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Letty Cottin Pogrebin wants Jews to own up to the corrosive power of shame
(JTA) — When a lawyer for Donald Trump asked E. Jean Carroll why she didn’t scream while allegedly being raped by Donald Trump, I thought of Letty Cottin Pogrebin. In her latest book, “Shanda: A Memoir of Shame and Secrecy,” she writes about being assaulted by a famous poet — and how the shadow of shame kept women like her silent about attacks on their own bodies.
That incident in 1962, she writes, was “fifty-eight years before the #MeToo movement provided the sisterhood and solidarity that made survivors of abuse and rape feel safe enough to tell their stories.”
Now 83, Pogrebin could have coasted with a memoir celebrating her six decades as a leading feminist: She co-founded Ms. magazine, its Foundation for Women and the National Women’s Political Caucus. She served as president of Americans for Peace Now and in 1982 blew the whistle on antisemitism in the feminist movement.
Instead, “Shanda” is about her immigrant Jewish family and the secrets they carried through their lives. First marriages that were kept hidden. An unacknowledged half-sister. Money problems and domestic abuse. An uncle banished for sharing family dirt in public.
“My mania around secrecy and shame was sparked in 1951 by the discovery that my parents had concealed from me the truth about their personal histories, and every member of my large extended family, on both sides, was in on it,” writes Pogrebin, now 83. “Their need to avoid scandal was so compelling that, once identified, it provided the lens through which I could see my family with fresh eyes, spotlight their fears, and, in so doing, illuminate my own.”
“Shanda” (the Yiddish word describes the kind of behavior that brings shame on an entire family or even a people) is also a portrait of immigrant New York Jews in the 20th century. As her father and mother father move up in the world and leave their Yiddish-speaking, Old World families behind for new lives in the Bronx and Queens, they stand in for a generation of Jews and new Americans “bent on saving face and determined to be, if not exemplary, at least impeccably respectable.”
Pogrebin and I spoke last week ahead of the Eight Over Eighty Gala on May 31, where she will be honored with a group that includes another Jewish feminist icon, the writer Erica Jong, and musician Eve Queler, who founded her own ensemble, the Opera Orchestra of New York, when she wasn’t being given chances to conduct in the male-dominated world of classical music. The gala is a fundraiser for the New Jewish Home, a healthcare nonprofit serving older New Yorkers.
Pogrebin and I spoke about shame and how it plays out in public and private, from rape accusations against a former president to her regrets over how she wrote about her own abortions to how the Bible justifies family trickery.
Our conversation was edited for length and clarity.
I found your book very moving because my parents’ generation, who like your family were middle-class Jews who grew up or lived in the New York metropolitan area, are also all gone now. Your book brought back to me that world of aunts and uncles and cousins, and kids like us who couldn’t imagine what kinds of secrets and traumas our parents and relatives were hiding. But you went back and asked all the questions that many of us are afraid to ask.
I can’t tell you how good writing it has been. I feel as though I have no weight on my back. And people who have read it gained such comfort from the normalization that happens when you read that others have been through what you’ve been through. And my family secrets are so varied — just one right after the other. The chameleon-like behavior of that generation — they became who they wanted to be through pretense or actual accomplishment.
In my mother’s case, pretense led the way. She went and got a studio photo that made it look like she graduated from high school when she didn’t. In the eighth grade, she went up to her uncle’s house in the north Bronx and had her dates pick her up there because of the shanda of where she lived on the Lower East Side with nine people in three rooms. She had to imagine herself the child of her uncle, who didn’t have an accent or had an accent but at least spoke English.
You describe yours as “an immigrant family torn between loyalty to their own kind and longing for American acceptance.”
There was the feeling that, “If only we could measure up, we would be real Americans.” My mother was a sewing machine operator who became a designer and figured out what American women wore when she came from rags and cardboard shoes, in steerage. So I admire them. As much as I was discomforted by the lies, I ended up having compassion for them.
It’s also a story of thwarted women, and all that lost potential of a generation in which few could contemplate a college degree or a career outside the home. Your mother worked for a time as a junior designer for Hattie Carnegie, a sort of Donna Karan of her day, but abandoned that after she met your dad and became, as you write, “Mrs. Jack Cottin.”
The powerlessness of women was complicated in the 1950s by the demands of the masculine Jewish ideal. So having a wife who didn’t work was proof that you were a man who could provide. As a result women sacrificed their own aspirations and passions. She protected her husband’s image by not pursuing her life outside the home. In a way my feminism is a positive, like a photograph, to the negative of my mother’s 1950s womanhood.
