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Judaism doesn’t want you to wander and live just anywhere — or does it?
(JTA) — I was a remote worker long before the pandemic made it a thing, but it was only last month that I really took advantage of it. Early on the morning of New Year’s Day, I boarded a plane from Connecticut bound for Mexico, where I spent a full month sleeping in thatch-roofed palapas, eating more tacos than was probably wise and bathing every day in the Pacific. I’ll spare you the glorious details, but suffice it to say, it wasn’t a bad way to spend a January.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, I found myself again and again coming into contact with expats who had traded in their urban lives in northern climes for a more laid-back life in the tropics. There was the recently divorced motorcycle enthusiast slowly wending his way southward by bike as he continued to work a design job for a major American bank. There was the yoga instructor born not far from where I live in Massachusetts who owned an open-air rooftop studio just steps from the waves. There were the countless couples who had chosen to spend their days running beachfront bars or small hotels on the sand. And then there were the seemingly endless number and variety of middle-aged northerners rebooting their lives in perpetual sunshine.
Such people have long mystified me. It’s not hard to understand the lure of beachside living, and part of me envies the freedom to design your own life from the ground up. But there’s also something scary about it. Arriving in middle age in a country where you know nobody, whose language is not your own, whose laws and cultural mores, seasons and flora, are all unfamiliar — it feels like the essence of shallow-rootedness, like a life devoid of all the things that give one (or at least me) a sense of comfort and security and place. The thought of exercising the right to live literally anywhere and any way I choose opens up a space so vast and limitless it provokes an almost vertiginous fear of disconnection and a life adrift.
Clearly, this feeling isn’t universally shared. And the fact that I have it probably owes a lot to my upbringing. I grew up in an Orthodox family, which by necessity meant life was lived in a fairly small bubble. Our house was within walking distance of our synagogue, as it had to be since walking was the only way to get there on Shabbat and holidays. I attended a small Jewish day school, where virtually all of my friends came from families with similar religious commitments. Keeping kosher and the other constraints of a religious life had a similarly narrowing effect on the horizons of my world and thus my sense of life’s possibilities. Or at least that’s how it often felt.
What must it be like — pardon the non-kosher expression — to feel as if the world is your oyster? That you could live anywhere, love anyone, eat anything and make your life whatever you want it to be? Thrilling, yes — but also frightening. The sense of boundless possibility I could feel emanating from those sun-baked Mexicans-by-choice was seductive, but tempered by aversion to a life so unmoored.
The tension between freedom and obligation is baked into Jewish life. The twin poles of our national narrative are the Exodus from Egypt and the revelation at Sinai, each commemorated by festivals separated by exactly seven weeks in the calendar, starting with Passover. The conventional understanding is that this juxtaposition isn’t accidental. God didn’t liberate the Israelites from slavery so they could live free of encumbrances on the Mayan Riviera. Freedom had a purpose, expressed in the giving of the Torah at Sinai, with all its attendant rules and restrictions and obligations. Freedom is a central value of Jewish life — Jews are commanded to remember the Exodus every day. But Jewish freedom doesn’t mean the right to live however you want.
Except it might mean the right to live any place you want. In the 25th chapter of Leviticus, God gives the Israelites the commandment of the Jubilee year, known as yovel in Hebrew. Observed every 50 years in biblical times, the Jubilee has many similarities to the shmita (sabbatical) year, but with some additional rituals. The text instructs: “And you shall hallow the 50th year. You shall proclaim liberty throughout the land for all its inhabitants. It shall be a jubilee for you: each of you shall return to your holding and each of you shall return to your family.”
Among the requirements of the Jubilee was that ancestral lands be returned to their original owners. Yet the word for liberty is a curious one: “d’ror.” The Talmud explains its etymology this way: “It is like a man who dwells [medayer] in any dwelling and moves merchandise around the entire country” (Rosh Hashanah 9b).
