In every generation, the Jewish people are called to remember one truth: “You were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Exodus 22:21). This single commandment echoes more times throughout the Torah than Shabbat or even dietary laws, a divine refrain urging empathy, compassion, and justice for the outsider. In our own time—when debates around immigration, asylum, and national borders intensify—the ancient voice of Torah still speaks, reminding us of our past and shaping our present response.
The Sacred Memory of Sojourning
Jewish tradition does not treat the immigrant or refugee as a policy problem but as a theological imperative. The Torah commands:
“The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”
—Leviticus 19:34
To be a Jew is to carry the collective memory of displacement. From Egypt to Babylon, from Spain to Eastern Europe, our survival as a people has depended not only on divine protection but on human compassion. The Torah does not say, “You were slaves, therefore seek freedom.” It says, “You were strangers”—therefore treat the stranger with dignity and love.
Balancing Civil Law and Human Dignity
Netzarim Judaism affirms that upholding civil law is vital to a functioning society. Immigration policy, border enforcement, and national sovereignty are legitimate concerns. Civil law ensures the orderly function of society and the protection of its members. Without it, justice cannot be served. For example, the Torah outlines systems of courts and judges:
“You shall appoint magistrates and officials for your tribes, in all the settlements that the Lord your God is giving you, and they shall govern the people with due justice.”
—Deuteronomy 16:18
The Torah further commands:
“Cursed be anyone who subverts the rights of the stranger, the orphan, and the widow.”
—Deuteronomy 27:19
This highlights that law must be upheld with equity, and particularly in protection of the most vulnerable. Civil law that treats all people fairly and without bias is a divine expectation. However, law without mercy becomes tyranny. As the prophet Micah reminds us:
“What does the Lord require of you? To do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.”
—Micah 6:8
A legal system that forgets the image of God (tzelem Elohim) in every person ceases to be just. A society that dehumanizes the immigrant violates the ethical core of Judaism. Law must be tempered by conscience. Rights must be grounded in righteousness.
The Netzarim View: Conscience and Compassion
Netzarim Judaism rejects both legalism and lawlessness. We believe that “the spirit of the Law, how we approach Torah and embrace mitzvot, is far more important than abiding by the literal letter of the Law—within reason.” This perspective affirms that justice must be pursued not just through courts and legislation but through our everyday actions—how we treat the vulnerable, the displaced, the “other.”
We call for policies that secure borders without building walls around our hearts. We affirm the right of nations to enforce immigration laws, but we challenge them to do so in ways that preserve human dignity, offer due process, and provide refuge to those fleeing violence and oppression.
From Sojourner to Citizen
Jewish ethics do not stop at charity; they demand systemic justice. We are taught in Deuteronomy:
“You shall not subvert the rights of the stranger or the fatherless… Remember that you were a slave in Egypt and that the Lord your God redeemed you from there.”
—Deuteronomy 24:17-18
The stranger is not merely to be pitied, but protected. Not merely welcomed, but empowered. This is not about politics—it is about the Kingdom of God made manifest on earth.
We must recognize the parallels between our ancient and modern experiences. In biblical times, Jews were enslaved in Egypt, later exiled to Babylon, and treated as second-class citizens in Persia and Rome. Throughout history, Jews have endured expulsions from Spain, pogroms in Eastern Europe, and systemic discrimination across empires. During the Shoah, we were stateless, helpless refugees, turned away from many borders—sometimes even to our deaths.
Today, we see non-Jewish immigrants facing similar patterns of suspicion, marginalization, and bureaucratic cruelty. Families are torn apart. Asylum seekers languish in camps. Legal limbo crushes the human spirit. We must ask ourselves: when we see others fleeing poverty, violence, or oppression, do we remember our own past? Do we act as Pharaoh, or as those who fear God and rescue the vulnerable?
To remember what it means to be a stranger is to live with radical empathy. It is to refuse to look away. It is to build a society that sees every refugee, every migrant, every outsider, as a full human being bearing the image of God (tzelem Elohim).
A kingdom where all people are treated as bearers of divine worth. A kingdom where we remember what it means to be strangers, and so we become healers of exile.
Conclusion: Our Torah, Our Responsibility
The Torah’s vision of justice is clear. It begins with memory, but it ends in action. As Netzarim Jews, we are not only keepers of tradition—we are builders of the world to come. The call of our faith is not to turn away from the crises of our day, but to meet them with moral courage, guided by Torah, informed by history, and lit by the flame of compassion.
We are called to uphold both the moral law of our heritage and the civil laws of the societies in which we live, all while ensuring that these do not come at the cost of basic human dignity. When laws are unjust, it is our responsibility to challenge them—peacefully, but persistently. When policies exclude or dehumanize, it is our role to bear witness, to speak up, and to advocate for a better path.
This is not just a Jewish issue. It is a human issue. But our tradition gives us a sacred vocabulary to name the wrongs and a spiritual mandate to act. We must raise our voices for those who have no voice. We must open our homes and hearts to the modern-day sojourners among us. We must be the ones who remember and act, so that our memory becomes hope for others.
Let us remember: We were sojourners. Now we are witnesses. And it is our witness—grounded in Torah, shaped by our suffering, and alive with compassion—that can help remake the world into one of justice, mercy, and peace.