“I’m not an optimist. I call myself a ‘cockeyed strategist,” said Pogrebin, who has a home on the Upper West Side. (Mike Lovett)
You write that you “think of shame and secrecy as quintessentially Jewish issues.” What were the Jewish pressures that inspired your parents to tell so many stories that weren’t true?
Think about what we did. We hid behind our names. We changed our names. We sloughed off our accents. My mother learned to make My*T*Fine pudding instead of gefilte fish. Shame and secrecy have always been intrinsically Jewish to me, because of the “sha!” factor: At every supper party, there would be the moment when somebody would say, “Sha! We don’t talk about that!” So even though we talked about what felt like everything, there were things that couldn’t be touched: illness, the C-word [cancer]. If you wanted to make a shidduch [wedding match] with another family in the insular communities in which Jews lived, you couldn’t let it be known that there was cancer in the family, or mental illness.
While I was writing this memoir, I realized that the [Torah portion] I’m listening to one Shabbat morning is all about hiding. It is Jacob finding out that he didn’t marry Rachel, after all, but married somebody he didn’t love. All of the hiding that I took for granted in the Bible stories and I was raised on like mother’s milk was formative. They justified pretense, and they justified trickery. Rebecca lied to her husband and presented her younger son Jacob for the blessing because God told her, because it was for the greater good of the future the Jewish people.
I think Jews felt that same sort of way when it came to surviving. So we can get rid of our names. We wouldn’t have survived, whether we were hiding in a forest or behind a cabinet, a name or a passport, or [pushed into hiding] with [forced] conversions. Hiding was survival.
I was reading your book just as the E. Jean Carroll verdict came down, holding Donald Trump liable for sexually assaulting her during an encounter in the mid-’90s. You write how in 1962, when you were working as a book publicist, the hard-drinking Irish poet Brendan Behan (who died in 1964) tried to rape you in a hotel room and you didn’t report it. Like Carroll, you didn’t think that it was something that could be reported because the cost was too high.
Certainly in that era powerful men could get away with horrible behavior because of shanda reasons.
Carroll said in her court testimony, “It was shameful to go to the police.”
You know that it happened to so many others and nobody paid the price. The man’s reputation was intact and we kept our jobs because we sacrificed our dignity and our truth. I was in a career, and I really was supporting myself. I couldn’t afford to lose my job. I would have been pilloried for having gone to his hotel room, and nobody was there when he picked up an ashtray and threatened to break the window of the Chelsea Hotel unless I went up there with him.The cards were stacked against me.
In “Shanda,” you write about another kind of shame: The shame you now feel decades later about how you described the incident in your first book. You regret “how blithely I transformed an aggravated assault by a powerful man into a ‘sticky sexual encounter.’”
I wrote about the incident in such offhand terms, and wonder why. I wrote, basically, “Okay, girls, you’re gonna have to put up with this, but you’re gonna have to find your own magical sentence like I had with Behan” to get him to stop.
You write that you said, “You can’t do this to me! I’m a nice Jewish girl!” And that got him to back off.
Really painful.
I think that’s a powerful aspect of your book — how you look back at the ways you let down the movement or your family or friends and now regret. In 1991 you wrote a New York Times essay about an illegal abortion you had as a college senior in 1958, but not the second one you had only a few months later. While you were urging women to tell their stories of abortion, you note how a different shame kept you from telling the whole truth.
Jewish girls could be, you know, plain or ordinary, but they had to be smart, and I had been stupid. I could out myself as one of the many millions of women who had an abortion but not as a Jewish girl who made the same mistake [of getting pregnant] twice.
The book was written before the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade. In the book you write powerfully about the shame, danger and loneliness among women when abortion was illegal, and now, after 50 years, it is happening again. Having been very much part of the generation of activists that saw Roe become the law of the land, how have you processed its demise?
Since the 1970s, we thought everything was happening in this proper linear way. We got legislation passed, we had litigation and we won, and we saw the percentage of women’s participation in the workplace all across professions and trades and everything else rise and rise. And then Ronald Reagan was elected and then there was the Moral Majority and then it was the Hyde Amendment [barring the use of federal funds to pay for abortion]. I was sideswiped because I think I was naive enough to imagine that once we articulated what feminism was driving at and why women’s rights were important, and how the economic reality of families and discrimination against women weren’t just women’s issues, people would internalize it and understand it and justice would be done.
