as one person’s act of courage became a collective journey into freedom. That act of courage was the call for us to be God’s agents in the world.
So may we, too, stretch out our hands:
To stand with those facing injustice.
To hold those close to us who need care.
To refuse to look away.
To help part the waters of fear with compassion, presence, and hope.
May this Shabbat bring us peace, strength, and clarity, as we find the courage to forgive, to heal, and to move forward together—knowing we do not walk this journey alone, and that God’s presence is in every one of us.
May God grant blessings and comfort to all of us and our loved ones.
May we discover strength, courage, and patience, and may our hearts be open to generosity.
May those who are ill find healing.
May all the remaining hostages soon return to their families and friends.
May peace prevail, and may our leaders prioritize life.
May those working for peace be granted the strength and courage to continue their sacred work.
And may we soon witness peace and dignity for all.
Shabbat Shalom & Chag Sameach,
Rav Claudia
Today I will be one of the speakers, among many colleagues, at a “Freedom For All: Seder in the Streets” rally at City Hall, from 6–7:30pm. This rally is organized by many different organizations—some of which I don’t share views or perspectives with on all issues. And still, I will be there, because we are coming together to say clearly and unequivocally: deportations in response to political speech will not make Jews safer, and they will not advance the fight against antisemitism.
There may be speeches or signs at the rally with which I disagree. But in this time of such chaos, fear, and rising authoritarianism, coalition work is more important than ever. It is sacred, imperfect, and necessary.
I want to share the words of my friend and teacher, Rabbi Jill Jacobs, CEO of T’ruah: The Rabbinic Call for Human Rights, on why T’ruah—of which I am a board member—is one of the co-sponsors of this rally:
“I do not have to tell you that we are living in terrifying times, in which our very democracy is at stake. The recent detention and deportations—including of students, Venezuelan immigrants, and even permanent legal residents without due process—as well as a Trump official’s statement this week that even citizens could be deported, should scare us all.
For Jews, it is even more terrifying that the Trump administration is claiming that the detention and deportation of primarily Muslim students, the stripping of federal funding from universities, and even the plans to search social media accounts of foreign nationals are efforts to fight antisemitism.
Like probably all of you, I have been extremely concerned about the rise of antisemitism over the past year and a half. I have met with Jewish students at Harvard and Tufts, as well as many schools outside of the state, who have spoken about being harassed, called names, pushed out of student spaces, and encountering antisemitic speech and graffiti. I have also spoken with Jewish students who have been involved in the protest movement because they sincerely want to end the war—as likely we all do.
Free speech—including speech with which one disagrees or even finds offensive—is a basic protected right in this country, as is the right to due process. It’s important for Jews, including rabbis, to stand up and say that we will not allow antisemitism to be used as a justification for dismantling democracy, and that deporting students will not make Jews safer. Indeed, using Jews as a wedge is likely to exacerbate antisemitism at a precarious moment.
In this moment, it is important to build the broadest coalitions possible to save democracy. I have always believed in the old organizing maxim, ‘no permanent enemies, no permanent allies.’ In the past, this has meant co-sponsoring immigration rallies with secular, Jewish, and Muslim organizations with which we have serious disagreements about Israel/Palestine; fighting torture and solitary confinement alongside Christian groups with which we have serious disagreements about reproductive rights and LGBTQ rights; and co-sponsoring hostage rallies alongside Jewish organizations with whom we have serious disagreements about Israeli policy.
We cannot control every speaker or every sign at any rally, and this will be true at the Freedom rally as well. And we also know that some of you may agree with every speaker, and that some of you may not. While this is not a protest about the war in Gaza, this topic will likely arise—perhaps in ways you or I appreciate, and perhaps in ways some of us find problematic. However, we believe that the broader goal of demonstrating widespread Jewish, including rabbinic, opposition to detentions and deportations—and to the use of antisemitism as a wedge to dismantle democracy—is a worthy reason to co-sponsor this event.”
(You can read more about T’ruah’s approach to coalition building here.)
As always, I welcome conversation. I know that not all will agree or see this as the best way to act. But I believe that showing up—with humility, clarity, and a commitment to justice—is part of what it means to stretch out our hands at this moment.