The liberty of the Jubilee year could thus be said to have two contrary meanings — individuals had the right to return to their ancestral lands, but they were also free not to. They could live in any dwelling they chose. The sense of liberty connoted by the biblical text is a specifically residential one: the freedom to live where one chooses. Which pretty well describes the world we live in today. Jewish ancestral lands are freely available to any Jew who wants to live there. And roughly half the Jews of the world choose not to.
Clearly, I’m among them. And while I technically could live anywhere, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to. I like where I live — not because of any particular qualities of this place, though I do love its seasons and its smells and its proximity to the people I care about and the few weeks every fall when the trees become a riotous kaleidoscope. But mostly because it’s mine.
A version of this essay appeared in My Jewish Learning’s Recharge Shabbat newsletter. Subscribe here.
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Alabama is forcing the Ten Commandments into my children’s classrooms. As a rabbi, I’m horrified
As of this month, many public schools in Alabama are required to display the Ten Commandments in classrooms, libraries, lunchrooms and all other common spaces.
Proponents of Senate Bill 99, signed into law by Gov. Kay Iven on April 10, have claimed that these enforced displays are historical, educational and religiously neutral. As an Alabama rabbi — and a father of two future public school students — I see that defense as not just incorrect, but also deceitful, especially because the version of the Ten Commandments that the law endorses is, itself, not historically accurate.
The Ten Commandments are a sacred Jewish text. They were given to the Jewish people, written in Hebrew, and rooted in a specifically Jewish story of liberation and covenant. This law takes that text, strips it of its context, and reshapes it using a Christian lens.
The version of the Ten Commandments that will be displayed in our schools omits the text’s defining opening: “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery.” That line grounds the commandments in the narrative of the Jewish people. To remove it is not preservation. It is distortion.
Claims of the law’s neutrality are a strategy meant to give legal and cultural cover to the fact that it clearly privileges one particular Christian worldview in public institutions meant to serve everyone.
This does not reflect the beliefs or desires of all Christians. Many Christian leaders and communities understand that faith loses its integrity when it is elevated or enforced by the state. Many of my Alabama colleagues, across religious traditions, are dismayed by this as well. They understand that this law is an ideological move that uses religion to draw boundaries around belonging, and object to that weaponization of something sacred.
In opposing Senate Bill 99, the American Historical Association made the point plainly, arguing that this law presents a distorted version of American religious history under the label of “historical truth.”
The text of the bill describes the Ten Commandments as “a key part of the Judeo-Christian religious and moral tradition” — a claim that does not reflect the consensus of historians, legal scholars or the judiciary.
The idea of a unified “Judeo-Christian” tradition is itself a misleading modern construction. It did not come from Judaism. It emerged within a Christian framework and recasts Judaism as a precursor to Christianity rather than a living, evolving tradition in its own right.
Alabama students, like students across this country, deserve an education that is accurate, intellectually honest and grounded in real scholarship. Public schools should be places where students can form identities they are proud of, develop the values that guide them, and begin to understand how they can contribute to the world around them. They should be places where students feel safe, nurtured and valued.
This law erodes those principles. Instead, it replaces real education with ideology, narrowing what students are allowed to learn and how they are taught to understand their country. It denies students exposure to the full diversity of American religious life, replacing that rich landscape with a single, imposed narrative.
When a classroom wall presents one version of a religious text as if it were foundational to civic life, it sends a message. Some students will see themselves reflected in the text. Others, like my children, will learn that they are on the outside. Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Sikhs, atheists and others will be further pushed to the margins.
This law is about power: who has it, and who does not. It is about whose story is told, and whose is reshaped to fit someone else’s narrative. And it teaches something dangerous: not to think, but to conform. To get in line. To stay silent. To learn, early on, where you stand.
The United States cannot be great when it elevates one religion over others. Our students deserve better than indoctrination presented as education. They deserve a system that reflects that we are a nation shaped not by one tradition, but by many.
As a rabbi, I am angry that a sacred text from my tradition is being taken, altered and presented as something it is not.