In the case of Roe, we could not imagine that rights could ever be taken away. We didn’t do something that we should have done, which is to have outed ourselves in a big way. It’s not enough that abortion was legal. We allowed it to remain stigmatized. We allowed the right wing to create their own valence around it. That negated solidarity. If we had talked about abortion as healthcare, if we had had our stories published and created organizations around remembering what it was like and people telling their stories about when abortion was illegal and dangerous…. Instead we allowed the religious right to prioritize [fetal] cells over a woman’s life. We just were not truthful with each other, so we didn’t create solidarity.
Are you heartened by the backlash against restrictive new laws in red states or optimistic that the next wave of activism can reclaim the right to abortion?
I’m not an optimist. I call myself a “cockeyed strategist.” If you look at my long resume, it is all about organizing: Ms. magazine, feminist organizations, women’s foundations, Black-Jewish dialogues, Torah study groups and Palestinian-Jewish dialogues.
Number one, we have to own the data and reframe the narrative. We have to open channels for discussion for women who have either had one or know someone who has had one, even in religious Catholic families. The state-by-state strategy was really slow, but Ruth Bader Ginsburg wanted that. She almost didn’t get on the court because she didn’t like the nationwide, right-to-privacy strategy of Roe but instead wanted it won state by state, which would have required campaigns of acceptance and consciousness-raising.
So, the irony is she hasn’t lived to see that we’re going to have to do it her way.
You share a lot of family secrets in this book. Is this a book that you waited to write until, I’ll try to put this gently, most of the people had died?
I started this book when I was 78 years old, and there’s always a connection to my major birthdays. And turning 80 – you experience that number and it is so weird. It doesn’t describe me and it probably won’t describe you. I thought, this could well be my last book, so I needed to be completely transparent, put it all out there.
My mother and father and aunts and uncles were gone, but I have 24 cousins altogether. I went to my cousins, and told them I am going to write about the secret of your parents: It’s my uncle, but it’s your father. It’s your family story even though it’s my family, but it’s yours first. And every cousin, uniformly, said, “Are you kidding? You don’t even know the half of it,” and they’d tell me the whole story. I guess people want the truth out in the end.
Is that an aspect of getting older?
I think it’s a promise of liberation, which is what I have found. It’s this experience of being free from anything that I’ve hid. I don’t have to hide. Years ago, on our 35th wedding anniversary, we took our whole family to the Tenement Museum because we wanted them to see how far we’ve come in two generations.
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The post Letty Cottin Pogrebin wants Jews to own up to the corrosive power of shame appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Germany’s Main Mosque Network Under Fire Over Speakers Accused of Antisemitic Incitement
Pro-Palestinian demonstrators during a protest against Israel to mark the 77th anniversary of the “Nakba” or catastrophe, in Berlin, Germany, May 15, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Axel Schmidt
Germany’s main mosque association is facing growing controversy over speakers scheduled for its Cultural Days, a public program of community events, as experts warn of antisemitic incitement on a public stage and call for the event to be canceled.
Organized by the Turkish-Islamic Union for Religious Affairs (DITIB) in Hamburg, a city in northern Germany, the event is being advertised as a family-friendly gathering.
However, political figures, Jewish community representatives, and experts have sharply condemned the event, warning it risks providing a platform for antisemitic rhetoric and raising serious concerns over its tone and messaging.
Under mounting political pressure, DITIB was forced to remove four of the six speakers from the program, citing their hateful rhetoric and the promotion of antisemitic narratives.
“Those who act within our communities must not be associated with positions that express antisemitism, glorify violence, show hostility toward individuals, or incite hatred,” the association wrote in a statement.
Yet the controversy continues, as the event still advertises two remaining speakers who have drawn sustained criticism.
According to German author Eren Güvercin, a vocal critic of political Islam in the country, the two remaining speakers — Furkan Tiraşçı and Mahmut Sağır — have also been accused on social media of posting antisemitic content and glorifying terrorist organizations, raising questions over why they should be allowed to participate.
In several posts, Tiraşçı has repeatedly downplayed or justified the Hamas-led invasion of and massacre across southern Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, and referred to deceased Hamas leader Ismail Haniyeh as a “martyr.”
“He was a good Muslim, a good mujahid, a good family man. My condolences to the Muslim community. Every martyrdom is a new beginning on the path to victory,” Tiraşçı wrote in a post on X at the time of Haniyeh’s death.
