Exodus 10:1-13:15
By Barrett Holman Leak in San Diego
In the Torah portion just read on Saturday, Jan. 24, we encountered the plague of darkness. “No man saw his brother, and no one rose from his place for three days … (Exodus 10:23)
Ibn Ezra notes that this wasn’t just a lack of sunlight. It was a physical, atmospheric “fog” so thick that it paralyzed the Egyptians. But his psychological insight is sharper: the darkness was so profound that they literally could not see the person standing next to them.
In San Diego right now, we are in a “thick fog.” When letters of “pain and rage” are weaponized, and when the Jewish community’s response ignores the JOC (Jews of Color) in its own pews, we have entered the Ninth Plague. We have stopped seeing our “brothers” and “sisters.”
I have been viewing this from The Intersection: from the perspective of being a Jewish woman and from being a Person of Color. I am watching an all out assault, the community is “rising from its place” to attack, but I have come to wonder can it not “see” the JOC in the community or the nuances of the Black and Brown organization it is targeting. Not doing so is, effectively, stumbling in the dark.
There is a danger in extremes, in total fire. The community’s response (and I am speaking of an explosion of individual posts and commentaries) that I am reading—demanding the destruction of a community non-profit in San Diego composed largely of Black and Brown people, and using Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s name as a weapon of shame — reflects a spiritual danger discussed by Rambam (Maimonides). Let me be very clear here – King was an unapologetic Zionist and so was his wife, Corretta Scott King. So am I. For further clarification, King stated publicly that Israel has a right to exist, and Jews have a right to self-determination and to live in the land.
Now, let’s step back to Egypt for a moment. The “darkness” of Egypt was not merely a physical shroud; it was a spiritual insulation that prevented the Egyptians from seeing their own role in the suffering of others. As we navigate the current crisis in San Diego, we must ask if our community is repeating this mistake. Before we demand apologies from others for exclusion, we must reckon with the plague of colorism within our own tents. For decades, the American Jewish community has failed to center Jews of Color—African American/Black Jews, Latino/Brown Jews, and Asian Jews—in the places where it matters most: in the pulpits as rabbis, in the boardrooms of national organizations, and in the distribution of communal funding. We cannot claim to be the ultimate defenders of MLK’s legacy if our own institutions do not visually reflect the diversity of the “Mixed Multitude” that left Egypt. This is the Cheshbon HaNefesh (accounting of the soul) that must precede our public outrage.
In his Mishneh Torah (Laws of Character), Rambam famously advocates for the “Middle Path”—moderation in all things. However, he makes a stark exception for anger. He writes that anger is so destructive that one should distance themselves from it to the extreme. He compares a person in a rage to one who “worships idols,” because in that moment, their anger, not God or ethics, is their master.
Crucially, we must remember that what small progress we have made toward JOC inclusion (again, clearly not the binary of Black Christians or Muslims on one side and Ashkenormative Jews on the other side, but Jews of Color) did not come through the same vitriolic name-calling we see today on social media. It was not achieved by burning down institutions or wishing for their destruction. It was achieved through the Middle Path. and that is how it will continue to be achieved. It is the hard, often quiet work of talking with one another and taking concrete, systemic actions. The Middle Path is the path out of darkness.
Just as Moses had to enter Pharaoh’s palace to initiate the Exodus, we must enter these spaces of Black and Brown communities with the intent to build, not just to vent. If we want a future relationship with the Black and Brown communities of San Diego, our “teachable moment” must include a humble admission of our own internal imperfections. We must trade the weaponization of rage for a concrete commitment to actual representation, ensuring that the next generation of leadership—on our synagogue boards, in our funded Jewish organizations, in our events, in our cultivation of rabbinical students and placing or rabbis on our bimahs—looks like the entire House of Israel. This is Beloved Community.
Rambam would warn us: If the Jewish community’s goal shifts from seeking justice to seeking destruction, we have lost the Middle Path. When we hope for an organization to be “destroyed,” we aren’t just hurting them; we are setting fire to the very bridges we will need to cross tomorrow.
Rebbe Nachman of Breslov teaches that even in the heart of the “Void”—the place where God seems most absent and conflict is most bitter—there is a “Good Point” (Nekuda Tova).
