A Nation That Has Lost Its Way

A week before Passover, I find myself in deep reflection—not only on the ancient story of Exodus, but on my own journey. Passover has always been more than a ritual or holiday; it is a sacred invitation to remember God’s love, where we came from, and what still binds and frees us.

This year, as I prepare my heart for Passover, I also recall the stories of more recent history—stories not from the desert, but from the ashes of Europe. I think of the Holocaust survivors, of the fear and faith that gripped Jewish families in Germany, Poland, and across Europe. I think of the way Rabbi Sidney Zimelman, (He was my rabbi while I was incarcerated.) used to speak of those times—how he would talk about the mounting fear, the silence of neighbors, and the rising tide of hatred that swept through nations. And then, somehow, he would always tie it back to Passover—not just as a feast of freedom, but as a symbol of endurance and divine presence even in the darkest nights. Today antisemitism is on the rise not the just in the United States, but across the globe. 

I must say, this past year has been both unsettling and, at times, almost excruciating. There were moments when fear wrapped itself around my spirit, when I found myself asking God a question.  Why?

So far, this year has been the scariest time I can remember. Not because of a single event, but because of the overwhelming sense that something is unraveling around us—and maybe within us, too. I have seen the divisions grow deeper, the truth more distorted, the voices of the vulnerable more silenced. I have watched people I once trusted fall into deception, and I have felt the weight of sorrow for a nation that seems to be forgetting what it means to be free, to be just, to be good.

As Passover approaches, I cannot help but feel that this season of remembering the Exodus—of God’s mighty hand and outstretched arm—is not only a time to celebrate deliverance, but to confront our current bondage: to fear, to lies, to power, to idols. It is a call to repentance and to courage. A reminder that liberation doesn’t always come quickly, but it always begins with truth.

Adena 

A Nation That Has Lost Its Way

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might.” – Deuteronomy 6:5

We were called to love.

To love God above all else.

To love our neighbors as ourselves.

To walk humbly, do justice, and show mercy.

But we have lost our way.

There is an ancient Jewish teaching that when a people begin to love things more than they love God, when they elevate wealth over worship, power over prayer, and comfort over compassion, they invite destruction. Not by God’s hand alone, but by their own unraveling.

And here we are.

We live in a nation that says it trusts in God, yet worships money, guns, power, celebrity, and control. We have built idols of stone and steel, cloaked them in flags and crosses, and bowed to them while ignoring the cries of the poor, the abused, and the oppressed.

We have become a nation of blame.

Blame the immigrant.

Blame the woman.

Blame the child.

Blame the addict.

Blame the victim.

Blame the person of color.

Blame the “other.”

But never ourselves.

We have weaponized God’s Word.

Twisting sacred scripture to justify hate, exclusion, and cruelty.

Using the Bible to divide, not to heal.

To shame, not to restore.

To judge, but not to understand.

We live in a country that tells people who they are allowed to love and how they are allowed to feel.

A country that treats human love like it’s something to regulate—unless it’s twisted in power, unless it’s hidden behind closed doors.

We do not honor sacred connection; we police it. We punish it. We legislate it.

We have become a nation where grown men can force themselves on women and even children, and somehow we still ask, “What was she wearing?”

Where the powerful walk free, and the powerless are locked away, often for surviving what they never chose.

We live in a nation that objectifies women and children, rates them on a scale, judges their bodies, and calls that normal.

Where girls are sexualized before they can read, and women are told their worth lies in their waistline, their silence, and their ability to endure pain quietly.

Where boys are told not to cry, and anyone who dares to feel is mocked for being human.

We have become a nation where being rich excuses sin, and being poor condemns you.

Where the name of Jesus is used to elect leaders who mock His very teachings.

Where “Christian” has come to mean “us versus them” instead of “Come to me, all who are weary.”

We have silenced the wounded.

We’ve filled our prisons with the broken-hearted.

We’ve judged victims without listening to their pain.

We’ve ignored abuse, especially when the abuser was someone respected, someone powerful, someone male.

We protect predators and shame survivors.

We fund war but ignore the hungry.

We quote scripture while ignoring the spirit behind it.

We have been deceived.

God is not Republican. God is not Democrat. God is not a weapon of war or a mascot for any nation. God is love.

And love does not look like this.

Love does not cage children.

Love does not ban refugees.

Love does not legislate hate.

Love does not silence truth.

Love does not protect abusers and punish the abused.

We have traded the kingdom for a lie.

The prophets warned us.

“Woe to those who call evil good and good evil.”

“Your hands are full of blood… Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed.”

“Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.”

And Jesus, rooted in Torah and love, told us plainly:

“Whatever you did to the least of these, you did to me.”

We have sinned. As individuals. As communities. As a nation.

But there is still time.

Time to repent—not just with words, but with action.

Time to listen to the wounded.

Time to welcome the stranger.

Time to lift up the silenced.

Time to tear down idols.

Time to love without conditions.

Time to be brave enough to see our reflection and still choose transformation.

I am returning to God’s grace—

Back to love, 

Back to truth,

Back to the very heart of God.