America The Beautiful

Two hundred and fifty years is but a blink in the span of human history. Yet in that relatively short time, the United States has grown into one of the most powerful nations in the world and, for millions of immigrants, a beacon of liberty and democracy.

For Jews, America became something even more: a place where our parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents could finally live openly as Jews without fearing for their lives. They came with little more than hope, determination, and a few treasured family heirlooms—a pair of candlesticks, a menorah, perhaps a well-worn prayer book. They left behind the lands of their birth, but they did not leave behind their Judaism.

This Fourth of July, as America celebrates the 250th anniversary of its Declaration of Independence, I find myself reflecting on that remarkable journey with both gratitude and concern.

Like so many immigrants, I came to America seeking freedom and opportunity. Becoming an American citizen seventeen years ago remains one of the proudest moments of my life. I still carry my American passport with great pride, and I often tell my daughters how fortunate they are to have been born here. I love this country because it has allowed me to be both proudly Jewish and proudly American—something I could never have imagined growing up in the former Soviet Union.

That opportunity was not unique to me.

For generations, Jewish immigrants crossed the Atlantic to escape persecution, poverty, and pogroms. America offered something they had rarely known: the chance to build a life without hiding who they were. They soon discovered that the streets were not paved with gold. Success required hard work, sacrifice, education, and, as we like to say, a little mazel. Yet generation after generation persevered.

When I meet with families after the death of a loved one, I often hear remarkably similar stories. Their parents or grandparents arrived with almost nothing, worked tirelessly, and built lives they could scarcely have imagined in Europe. Along with the few belongings they could carry, they brought the treasures that mattered most: Shabbat candlesticks, a menorah, family traditions, and an unwavering commitment to Jewish life.

They did not leave their Judaism behind when they left their countries of birth.

Their children embraced America wholeheartedly. Many changed their names to sound less Jewish. They stopped speaking Yiddish, entered professions their parents could scarcely have imagined, and proudly served in the armed forces during World War II. They wanted to belong, and they did. America became their home.

It was not a perfect home. Antisemitism certainly existed. There were neighborhoods, universities, clubs, and professions where Jews were unwelcome. But compared to centuries of Jewish history, America represented something extraordinary: possibility.

That promise was articulated from the very beginning.

In 1790, President George Washington wrote to the Hebrew Congregation in Newport, Rhode Island, assuring them that the United States would “give to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance.” Imagine what those words meant to Jews whose ancestors had spent centuries living at the mercy of rulers who could expel them, persecute them, or worse. For perhaps the first time, Jews were promised not merely tolerance, but equality under the law.

This week’s Torah portion, Pinchas, asks a question that every generation of Jews must answer in its own way: How do we preserve our Jewish identity while fully participating in the society around us?

The biblical story is difficult for many modern readers. But beneath its dramatic narrative lies a timeless concern—not isolation from the world, but the preservation of Jewish identity.

American Jews have wrestled with that balance for generations. Our grandparents embraced America with gratitude while holding tightly to Judaism. Their children often leaned more heavily into being American, sometimes at the expense of their Jewish identity. Yet most believed they never had to choose between the two.

I have always believed they were right.

Jews helped build this country. They served in World War II. We strengthened its businesses, universities, hospitals, and courts. We stood alongside others in the struggle for civil rights. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel marching arm in arm with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. remains one of the defining images of American Jewish moral leadership.

For much of my life, I believed that America had made room for all of us.

Yet today, for the first time in my life, I find myself wondering whether that confidence can still be taken for granted.

Like so many Jewish communities across America, our congregation has invested heavily in security. Many Jews think twice before wearing a kippah or a Magen David in public. Parents worry about sending their children to Jewish schools, camps, or college campuses. The rise in antisemitism has left many of us feeling vulnerable in ways we never expected.

That is deeply painful for me—not only as a rabbi, but as an immigrant.

I know what it feels like to live in a society where openly embracing Judaism comes with fear. One of America’s greatest gifts was convincing me that I would never have to experience that again.

I still believe in America.

Not because it is perfect—it never has been. Like every nation, it has known both extraordinary triumphs and painful failures. Its beauty lies not in perfection, but in its willingness to strive toward its highest ideals.

As Jews, we know from our own history that freedom is fragile. We know what happens when hatred is ignored and when people look the other way. But we also know that our people have endured because we never stopped hoping, never stopped believing, and never gave up our faith.

On America’s 250th birthday, my prayer is that we preserve both our Jewish identity and the ideals that have made this country a beacon of hope for so many. May we continue to stand up for justice, confront hatred wherever it appears, and never give up on the promise of liberty and equality for all.

America has never been a perfect country, and it never claimed to be. Its strength has always been its willingness to keep striving toward the ideals on which it was founded.

I still believe in that aspiration.

May we all do our part to protect and strengthen America the Beautiful.