Rebbe Nachman teaches that the only way to “raise someone up” (including an organization or a community that has failed us) is to find one remaining piece of good in them and focus on that until they begin to believe in their own goodness again.
This is the teachable moment: For Rebbe Nachman, the “Bo” (Come) in the title of the Parsha is an invitation. God tells Moses, “Come to Pharaoh.” Don’t just shout at him from across the Nile. Go into his space. How do we take action on this teaching? Instead of name-calling from the safety of a keyboard, the Bo command invites us to enter the room with the organization. This is a teachable moment for both sides to see how the “darkness” of the past hurts and the current climate has blinded them to each other’s humanity.
Finally, Ramban (Nachmanides) points out that when the Israelites finally left Egypt in this Parsha, they didn’t leave alone. A “Mixed Multitude” (Erev Rav) went with them (Exod. 12:38).
Ramban emphasizes that the Exodus was never meant to be a “Jews-only” event. It was a universal breaking of chains. When we use MLK’s legacy—a legacy rooted in the universal dignity of Black, and Jewish people—to call for the destruction of a diverse organization, we are betraying the “Mixed Multitude” spirit.
For the JOC in San Diego, this is the most painful part. They are the bridge. They are the “Mixed Multitude” personified. When the white-presenting Jewish community attacks Black and Brown spaces with “rage,” they are effectively telling JOC that their two identities cannot coexist.
So let me bring us home, making things clear:
Bo el-Par’oh (בֹּא אֶל־פַּרְעֹה). Come to Pharaoh. We cannot heal San Diego by shouting from the outside. We must “Come” into the room—even when that room feels like “Pharaoh’s palace”—with the intent to find God in the conflict, rather than just seeking to destroy the opponent.
Lo Ra’u Ish et-Achiv (לֹא־רָאוּ אִישׁ אֶת־אָחִיו). No man saw his brother. When we stop “seeing our brothers”—specifically the Jews of Color who are pained by the language being used, and the Black and Brown communities who are the focus of it—we are living in the Ninth Plague. A community that cannot see its own members is a community that is paralyzed. We cannot “rise from our place” (the second half of that verse) until we acknowledge the person standing right next to us.
Erev Rav (עֵרֶב רַב). The Exodus was never a “monolith.” It was an Erev Rav. When we weaponize Jewish identity to exclude others, or when we ignore the voices of JOC in our communal response, we are trying to rewrite the Exodus as an exclusive gated community. We must embrace the “Mixed Multitude” reality of our people and our city.
Vehaya Ki-Yish’alcha Vincha (הָיָה כִּי־יִשְׁאָלְךָ בִנְךָ). Every crisis is a curriculum and learning is a powerful Jewish value. What are we teaching the “sons and daughters” of our households and in San Diego right now? Are we teaching them that the Jewish response to hurt is name-calling and rage, or are we teaching them the art of Tochecha (rebuke) done with love and a clear goal of reconciliation?
The future relationship with San Diego’s diverse communities depends on our ability to “Bo”—to come into the room, stop the name-calling, and begin the slow, humble work of “seeing” one another again.
We have a right to be hurt. We have a right to demand a seat at the table. But if we deny seats to others or burn the table down, where will our children sit?
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Barrett Holman Leak is a freelance writer based in San Diego.
Editor’s Note: “It is SDJW policy to close comments after 72 hours.”
There is such a disconnect here. While the d’var Torah written here discusses, in part, internal communal health (specifically the “plague” of colorism and the institutional and invisibility of Black Jews), the commenters here are being quite dismissive, determined to reframe the topic of the d’var Torah as being about external political defense. However, by ignoring the specific mention of colorism (not racism) that was written about, they aren’t just disagreeing; they are performing the very “blindness” the text describes.
How is the issue of colorism being bypassed? When I examine the comments collectively, they use three specific rhetorical moves to avoid addressing the author’s points on colorism:
The “Israeli Demographic” Pivot: One commenter cites that 53% of Israelis are of MENA descent to argue that the American Jewish community being referred to by the author, is already diverse. That makes not sense. This ignores the American context of the article. Being Mizrahi in Israel is a different social experience than being a Black Jew in San Diego, or Atlanta, or Seattle etc.