He has also repeatedly shared antisemitic caricatures, including depictions of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu with vampire fangs and blood, labeled “killer,” as well as photomontages comparing Netanyahu to Adolf Hitler or placing him in Nazi-era imagery.
As for the second guest, Sağır has been accused of glorifying Hamas leaders and describing the Israeli population as a “cursed community” that has “drowned the world in blood for centuries” — remarks that echo decades-old antisemitic tropes. The quote appears to refer directly to Jews, as the modern state of Israel was only established in 1948.
According to Güvercin, Sağır “shares content that goes far beyond legitimate criticism and delves deeply into hateful ideologies.”
#DITIB–#Bergedorf feiert vom 14. – 17. Mai auf dem Frascatiplatz ihr 40-jähriges Bestehen.
Nachdem ich öffentlich darauf hingewiesen habe, dass vier namhafte Referenten, die aus der Türkei für dieses Fest eingeflogen werden sollten, immer wieder mit antisemitischen Aussagen und… pic.twitter.com/9Kc517ztxY— Eren Güvercin (@erenguevercin) May 4, 2026
In an Instagram post following Haniyeh’s death, Sağır wrote: “May the Lord receive him into His mercy, may his place be in paradise and his rank be elevated. The fate of those who thrive on cruelty is bleak and will be so. If not today, then tomorrow God will bring about the means to exact this reckoning. We believe it, and we bear witness.”
In the past, DITIB has faced multiple controversies, with some members making antisemitic remarks and spreading hateful messages.
Last year, the German government urged DITIB to publicly break with Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s antisemitic and anti-Israel rhetoric, citing the association’s close ties to him.
According to local reports, German authorities told religious leaders to formally break with Erdogan’s hateful statements or risk losing government support and cooperation.
For years, the German government has supported DITIB in training imams, as well as helping to foster community programs and religious initiatives.
Most of these religious leaders are trained abroad — especially in Turkey — and brought to local mosques by large Muslim organizations on multi‑year contracts, shaping the religious education and messaging that reaches the community.
Now, German lawmakers and the country’s Jewish community are calling for a mandatory certification process for all imams amid a surging wave of antisemitism, including multiple cases of religious leaders promoting anti-Jewish violence.
In 2023, the German government signed an agreement with the Turkish government’s Directorate of Religious Affairs (Diyanet) and DITIB for a new imam training program.
By sending imams from Turkey and paying their salaries, the Diyanet oversees DITIB and its hundreds of communities across Germany, shaping the ideological direction of more than 900 mosques and influencing the training of their imams.
However, a new program has brought an end to this practice of sending imams directly from Turkey. Instead, Turkish students are trained in Germany in cooperation with the German Islam Conference (IKD).
With this new agreement, imams live permanently in German communities and have no formal ties to the Turkish government. Still, experts doubt that this alone will curb the Diyanet’s political influence.
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National Education Association Accused of Antisemitism in Bombshell Civil Rights Complaint
National Education Association (NEA) President Becky Pringle speaks during a “May Day” rally in Washington, DC on May 1, 2026. Several protests took place in the city centering on progressive causes including workers’ rights, immigrant rights, and climate change. Photo by Bryan Dozier via Reuters Connect
The largest teachers union in the US has been accused of proliferating antisemitism across its interstate network of chapters, offices, and K-12 schools in a new disturbing civil rights complaint filed with the US Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) on Monday.
The National Education Association (NEA) blocks Jews from promotions, mentorship opportunities, and participation in social justice initiatives, the Louis D. Brandeis Center for Human Rights Under Law alleges in the action. The advocacy group further argues that antisemitic discrimination at the NEA is more than an invisible, bureaucratic force which disappears Jews from prominent roles. According to the Brandeis Center, anti-Zionist NEA officials want to be seen and recognized as a legitimate force in the union, and to that end have led in-person mobs against Jewish delegates attending union conferences; “physically intimidated” them; and even once took the step of excising Jews from its guidance on teaching students about the Holocaust.
During an annual conference held in 2025, the NEA ordered security to remove metal detectors from the entrance amid threats against the lives of Jewish delegates, according to the complaint. In many cases, the union allegedly ignores complaints of antisemitism which reach high-level officials through reporting channels the NEA itself composed. Virtually no one accused of having abused Jewish NEA members has been punished, let alone subject to a formal investigation, the Brandeis Center says.
