This week’s Torah portion, Parshat Vayeshev, introduces the narrative of Joseph, one which will comprise the rest of the book of Genesis. In keeping with the biographies of his forefathers, Joseph’s life is defined by the physical journeys he undertakes over the course of his life just as much as his psychospiritual sojourns.
Last Sunday, I flew to El Paso, Texas to join a cohort of 15 rabbis organized by HIAS and T’ruah: the Rabbinic Call for Human Rights, on an odyssey of witness at the southern border of the United States. As we toured the features and functions of the immigration system on both sides of the border, I was struck by the similarities between the stories of migrants today and Joseph’s story in our sacred text. Our ancestor Joseph was a dreamer and, as such, did not fit in to his family system. Joseph’s dreams gained him the ire of his family and endangered his life. So too, many of those who undertake arduous journeys from their native lands do so on account of their dreams. Sometimes those dreams are incongruous with the normative homogeny of their homeland and inspire people to shoulder extraordinary risk in hopes of a better life. Like Joseph, these dreamers are vulnerable to those who seek to profit off the suffering of others. Many migrants who become victims of human-trafficking are sold by their own families just as Joseph is sold by his brothers in this week’s parsha.
When Joseph is taken down to Egypt, he is again sold to Potiphar who places him in charge of his household affairs. Eventually, Potiphar’s wife attempts to have “lie” with him and, when he rebuffs her advances, she accuses him of sexual impropriety. In her podcast, Ending Human Trafficking, Dr. Sandy Morgan connects these scenes to contemporary circumstances: “Domestic servitude is the technical term…and sexual harassment is a common theme, whether we’re talking about women or men…eventually the story line goes that he’s accused of something he didn’t do, and we have cases like that [today] too.” Joseph is thrown in prison even though he is innocent. During our mission to the border, we had the opportunity to tour an ICE (Immigration and Customs Enforcement) detention facility, the Otero County Processing Center. The conditions therein could be described as nothing less than imprisonment and, just like Joseph, the detainees there had committed no crime. Many of those detained by ICE have only sought their legal right to claim asylum in this country. But for the disastrous policy of Title 42, which has disabled these asylum seekers from utilizing established ports of entry, many of them would not be forced suffer the American carceral system.
Though Title 42 is scheduled to end this week on December 21st, we must remain vigilant so that the policies that replace it do not perpetuate the systems of harm that have defined this country’s immigration system for far too long. As we enter this Shabbat, let us not forget that migration is a human right – one which our ancestors exercised in our sacred texts and that is fundamental to understanding our Jewish story. May the remembrances of being strangers ourselves, inspire us to work for a more just and compassionate immigration system. As we begin lighting the chanukiah on Sunday night, let our festival lights proclaim the sacred message penned by Emma Lazarus that is emblazed on the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty: “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
