A couple weeks ago, I sat in church and was overcome with cognitive dissonance. Not as a Jew in a church, though I had never been to this one before, but from the Rabbi and Pastor speaking about the brave actions of Martin Luther King Jr. and other activists of the Civil Rights Movement — how they took risks and stood up for what they believed in. They weren’t talking about what was happening right now in our country, the brutality I’ve witnessed on social media, and the fascist actions of our current President and his administration. 

But thinking about Selma and how clergy traveled there to support the community organizers and everyday people who made up the Civil Rights Movement, solidified things for me. I would go to Minneapolis later that week to support one of our sister organizations, Jewish Community Action (JCA), and others on the ground fighting back against ICE. I didn’t know how I’d get there or how I’d pay for it, but I knew that I could figure it out. I had been contemplating going and in that church, I decided I had to go.

I was nervous. My Instagram feed was full of pictures of Renee Nicole Good and of Keith Porter Jr., a father of two, shot and killed by an off-duty ICE officer outside his home. But at the same time, traveling to Minneapolis felt like a small commitment and risk compared to what I knew the organizers and activists in Minneapolis were facing everyday. The flights cost $700 so I decided to drive, much to my mother’s dismay. I won’t lie — it was an exhausting and seemingly neverending drive. I hit a snow storm which resulted in a minor anxiety attack. Surely another car would hit me since no one could see two feet in front of them but I somehow made it to Minneapolis in one piece, where Beth Gendler, the director of JCA, warmly welcomed me into her home.

Shortly after arriving at Beth's, I learned that Micheal Steingold, a dear person in my life, had passed away suddenly. My heart was broken. I worried about his daughter and wife who are like family to me. I considered driving back home the next day, but realized I didn’t have the physical stamina. Instead, I rested and headed to a church the next morning, where nearly 1,000 clergy and spiritual leaders gathered, chit chatting, running into old friends and acquaintances, eager to start the day. The Multifaith Antiracism, Change & Healing (MARCH) coalition, a pro-queer group of multiracial clergy and faith leaders, put out a call nationwide, in the spirit of the Selma-to-Montgomery marches during the Civil Rights Movement. 

I spent the morning on my own, away from the crowd, quietly crying at a breakfast table, remembering Michael’s memory in that church. At the same time, my heart broke open for so many other lives that have been lost way too soon due to the “three evils” that Martin Luther King Jr. described — racism, capitalism, and militarism. I thought about how heartbreaking my loss was and how unnecessary and avoidable the loss of so many others at the hands of these evils. It felt horrific and unfathomable that people and systems could contribute even more grief and pain into this world.

Moving through my grief, I listened to a panel of organizers who had been on the ground in Minneapolis. The former director of JCA, an attorney, recalled a rapid response moment. The alarm was sounded for observers and if possible, an attorney, to come to a neighbor’s home because ICE was there attempting to abduct the person. She answered the call and humbly described the event, while the organizer sitting next to her raised her up and reminded the crowd of her bravery. She was maced three times in the face that day but kept going, ultimately delaying the deportation, protecting the person that ICE sought to disappear. 

The stories they told were harrowing, and inspiring. Neighbor to neighbor — people who don’t consider themselves as activists or organizers, were coming to each other’s defense, delivering breastmilk, taking children to school so that their parents could stay safe at home, creating a Google form and raising $300,000 to pay their neighbors’ rent because people face real danger when leaving their home. 

Everyone was terrified. And they emphasized, “We have to do this afraid — there is no other option.” The organizers encouraged us to, “just say yes.” To figure it out, even when you don’t have all the answers. It would be messy, they admitted, but we had to build these networks now. They advised us to exchange phone numbers with our neighbors, if we didn’t have their contacts already, and set-up Signal chats (private and encrypted) as a starting point. 

“There’s a role for everyone and we have to be ready,” they reiterated. 

The next day, deemed the Day of Witness and Resistance, I continued to be inspired by the people of Minneapolis. I attended the largest protest I had ever been to — thousands of people filled the streets. And I have to admit, I was the coldest I have ever been in my life. Let me tell you — I learned that us Southeast Michiganders don’t know a lot about the cold. Despite the freezing temperatures, people stayed in the streets into the night, singing and dancing outside of the Target Center downtown. They were keeping each other hopeful during the devastating occupation of their city, as they shared handwarmers and hugs. 

Later that night, Beth, Bend the Arc CEO Jamie Beran, and I, headed to Shir Tikvah to attend Shabbat services. We were all exhausted but it was also just what I needed. The sadness of losing a father figure and hearing the stories of such immense repression broke my heart. My tears flowed as I sat with Beth and so many other loving people — some who had traveled from great distances and others who walked a block to come to the synagogue for their weekly Shabbat ritual. You could tell people were worn down, they were tired, but they also kept their spirits up, nourishing and supporting one another. Beautiful melodies were sung and people were on their feet singing and dancing (this Reform service was a departure from the type I grew up with at Beth Shalom in Oak Park). I felt the warmth and love emanating through that sacred space.

I’ve tried to hold on to Minnesota’s Midwest Nice and the intentional community there since I returned home to Michigan. And I want to urge us to not look away. The MAGA regime is trying to distract us from their horrific actions that continue in Minneapolis. Just yesterday, I was on a Zoom call with Beth, when she mentioned her Signal chat was blowing up with three ICE abductions happening near her neighborhood within that hour alone. Contrary to reports of drawdowns, 2,700 ICE officers remain in a city with less than half a million people. The terror and dogged community response continue, even as the news focuses elsewhere.

If I could underscore one learning, it’s we can’t let our uncertainty and discomfort stop us in this moment. The time for action is now. We have to take on a bit more risk than we normally would — we have to get a little more uncomfortable. We must protect the beauty of our community and imagine something better and work to build it. The three evils of racism, capitalism, and militarism continue to harm people. We can draw strength from the heroes and everyday people of the Civil Rights Movement who showed us that when we come together, we are more powerful than we might imagine. 

The moment is now. Attend a protest, get trained in deescalation or Know Your Rights, meet your neighbors, sign up for a mutual-aid shift, become an ICE observer, or donate to support people on the ground. It’s going to take all of us to defeat this regime and it’s just getting started.