The complaint adds that the NEA in 2025 also took the widely derided step of proclaiming that Holocaust commemoration must decentralize Hitler’s program to exterminate European Jews and “recognize the more than 12 million victims of the Holocaust from different faiths, ethnicities, races, political beliefs, genders, and gender identification, abilities/disabilities, and other targeted characteristics.”
Historically, such a move has been taken to minimize Jewish suffering and the role that antisemitism played in Nazi ideology and World War II.
“The NEA’s conduct is both completely illegal and morally unjustifiable. All educators, regardless of their ethnicity, deserve a safe workplace and support from the people whose job it is to protect them. In this case, the hostile, antisemitic environment propagated by the NEA is not confined to the union; it touches every school and every classroom in which an NEA member works,” Brandeis Center chairman and founder Kenneth Marcus said in a statement. “This is exactly the type of discrimination against which Title VII was designed to protect.”
Title VI of the Civil Rights Act prohibits discrimination based on race, color, or national origin in any program or activity receiving federal funding.
“Fighting to protect our NEA members from bigotry, we’re also fighting to protect our children from an environment that allows discrimination and antisemitic tropes,” Marcus added. “Unions are supposed to protect their members’ rights. The NEA is actually violating them.”
What the union promotes within its ranks inexorably appears in K-12 classrooms, the Brandeis Center says, pointing to a surge in antisemitic incidents in K-12 schools, a slew of which have been brought before civil courts and federal agencies. Just this month, another Jewish advocacy group, The Deborah Project, sued the San Leandro Unified School District (SLUSD) in California for standing down while a Jewish high school student was abused at its “Social Justice Academy” program. In another case, a teacher filmed her students saying that “the Jews” are “the people who took over, basically just stole the Palestinians’ land.”
Worker’s’ advocacy groups maintain that unions have played a role in promoting the “new antisemitism” which masks its antisemitic viewpoints with appeals to anti-Zionism, human rights, and other liberal values to squeeze anti-Jewish hatred through the Overton window.
In New York City, the federal government is investigating reports that members of the United Federation of Teachers (UFT) are procuring students for membership in anti-Zionist study groups teaching that Israelis are “genocidal white supremacists” and that Hamas terrorists are “martyrs.” The initiative there is funded by a nonprofit titled “Rethinking Schools,” which itself has been a recipient of exorbitant financial gifts from the NEA.
“The historical record shows that, whatever their shortcomings, previous generations of teacher-union leaders stood up to antisemitism in K-12 schools on behalf of their Jewish members and promoted strong US support for Israel in the face of existential attacks on that country,” union antisemitism expert Paul Zimmerman wrote in a damning report on the subject published in September. “Now, antisemitic activists grossly dishonor that legacy by weaponizing teacher unions to spread antisemitism, intimidate Jewish teachers, and recast the classroom as a battlefield against the West.”
Meanwhile, students at Columbia University recently escalated their fight against a graduate workers union dominated by anti-Israel advocates by filing a federal complaint with the National Labor Relations Board (NLRB).
The students allege that the bosses who run Student Workers of Columbia (SWC), an affiliate of United Auto Workers (UAW), devote more energy and resources to pursuing “radical policy proposals” than improving occupational conditions. In collective bargaining negotiations, it allegedly pressures the university to adopt the boycott, divestment, and sanctions (BDS) movement against Israel and to enact other measures, such as ending its partnership with the New York City Police Department (NYPD) and closing a dual-degree program with Tel Aviv University.
“All of this adds up to a union that is out of control, and I note that they don’t have an agenda against the mullahs in Iran, against the dictator who runs Turkey, against the Chinese communists who oppress their citizens or the North Koreans. But they have an agenda against Israel, the one democracy in the Middle East,” Glenn Taubman, staff attorney for the National Right to Work Foundation (NRTW), told The Algemeiner during an interview.
Follow Dion J. Pierre @DionJPierre.
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Reform Judaism helped craft the Voting Rights Act. Its evisceration gives Jews a new mission
Last week, the Supreme Court further gutted what is left of the Voting Rights Act of 1965. The Court’s ruling was terrible for the country, and particularly for communities of color whose votes will be diminished by this decision. But the ruling touched another, very personal nerve because the Voting Rights Act was partially drafted in my office, the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism.