The “Organizational” Shield: The commenters focus entirely on an organization. By framing this purely as a fight between a “Jewish community” and an “outside organization,” they erase the JOC who exist inside the Jewish community and feel the “fire” from both sides.
Claiming that “Jews of Color are not a monolith,” is an attempt to shut down the author’s specific testimony about being her identity as a “Black and Jewish” woman. LOL. How can they know her lived experience as a Black woman in America and as a Black Jew in America? They cannot and never will. They use the existence of other JOC (Sephardi/Mizrahi/Ethiopian in Israel)) to invalidate the specific “colorism” experienced by those within the United States of America with Black or Brown We live in the country where Black people are accused of eating people’s pets.
The disconnect can be visualized as two groups of people standing in the same room but looking at two different fires.
Is this Ignorance or erasure? This is strategic erasure. Of course, I cannot know but I strongly suspect these commenters are likely aware that colorism exists, BUT they view mentioning it right now as a betrayal of the “front lines.”
In their view, bringing up the community’s internal flaws (colorism) while the community is under “attack” (the removal of two people, a non-Jew and a rabbi, from a program) is seen as “providing ammunition” to the opponent. Revealing the flaws. Revealing that the moral high ground is not solely owned by one side. These comments are prioritizing “The Wall” (protection) while the author is prioritizing “The Tent” (the people inside). Going further, there will never be, in my thought, a time when raising the issue of colorism in the American Jewish community will ever be something comfortable to face. Dismissing and degrading (questioning their intelligence, ability to think logically, mental health or Jewishness), the person who brings it up is more likely to happen.
Because colorism (here among American Jews) is being ignored and dismissed, the effect the recent angry social media storm is having on Black and Brown JOC is being ignored and dismissed. That is what I could see in this writing.
The author’s point—that the community cannot “rise from its place” until it sees the person standing next to them—is a direct critique of this defensive posture. The comments prove her point: they are so focused on the “Pharaoh” (the organization) that they have stopped seeing the “Mixed Multitude” (the JOC) standing right next to them. The Middle Path is so needed
Enough about the defensive particularism in the comments. I agree it is important to ask ourselves this: How do we seek justice, taking the Middle Path, without becoming the darkness we are fighting?
Thank you all for taking time to comment on this Dvar Torah (sermon, for those of you who are not Jewish).
Couldn’t agree more with everything said in the comment section.
The piece simplifies Jewish communal concerns into a rigid racial binary, portraying them as “white-presenting” actions against “Black and Brown spaces.” This view ignores the diversity within the Jewish community, particularly the significant contributions and identities of Mizrahi, Sephardi, Ethiopian, and multiracial Jews, who have long been part of Jewish life.
The article also overlooks the potential harm caused when Jewish voices are excluded from broader coalitions, as this can weaken alliances that have historically fought for civil rights and social justice.What Alliance San Diego did by disinviting the Rabbi was wrong in every level.
Rather than focusing solely on perceived exclusion, we should acknowledge that many Jews of Color have been included in community events. This nuanced understanding fosters better dialogue and helps to build a more inclusive community for all, moving beyond a simplistic racial narrative.
“A Zionist and an anti-Zionist walk into a bar. The bartender says we don’t serve Jews.” A Jew is a Jew regardless of skin color. Alliance San Diego clearly states on their website, it “is a community organization whose mission is to build collective power to create an inclusive democracy where everyone can participate fully with dignity.” Except if you are Jewish.
One of the most troubling aspects of this piece is its reliance on a false racial binary — casting Jewish communal concern as “white-presenting” aggression against “Black and Brown spaces.” This framing is inaccurate and harmful. It erases the many Mizrahi, Sephardi, Ethiopian, Black, Latinx, and multiracial Jews of Color whose Jewish identity is ancestral, passed down through generations, and deeply embedded in community life. These long-standing communities have been shaping Jewish life for millennia, and their voices cannot be replaced or co-opted by those that do not have those connections. In fact, 53% of Jewish Israelis today are Jews of Color from the Middle East and North Africa, highlighting that Jewish peoplehood has always been ethnically and racially diverse. Imposing a U.S. racial lens that does not map onto Jewish peoplehood distorts how antisemitism, accountability, and communal responsibility actually function. Jews of Color are not a monolith, and they should not be used as a rhetorical shield to insulate institutions or individuals from scrutiny. Accountability is not racial violence, and disagreement is not erasure.
