by Rabbi Yankie Denburg, Chabad of Coral Springe, Florida
In August of 1790, George Washington sailed into Newport, Rhode Island.
The backstory to that trip is fascinating. The Constitution had already been accepted by the other twelve states, but Rhode Island resisted joining the Union. Many there feared that this new federal government would swallow up their small state and their independence.
Washington wanted all thirteen states together. He wanted the new country to begin with unanimous consent, not only with a majority. He promised Rhode Island that if they ratified the Constitution, he would personally come for an official visit.
Waiting in Newport was a small Jewish community.
For them, this was not just a presidential visit. This was a moment of uncertainty. The Jews had lived through enough history to know that when a new government rises, Jews need to know where they stand.
They had heard all the talk about liberty and equality. But was it real? Would they be accepted here long term as truly equal citizens? Or would they be tolerated for now, only to be pushed aside later?
Would America become another country where Jews were welcome as long as they remained quiet, useful, and not too Jewish?
So Moses Seixas, the leader of the Hebrew Congregation in Newport, wrote a letter to President Washington. The synagogue, known today as Touro Synagogue, is the oldest surviving synagogue building in the United States.
Seixas wrote with “a deep sense of gratitude to the Almighty,” and thanked this new government for “generously affording to all liberty of conscience, and immunities of citizenship.”
It’s a beautiful letter. But as you read it, you can also hear the mindset of a people who had spent centuries depending on the kindness of rulers. Seixas was thanking the government for “generously affording” them freedom. He was hoping that unlike other countries, where Jews were merely tolerated, here they would truly become equal members of this new brotherhood.
Washington wrote back with one of the most important responses in American Jewish history, including the famous words that the United States gives “to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance.”
But there is another key theme in the letter that we need to notice.
The Jews were asking if this new government would accept them as equals, despite their identity as a uniquely Jewish community.
Washington did not respond by saying, “As president, I grant you permission to be Jewish.”
He wrote that “all possess alike liberty of conscience and immunities of citizenship.”
That word “possess” changes everything.
Washington was telling the Jews that their liberty did not come from him. It did not come from the generosity of the government. It was not a favor being granted by one group to another.
They already possessed it.
Washington was expressing one of the great founding ideas of America: freedom is not created by government. It is an inherent right, a Divine gift from G-d Himself. Government can recognize this gift. Government can protect it.
But government does not create it.
This Shabbat, July 4th, America turns 250. It is a milestone worth pausing on. And it turns out that the number 250 is hiding in this week’s Torah portion in a way that speaks directly to who we are.
This week’s Torah portion, Pinchas, contains a census of the Jewish people as they are preparing to enter the Land of Israel.
On the surface, a census makes everyone equal. The great scholar and the simple farmer, the wealthy person and poor person, are each counted as one sum. Usually, they are counted by the total of each tribe.
But this census is different.
This time, the Torah lists the individual families within each tribe. Reuben’s son Chanoch becomes the Chanoch family. Palu becomes the Palu family. Name by name. Branch by branch. Family by family.
The first and only other time the Torah counts the Jewish people this way is when Jacob and his children leave Canaan and go down to Egypt.
The Jewish people spent 210 years in Egypt, followed by 40 years in the desert. Which means that this unique, individualized census was taking place exactly 250 years after the Torah last listed the individual names of Jacob’s family.
Think about that.
Our story of exile begins with one family, seventy souls, leaving the Promised Land. The Torah stops and names them.
250 years later, that family has now become an entire nation. They are standing at the edge of the desert, preparing to enter the Promised Land. And once again, the Torah stops and names each family.
At the two most pivotal moments, before leaving the land and before returning to the land, G-d names each family individually.
Why?
Because when you are about to be absorbed into something enormous, you need to remember who you are.
When Jacob’s family went down to Egypt, they were entering the greatest empire of the time. Egypt had power, wealth, culture, influence, and noise. It would have been easy for one Jewish family to disappear.
So G-d named them.
You are not just refugees entering Egypt. You are the children of Israel. You have a name. You have a mission. You have a destiny.
250 years later, they were about to become a nation in their own land. They would face new dangers as they conquered the land, built an economy, and learned to function as a country.
So G-d named them again.
You are still the Chanoch family. You are still the Palu family. You are the descendants of people who walked into exile and did not disappear. Now you are walking into success, into homeownership and businesses, into responsibility and blessing. Do not disappear there either.
I think this is exactly the message we need after 250 years of America.
Many people are asking today, “Is the America of today still the America of Washington? Do we still have the liberty and freedom that he wrote about?”
It is a fair question.
America has changed in many ways. Jews feel a hatred today that many of us did not feel just a few years ago. Antisemitism is louder. Hatred of Israel has exposed hatred of Jews. Jewish students on campus feel pressure. A Jew wearing a yarmulke or Magen David sometimes wonders who is looking at him and what they are thinking.
So let’s take a moment to remember the foundation of both our freedom and our identity in this country.
Our freedom did not begin with government. Our liberty did not come from public approval. Our identity was never determined by the culture around us.
If our freedom comes from people, then people can take it away. But if it comes from G-d, no one can take it away.
That is why G-d begins the Ten Commandments by not only telling us who He is, but also by reminding us who we are.
“I am the L-rd your G-d, who took you out of Egypt, from the house of slavery.”
Before G-d tells us what to do, He tells us who we are.
You are not Pharaoh’s property. You are not owned by an empire or a king. You are not defined by the country where you live or by the people around you. You are not a slave to fear, fashion, pressure, or public opinion.
You belong to G-d. And He gave you a name.
That is real liberty.
But liberty comes with responsibility.
Freedom does not mean I can do whatever I want. Freedom means I can finally do what I was created to do. Freedom means I can live with purpose. Freedom means I can stand proudly as a Jew, not because everyone approves, but because G-d gave me a soul, a name, and a mission.
After 250 years in the desert, the Jewish people needed to hear their names again.
They had become a nation. They were about to enter their land. But before they stepped into their future, G-d reminded them of their beginning. You are not just part of the crowd. You are not just a census. You are not just part of something large and powerful.
You have a Jewish name. You have Jewish ancestors. You have a Jewish mission. You are the children of Abraham, who must walk with confidence, humility, and purpose!
After 250 years of America, we need that reminder as well.
We should be deeply grateful for this country, the “land of the free.” We should pray that America returns again to its highest ideals, that it gives “bigotry no sanction and persecution no assistance”.
But gratitude is not enough.
We must ask ourselves if we are still using the freedom that George Washington described the way G-d intended?
Are we using it to live more Jewishly? Are we teaching our children that being Jewish is not something to hide, soften, or apologize for, but something to cherish?
We do not need the world to make us feel free.
G-d already made us free.
He gave us a soul. He gave us a name. He gave us a Torah. He gave us a mission. And no government, no hatred, no pressure campaign, and no passing moment in history can take that away.
So this July 4th, let us celebrate freedom by living like free Jews.
Proudly. Openly. Gratefully. Faithfully.
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