The RAC is a longtime hub of civil rights activity. From the earliest days after our 1962 dedication, Reform movement staff with the RAC worked alongside the staff of other civil rights and public interest organizations, including the Leadership Conference on Civil Rights. The era’s social justice luminaries, our movement’s leaders among them, would gather around our conference table to discuss, debate and craft policies to address racial injustices — including legislation that became the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and Voting Rights Act of 1965.
Many American Jews have no idea of our community’s connection to the law’s origins, rooted in a Jewish commitment to working across lines of difference and in an understanding that our safety is in solidarity with other marginalized communities who experience bigotry. But as Jews, we all know that we can only flourish in a true democracy in which every voice is heard, because every vote counts equally.
For decades, section two of the Voting Rights Act helped ensure that voters of color had a fair opportunity to participate in the political process. By narrowing how states can use race data to draw electoral maps, the Court’s ruling will dilute the voices of communities of color, and further weaken a law often called the “crown jewel” of the Civil Rights Movement — one that was the product of a moral struggle in which people of many faiths, including Jews, risked their lives.
Rabbi Dick Hirsch, the founder of the RAC marched with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in Selma because he understood that American Jewish safety is tied to the health of American democracy. During Freedom Summer, Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner — two white, Jewish men — were murdered alongside James Chaney, a non-Jewish Black man, while registering voters in Mississippi. Goodman and Schwerner did not see voting rights as someone else’s issue, but understood fighting for them to be a Jewish obligation.
That understanding is rooted in Jewish tradition. The Talmud teaches that “a ruler is not to be appointed unless the community is first consulted.” The VRA, which was reauthorized repeatedly over the decades by bipartisan majorities in Congress, was a crucial step to ensuring that communities of color were fairly consulted on the issues that affect their lives.
For decades after Reconstruction, Black representation in Congress was negligible and at times effectively nonexistent. That began to change only after the VRA became law. Today, there are more than 60 Black members of Congress, the highest number in American history. That progress was not inevitable. It was the direct result of legal protections that ensured fair access to the ballot.
By making it easier for states to defend discriminatory maps under claims of partisanship, the Court has weakened one of the most important tools to ensure fair representation. The result will be fewer fair Congressional maps — an effort well underway, in the wake of the decision, in states like Tennessee — less representative institutions, and a political system that reflects fewer voices.
Some will argue that this is simply the normal push and pull of constitutional interpretation, but history suggests otherwise. When democratic norms weaken, minority communities are among the first to feel the consequences.
For American Jews, this progression is not theoretical. Our security and prosperity, in this country as others, have depended not only on physical protection, but also on good laws, functional institutions and a system of checks and balances that uphold equal rights and reject discrimination.
George Washington recognized this in his 1790 letter to the Jewish community of Newport, Rhode Island, in which he promised that the United States would give “to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance.”
In recent years, we have seen how fragile those protections can be.
Antisemitism has risen sharply, often alongside forces that divide Americans along racial, ethnic, and political lines. Efforts to weaken voting rights, undermine trust in elections and concentrate power do not occur in isolation. They are part of a broader pattern that threatens the pluralistic democracy on which Jewish life in the U.S. depends.
When the Court took a major piece out of the VRA in 2013’s Shelby v. Holder decision, Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg famously warned in her stinging dissent that the Court’s decision was “like throwing away your umbrella in a rainstorm because you are not getting wet.” Today, the rain has not stopped. If anything, it is falling harder.
We must persevere through this storm. The path forward will not be easy, but it is clear.
In legislatures, we must push for stronger protections, among them state-level voting rights acts and renewed federal legislation. In the courts, advocates must continue to challenge discriminatory practices wherever possible. And at the ballot box, citizens must exercise their right to vote with renewed urgency.
For the Jewish community, this is a moment to organize. Through initiatives such as the Reform Movement’s 2026 Every Voice, Every Vote campaign, Reform Jews and our allies are working to expand access to the ballot and defend the democratic system that has allowed our community to thrive. This is how we put our values into practice.
Democracy requires participation, vigilance and a willingness to defend the rights of others. It demands that we act against all wrongdoings, not only when our own rights are directly threatened.
For Jews, that responsibility is part of our tradition and our history. As Rabbi Hirsch famously observed at the RAC’s dedication, “our forefathers did not rest with the issuance of general pronouncements from the detached heights of Mt. Sinai. They descended into the valley of reality.”
The Supreme Court decision is not just another technical shift in election law. It is a setback for American democracy, and for those of us who understand that democracy is not just a system of government but a moral commitment.
The question is whether we will meet this moment.
Democracy will not defend itself.
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