Emma Lazarus by Esther Schor,
Nextbook, Schocken, 2006. 350 pp, $21.95

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-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door.

The words of Emma Lazarus, famously engraved on the base of the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor, are so familiar that we tend to suppose they have always exemplified the American dream. Esther Schor’s biography of Lazarus gives us the complicated, poignant, contradictory, and ultimately tragic backstory.

Born in 1849 into a highly wealthy and visible New York Sephardic family, an ambitious and multilingual Emma Lazarus was already writing, in her early teens, verses in the manner of everyone from Schiller to Poe to the sentimental English poet Felicia Hemans, translating Victor Hugo, and composing “copious blank verse on Greek gods and medieval heroines.” In 1867, after a visit with her family to the historic Touro Synagogue at Newport, she composed her initial Jewish verse celebrating “the consecrated spot” and the suffering, exiled Jews who once worshiped there.

Lazarus’ first book, running over two hundred pages, was privately printed by her father. An enlarged edition appeared from a commercial publisher before she was eighteen; meeting the 65-year-old Ralph Waldo Emerson at the home of family friends, she boldly sent him the book. Schor tracks the ensuing somewhat comic correspondence between Emerson and Lazarus as Emerson gives unwanted advice, while Lazarus’ pushiness alienates her mentor. The young poet’s extraordinary sense of entitlement may be seen in her indignant letter when he failed to include her juvenile work in an anthology he edited. Quoting his own words of praise back to him, she declares she deserves a place “in any collection of American poets” and that he is treating her “with absolute contempt.”

Lazarus needed that chutzpah. Throughout her life, she pretended not to notice the genteel antisemitism of her elite literary and artistic colleagues and friends, some of which was mockingly directed at her, behind her back, while her own Jewishness grew increasingly intense. Though non-observant, she translated medieval Sephardic poets. Fascinated by Heine, she translated his tale of a Jew-hating Spanish noblewoman in the time of the Inquisition whose lover is secretly Jewish, then wrote a sharp essay about Heine’s conversion to Christianity, claiming that “no sooner was the irrevocable step taken than it was bitterly repented…as an unworthy concession to tyrannic injustice.” When antisemitism of a less genteel kind began to swell in Europe, she responded instantly. In her melodrama The Dance to Death, about massacre and martyrdom in fourteenth-century Germany, viciousness is not underplayed:

Jews, said I? when I meant Jews, Jewesses,
And Jewlings! All betwixt the age
Of twenty-four hours and five score years,
Of either sex, of every known degree,
All the contaminating vermin purged
With one clean, scorching blast of wholesome fire.

Like other assimilated Jews of her class, Lazarus felt condescension for the “ghetto Jew” of Eastern Europe. But in the 1880s, when floods of Russian Jews fleeing pogroms became a “problem” both for Christian America and for assimilated Jewry, Lazarus not only became a major player in the debate, unflinchingly attacking both Christian hypocrisy and Jewish complacency; she visited the refugees on Ward’s Island and elsewhere, advocated for sanitation, education, and job training, published Songs of a Semite, and in a weekly column in the American Hebrew announced her vision of a secular Jewish state in Palestine — years before the word Zionism was invented. She also insisted on a new idea of America. “Every American,” she wrote in an unsigned essay, “must feel a thrill of pride and gratitude in the thought that his country is the refuge of the oppressed.”

“The New Colossus,” written to help raise money for Bartholdi’s statue, enjoyed a “brief stint in the limelight,” but her aristocratic high-mindedness ultimately left her alienated among both Christian and Jewish circles. “Fatigued, battered, and spent” by 1883, she spent much of the remainder of her life abroad, and died in 1887 of Hodgkin’s disease at the age of thirty-eight. Yet Schor’s excellent biography makes clear that Lazarus by the end of her life “was inventing the role of an American Jewish writer” whose prophetic burden “was to glimpse, in the trials of her people, the pain of the world’s exiles, and in her own passionate vocation, a mission for her country.” The mission remains today; as Lazarus wrote in one of her “Epistle to the Hebrews” columns, “Until we are all free, none of us is free.”

A colleague recently brought me the following problem: “I was approached by John who was raised in a family that practiced Christian Science. He has been happily married for some time to a woman who has a strong background in Conservative Judaism. They were not married by a rabbi but today they keep a kosher home, their children were welcomed into the covenant of Abraham by a mohel and now attend a Jewish day school, and they are active members of my synagogue. John has long since abandoned any specifically Christian practices and has come to love Judaism.”

