The Israelite community comes together to accomplish a momentous task, constructing the sacred center for its collective life. An enormous number of people step up, bringing their unique skills, wisdom and creativity to the construction of the desert sanctuary. The text exuberantly describes all of the people who contribute and extravagantly details all of the materials that will make the “mishkan” (desert sanctuary) beautiful. (Never mind that we have already read these descriptions in previous parashiyot.)
One feature of this description has always attracted both my attention and that of commentators throughout the ages. The Torah repeatedly describes the donors as people “asher nedavo libo,” “whose heart was moved.” The Hebrew root of “nadov” means to volunteer or donate, and “lev” means heart. This expression suggests that these were donations of the heart. The Israelites deeply desired — from the heart — to have a beautiful sacred center for their community to ground and orient them throughout their journey.
Most of us know moments when a community has stepped up with enormous generosity, with gifts of money, time and presence. These are the times when the community demonstrates what it is made of. In such times, the largest donations play a special role in reaching the finish line. But the Torah also takes pains to emphasize that each individual’s donation matters and that each heart matters, regardless of the particular skills or perspectives that each person brings.
I recently experienced a tremendous outpouring of communal heart-energy in a very different context. On March 9, I led a delegation of eight Conservative rabbis and several loved ones, part of a group of 200 Jews organized by the National Council of Jewish Women to attend the 60th anniversary of the infamous march on Bloody Sunday in Selma, Alabama. That terrible day, when marchers including John Lewis were brutally attacked by Alabama police and other segregationists, became a turning point in the passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965. Movingly, we were joined on this journey by Rabbi Danny Pressman, whose father, Rabbi Jacob Pressman, was one of the rabbis who marched with the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel in Selma later in March 1965.
We marched across the Edmund Pettus Bridge with thousands of people of many races and ethnicities. There were numerous subgroups, each in their own unique clothing, singing their own beloved songs. There was a large group of male Black Masons, proudly marching in their elaborate uniforms, and an equally large group of female Black Masons, dressed dramatically in white, singing as they marched. There was a beautiful group of Black teenagers, dressed in their choir robes, singing a stirring version of “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” the song that is known as the Black National Anthem.
Back at Temple Mishkan Israel, the one synagogue in Selma, our Jewish group was led by powerful Black Jewish women leaders in prayers and songs, highlighting the beautiful diversity within our community. We were inspired by powerful messages from longtime Jewish social justice leaders Ruth Messinger (former head of American Jewish World Service), Heather Booth (longtime outstanding community organizer) and Nancy Kaufman (retired CEO of the National Council of Jewish Women). Each of these renowned, seasoned leaders exhorted us to refuse to give in to despair in our own time, but rather to emulate our forebears who created dramatic change even when standing against significant odds.
We were urged to keep working for passage of the John Lewis Voting Rights Advancement Act to continue the work in which the heroes in Selma were engaged. The speakers implored us to advocate against the SAVE Act, which would require Americans to provide a birth certificate, passport or other citizenship document to register or re-register to vote, effectively blocking access to voting for the more than 21 million American citizens who do not have easy access to these documents.
They appealed to each of us to find our own ways to fight for justice and democracy, with whichever group we are drawn to. They pointed out that there is an enormous communal project that we must undertake: to push back against the attacks on democracy, racial equity and human dignity in our time. They insisted that “despair is not a strategy” (Ruth Messinger's timeless teaching) and that everyone (like the Israelites in the wilderness) has something to contribute.
I went to Selma to participate in a commemoration and celebration of those who risked their lives to march in 1965. I expected the mood to be somber and subdued, as many of the achievements of the Civil Rights Movement are under attack.
Instead, I found a joyful community boldly demonstrating our shared values and faithfulness. The experience served as a powerful source of inspiration for each of us to participate in a loving community of people seeking to make America stand for justice, compassion and equality for all.
We came away with our hearts uplifted, strengthened in our dedication to bring the gifts of our hearts to the work ahead.
This column first appeared in the J Weekly, March 20, 2025. https://jweekly.com/2025/03/20/despair-is-not-a-strategy-marching-in-selma-60-years-later/
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