As a Jew, I am furious that our story is being stripped of its context and repurposed in a way that marginalizes others.
And as a father of two children who will be in public school, I am deeply uneasy about what this signals to them about who belongs — and who does not.
That is why we must speak out and do everything we can to oppose and repeal this law. We must work to protect a better kind of American society — one that ensures our public institutions remain open to all, and that our children grow up in a world that reflects the dignity of difference, not the demand for conformity.
The post Alabama is forcing the Ten Commandments into my children’s classrooms. As a rabbi, I’m horrified appeared first on The Forward.
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Some Tankers Cross Strait of Hormuz Before Shots Fired, Ship-Tracking Data Shows
A satellite image shows the ship movement at the Strait of Hormuz on April 17, 2026, in Space. EUROPEAN UNION/COPERNICUS SENTINEL-2/Handout via REUTERS
More than a dozen tankers, including three sanctioned vessels, passed through the Strait of Hormuz after a 50-day blockade was lifted on Friday, shipping data showed, before Iran reimposed restrictions on Saturday and fired at some vessels.
Reopening the strait is key for Gulf producers to resume full oil and gas supplies to the world, and end what the International Energy Agency has called the worst-ever supply disruption.
US President Donald Trump said on Friday Iran had agreed to open the strait, while Iranian officials said they wanted the US to fully lift its blockade of Iranian tankers.
Western shipping companies cautiously welcomed the announcements but said more clarity was needed, including on the presence of sea mines, before their vessels could transit.
IRAN RESUMES RESTRICTIONS
The ships that passed through the strait on Friday and Saturday via Iranian waters south of Larak island were mainly older, non-Western-owned vessels and included four sanctioned ships, according to ship-tracking data.
Iran arranged passage for a limited number of oil tankers and commercial ships following prior agreements in negotiations, a spokesperson for Iran’s Revolutionary Guards said.
Other ships have been seen approaching the strait and turning back as Iran said it would maintain strict controls as long as the US continues its blockade of Iranian ports.
The UK Navy reported on Saturday that Iranian gunboats fired at some ships attempting to cross the strait.
Some merchant vessels received radio messages from Iran’s navy saying the strait was shut again and that no ships were allowed to pass, shipping sources said on Saturday.
Ship-tracking data showed five vessels loaded with liquefied natural gas from Ras Laffan in Qatar approaching the strait on Saturday morning.
No LNG cargoes have transited the waterway since the US-Israeli war with Iran began on February 28.
Hundreds of ships have been stuck in the Gulf since the conflict started and Tehran closed the strait, forcing Gulf oil and gas producers to sharply cut production.
Top producers such as Saudi Arabia, the UAE, Iraq and Kuwait say they need steady tanker flows and unrestricted passage through the strait to resume normal export operations.
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Trump Greenlights Russian Oil to Ease Strain on Global Markets After War with Iran
US Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent in Washington, DC, US, March 27, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Jonathan Ernst
i24 News – The Trump administration has authorized a 30-day emergency waiver allowing the maritime purchase of Russian oil, reversing a hardline stance in an effort to stabilize skyrocketing global energy prices.
The Treasury Department announced Friday that the license for crude and petroleum products will remain in effect until May 16, 2026, responding to intense pressure from international partners struggling with the fallout of the war with Iran.
This policy pivot comes as a surprise after Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent suggested earlier this week that no further exemptions would be granted:
“As negotiations with Iran accelerate, the administration seeks to ensure oil availability for those who need it most. We must prevent a total price collapse for consumers while the geopolitical situation remains volatile.”
Ensuring global oil availability is paramount for the US as over 80 energy facilities in the Middle East have been damaged by recent war with Iran. With the November midterm elections approaching, record-high fuel prices at the pump remain a primary vulnerability for the Republican party. By allowing Russian oil back into the maritime flow, the administration hopes to neutralize “pain at the pump” before voters head to the polls.