The article further relies on religious language and extensive Torah citation to frame dissent as moral or spiritual failure rather than engaging the concrete issues at hand. Jewish texts are meant to sharpen ethical clarity, not replace facts or suppress critique. Recasting calls for accountability as “rage,” “destruction,” or “burning institutions down” avoids responsibility and inflames division within the Jewish community itself — all while claiming to speak in its name.
What is also absent is the harm done to Black, immigrant, and other marginalized communities when Jewish partners are ostracized and excluded. Jewish communities have long been among the most consistent allies in civil rights and immigration advocacy, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Black and immigrant leaders for generations. When Jewish voices are pushed out of multiracial coalitions through ideological gatekeeping, the damage is not limited to Jews alone. It fractures historic alliances, weakens collective power, and undermines the very communities these coalitions claim to serve. Exclusion is not solidarity.
True bridge-building does not come from moral posturing or identity-based silencing. It requires honesty, specificity, and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths — including that exclusionary practices harm not only Jews, but also the marginalized communities that rely on durable, multiracial coalitions. Naming that harm is not an act of hatred; it is a call to repair. A community genuinely committed to justice must make room for accountability and disagreement, not dismiss them as darkness.
Justice requires honesty, accountability, and inclusion — not silencing, misrepresentation, or fear of disagreement.
This article treats Jewish protest after the exclusion of a Zionist rabbi from an MLK event as the central issue, rather than the exclusion itself. The rabbi was disinvited because of his connection to Israel, a core part of Jewish identity for many Jews. That should be the focus. Instead, the article centers on Jewish anger and protest. Speaking out, writing letters, and demanding accountability are normal responses to discrimination. Calling those actions spiritually dangerous distorts the story and discourages legitimate self-advocacy.
Alliance San Diego is an organization, not an ethnic group. Conflating the two protects the institution and downplays harm to the Jewish people as a whole. The article recenters the story on the author’s perspective, shifting responsibility onto other Jews, especially those labeled “Ashkenormative.” Their anger is portrayed as entitled or dangerous, while the organization that excluded the rabbi escapes scrutiny. Labeling Jewish protest as “vitriol” and expecting Jews to fix everything makes standing up to exclusion seem morally questionable.
By focusing more on protest than on the exclusion itself, the article risks creating division within the community. That affects Ashkenazi Jews, Sephardi and Mizrahi Jews, converts, and Jews of Color alike. “Beloved Community” isn’t built by asking Jews to stay quiet about being excluded. It’s built when everyone examines their own actions. By using Hebrew quotes to place moral responsibility on Jews for noticing their exclusion, the article shifts blame in a way that undermines the very “Beloved Community” it claims to promote.
Holding an organization accountable, including calls for leadership change or defunding, in response to discriminatory conduct is a normal civic response, not a call for destruction or a moral apocalypse. Accountability is how civil society works, especially when harm has already occurred.
What’s missing from this framing is a clear-eyed look at power and sequence.
Alliance San Diego:
• holds institutional power
• controls the stage and invitations
• made the decision to remove Jewish
clergy from a civil-rights event
The Jewish community:
• responded after the exclusion
• does not control the organization
• is reacting to harm, not initiating it
Treating these two positions as morally symmetrical or portraying Jewish critics as the destabilizing force reverses responsibility and obscures where agency actually lies.
This isn’t about rage versus restraint. It’s about whether marginalized communities are allowed to name discrimination without having their response psychologized, spiritualized, or reframed as dangerous simply because it is firm.
Calling for accountability is not erasure of others’ pain.
It is a refusal to normalize exclusion.
Can you give an example where jews in san Diego deny seat at the table to anyone else? Not the abstract story with preset narrative but actual factual examples?
The story with alliance you are reffered to exact example of opposite. According to what was published Jewish rabbi actually told he has no problem to share the stage with people he disagrees.
Another example to best of my knowledge JOC were invited and represented at all community wide events. Quite few of these “Ashkenazi” jews helped and supported JOC representation. I understand you feels this way and may be have examples which will be great to know about but if you want to be honest its appropriate to mention at least opposite examples to the narrative you are presenting that its all about color of skin. Its not and presenting it in this way just perpetuates racism.