Yesterday more than 91 percent of Americans celebrated Thanksgiving in some form (according to statistics). It is the most widely observed of all American holidays, drawing together people of every religion, race, ethnic, demographic, cultural, and socioeconomic background. Many faith communities hold Interfaith Thanksgiving services the week before, gathering to pray with one another, to strengthen the ties that bind us, and to affirm that our shared humanity is always greater than whatever separates us.
In a season devoted to gratitude, we step back to reflect on the complicated history that brought Thanksgiving into being:
Thanksgiving traces its roots to those who came to this land seeking religious freedom. In September 1620, the Mayflower set sail from England with 102 passengers, most were religious separatists and others longing for a new beginning. Their journey was perilous. A brutal first winter claimed half their number. Survival came through an unexpected partnership when Indigenous neighbors taught them how to live on this unfamiliar land. In 1621, after their first successful harvest, Governor William Bradford invited the Wampanoag, led by their leader Massasoit, to join in a harvest celebration. Later generations would remember this as the first Thanksgiving. Since these early Pilgrims were religious, this first Thanksgiving was loosely based on the biblical Thanksgiving festival of Sukkot.
Today, many challenge this narrative because it obscures the suffering of Indigenous peoples. Since 1970, on Thanksgiving Day, there is a National Day of Mourning at Cole’s Hill in Plymouth, Massachusetts, along with similar gatherings across the country. This reminds us that gratitude must be honest and that truths must be acknowledged and spoken aloud.
Why share this on the Friday after Thanksgiving? Because the irony embedded in the holiday cuts deeply.
The early Pilgrims sought religious freedom and a better life for their families. With the exception of Native Americans, none of us is indigenous to this land. All of our families arrived from somewhere else. Some fled violence, persecution, and certain death. Others fled poverty or war. Others came searching for opportunity, dignity, and safety. Still others were brought here forcibly, enslaved and stripped of agency, family, and future.
This is why the irony of our present moment is so painful.
I find it bitter and heartbreaking that in 2025, in the United States of America, our government and ICE are tearing families apart. They are arresting individuals who come to their interviews for Green Cards. They are detaining those who already have Green Cards. They are arresting people who are United States citizens. These are individuals who have come here for the very same reasons our ancestors came: to secure a safer and more hopeful future for their children.
This is not what the spirit of Thanksgiving represents. Judaism teaches us, repeatedly and unequivocally, how we are called to treat those who are vulnerable. “You shall not oppress the stranger, for you know the feelings of the stranger, having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt” (Exodus 23:9). The Torah commands us no fewer than 36 times to safeguard, uplift, and protect the stranger. Our tradition insists that dignity is not earned. Dignity is inherent. To harm the vulnerable is to violate the very heart of Torah.
Our sages teach that every human being is created in the image of God, b’Tzelem Elohim. “Beloved is the human being who was created in the image of God” (Pirkei Avot 3:18). When families are separated, when children live in fear, when people are detained despite following legal processes, the image of God is diminished in all of us. The prophet Isaiah adds additional perspective: “Learn to do good. Seek justice. Relieve the oppressed. Uphold the orphan. Defend the widow” (Isaiah 1:17). Thanksgiving invites us to remember that gratitude without justice is incomplete. A grateful heart must also be a courageous heart.
So what can we do? We can contact our elected officials and urge them to prioritize humane and just immigration policies. We can support organizations that provide legal assistance and accompany immigrants through frightening and confusing processes. We can teach our children that welcoming others is a sacred obligation. We can use our voices, our votes, and our values to insist that America live up to its own promise.
Our nation should focus its energy on addressing violent crime, reducing gun violence, and protecting every person who calls this country home. We should strive to embody the ideals etched in Emma Lazarus’s immortal words on the base of the Statue of Liberty (in New York Harbor) which used to greet those of our ancesters who entered this country via Ellis Island:
“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”
Let us be the lamp beside the golden door.
