Arm in Arm: Faith, Justice, and the Moral Weight of Clergy Leadership

This month is the 60th anniversary of the 1965 clergy march in Selma — that iconic moment captured in a photo of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel walking arm in arm with the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

We are called, as ever, to walk arm in arm, to march when society calls — because societies often do — for more justice, for more caring people. Clergy serve a deeply important symbolic role. We are not elected officials; we do not speak with executive or legislative power. But we call with the power of conscience.

And so, this is a crucial function of clergy. There is tremendous effort these days to ensure that those most vulnerable in society know that houses of worship are places of safety and sources of love. And so, we must channeling this inherited marching energy — and do it ourselves: mentally, spiritually, emotionally, and yes physically — all of us, arm in arm.

The role of clergy is to extend compassion, kindness, and justice. If there is one theme that binds all people of faith together, it is this: Every human being is created in the image of God and deserves dignity and respect. Anyone whom society dares to leave behind requires this reminder, and we are the ones required to do the reminding.

Any beloved community answers to an authority — not a fundamentalist notion of God, but a fundamental commitment to human dignity. There is no human being who is not created in the image of God. These are inalienable truths. This is not about rights. It is not even about privilege. It is about responsibility.

Jewish tradition calls us to respect dina d’malchuta dina — the rule of law in any nation (tBK 113b). But we are also part and parcel of the welfare of every nation in which we live. We are called not only to be good neighbors ourselves but to amplify what it means to be a good neighbor — which, after all, is the heart of Torah. Literally, the heart of Torah: Love your neighbor as yourself (Lev 19:18).

Some of us hear only part of that verse — “love yourself.” But that is not what it means to act in faith. That is not what it means to be a student of Dr. King and Rabbi Heschel. That is not what it means to stand on their shoulders. And we do stand on their shoulders — which means we can see what they helped us see. And therefore, we must ensure that their shoulders, their place in history, are amplified, celebrated, and furthered by the work of our own arms.

Famously, when Rabbi Heschel was asked by journalists why he was marching in Selma instead of in synagogue, he said that when he marched, he “felt his legs were praying.” Our whole bodies — different though they may be — are part of the infinite presence of God in the world. Our bodies are the way God expresses love in the world. As the Psalms say, Kol atzmotai tomarna — “All my bones shall exclaim” (Ps. 135:10) what it is to be full of love and to see the miraculous in the world. That there is someone other than me is nothing short of a miracle. And we are called to see that in each other. Not just to walk arm in arm, but to celebrate that we have been given these bodies to do this good work.

The heart of Torah is to see the Divine in the eyes of another — every other — regardless of gender, race, age, sexual orientation, or the different abilities our bodies have. All of us are created in the image of God. And how beautiful that makes God.

That iconic photo of Dr. King and Rabbi Heschel, taken 60 years ago today, is not a call to arms as in war — it is a call to arms. To use our arms to embrace one another, to hold one another, to remember what it is to be a good neighbor.

This week’s parasha is Tetzaveh. The only thing I will say about it today is that it begins with the words, V’atah tetzaveh — “And you shall command. (Ex. 27:20)” So I ask you a fundamental question: What does it mean to be commanded?

What is it, friends? What is it that you feel commanded to do in your life? Not the things you simply choose to do, but the things you believe are moral imperatives. What is the source of that command?

Some believe that God gave the Torah with direct words, and therefore, whatever the Torah says is God’s will and must be followed. Yet often, what we think the Torah says is, in fact, an interpretation — granted to us by its interpreters. We call those interpreters rabbis. And rabbis are not necessarily charged with discerning God’s will, but with ensuring that our actions align with the best of being human. (Which, to my mind, is precisely what God expects of us in the first place.)

When the Mishnah says, “One who saves a single life saves an entire universe, (mSan. 4:5)” it is not a direct quote from the Torah. It is the rabbis, living in the shadow of the Temple’s destruction in 70 CE, teaching us about the fragility of life. Is that what the Torah says? No. It is what the Torah means.

Some believe the Torah is a collection of stories passed from generation to generation. Others, especially the mystics, teach that God consulted the Torah before creating the world. But if there was no existence yet, what did Torah mean in that moment?

Some mystics believe that when we study Torah, we are not looking at what God looked at to create the world; we are looking at a physical manifestation of the Heavenly Torah — something pre-creation itself. In other words, Torah is not the word of God — it is the lens through which we see the face of God.

That is the blessing I wish to offer us right now: that whether we are looking at the sacred text of our Torah or into the eyes of another human being, we recognize that we are looking at the face of God.

That is what good people do. That is what faithful leaders must do. And when society fails to see the face of God in every human being, when it fails to seek the welfare of all, there must be voices that grow louder. Clergy are one of those voices.

And so I ask you: If you do not hear your religious leaders speaking about human dignity in these days, ask them why not. The Torah commands us to love your neighbor as yourself. That is not limited to tribal support. It begins with knowing ourselves, ensuring that we, our families, and our people are safe, strong, and loved — and then, once we understand that love, extending it to everyone.

Of course, as Jews, we must protect and preserve our people. And yet, the face of God is not limited to the Jewish people alone. The radical claim of the Torah is that every human being bears the Divine image.

To be a person of faith is to recognize that. To be a good Jew is to live that. And to fail to do so is to fail in our religious responsibility.

Friends, I bless us with the responsibility to ask your religious leaders: Are we doubling down on human dignity? Are we living up to our responsibilities as a community? The answer must be yes.

It must be — for the sake of the generations to come.

Let us ensure that we bring more light — everywhere we see, and especially in the places we don’t.