When John came to discuss his conversion, my colleague questioned him closely about his belief in Jesus (none) and his identity as a Christian (none). Then he explained what would be required: further study, milah, and mikvah. John agreed readily, but when he heard the questions he would be asked in the ceremony and came to, “Do you renounce your former faith?” he blanched. “I cannot answer ‘yes’ to that,” he said with considerable feeling. “That would be an insult to the loving way my mother and father raised me.”

My colleague’s dilemma left me troubled. As gatekeepers, rabbis have an ethical responsibility to authenticate the integrity of those we bring into Judaism. The tradition of turning away a candidate for conversion thrice is time-tested and wise. The questions we ask in the ceremony of giur are important border-markers. Only those who can give the appropriate answers without hesitation or qualification should be accepted.

My first thought was that the question he found to be a stumbling block was nonnegotiable. Yes, it is rather stark, but that is the way it should be. When you enter Judaism you are indeed turning your back on other religious communities, and that should be acknowledged directly. To renounce is not to denounce, but to turn away from, give up, abandon. And that is, in part, what conversion means.

Yet, John was all ready — not just verbally, but in his life and practice — to be such a good Jew! How could we turn him away because of one harsh question? Without violating the integrity of the conversion process, couldn’t we find a way to welcome him into Judaism?

This particular case illustrates the inescapable tension that rabbis — and all serious Jews — face in making ethical decisions. On the one hand we have in Judaism a venerable body of principles and regulations. The wisdom, precedents, and, some believe, divinely ordained judgments of the past, must always be considered seriously. But these teachings of Judaism and the values they articulate come to life only in specific situations that are often fraught with ambiguity and demand of decisors imagination and flexibility. The massive body of Responsa literature reminds us that the knotty complexity of unpredictable life circumstances incessantly challenge the clarity and the validity of established boundaries and rules. A wise leader will bear in mind the dictum of Immanuel Kant, teacher of Hermann Cohen and Leo Baeck: “Out of the crooked timber of humanity no straight thing was ever made.”

Of late we see a much vaunted return to tradition, and many previously discarded or ignored aspects of premodern Judaism have been rediscovered. As a result, Jewish life has been enriched and enlivened. But we ought never forget that two of the oldest and most vital Jewish traditions have been our capacity for creative innovation and our ability to respond sensitively to those who come to us in search of the succor and guidance of Judaism.

Let’s face it, for most of us — for most Americans — immigration is a deeply emotional issue. I’m no exception. As the child of what I call a “melting-pot marriage” — my father’s folks came from the Pale of Settlement by way of Ellis Island, my mother traced her family back to the Mayflower and had letters from a great-great-great who wrote home from the Revolutionary War — I have an instinctive empathy for immigrants and believe passionately in that miraculous balancing act we call e pluribus unum.

But like most things, immigration must be approached with the head as well as the heart, and policy must be made on the basis of national interest, not emotion.

Does that mean there is no place for compassion? No place for universal human rights or the worth and dignity of each human being? Of course not. In policy, as in our personal lives, we must act as humanely as possible with due regard for the consequences our actions will have for others. But we must also recognize that there are billions of people around the world drawn to the lure of life in the United States, and generous as we may feel, we cannot admit them all as immigrants. Refugees fleeing persecution are a different matter, and our obligation to them is somewhat sharper. But in no case can the obligation be unlimited. The human right to relocate in pursuit of a better life — if there is such a right — does not trump Americans’ right to define their state as they see fit and to admit and exclude whom they please.

Still, the situation is not as dire as it sounds, and taking care of ourselves does not have to mean acting like monsters. Most of the world’s struggling billions are not in a position to come to the U.S. and are not waiting on our doorstep to be admitted or turned away at whim. What you might call natural forces — demography, geography, the laws of supply and demand — determine the number actually prepared to migrate to the U.S., and these factors work together surprisingly effectively to limit the flow. Indeed, the challenge for American immigration policy today is not so much to keep out billions we don’t want, but rather to create a legal, orderly path for the smaller number we need.

Sound implausible? Here’s how it works. The dynamic starts with demography: our native-born workforce is aging, shrinking, and becoming ever more educated. Just 50 years ago, half of all American men dropped out of high school to look for unskilled work. Today, fewer than 10 percent do — but we still need unskilled workers to grow our food and bring it to market, to build our homes and businesses, to keep our living spaces clean, to watch our children and look after our elderly parents.

Meanwhile, in a lucky accident of geography — lucky, at least, for us — Mexico and the countries of Central America happen to have more workers than they have jobs, and millions of these young people are eager to come to the U.S. to work. The infusion of eager hands has been a huge boon to the U.S. economy, driving more than half of the economic growth of recent decades. And — a final bonus — this system has its own, built-in thermostat. Immigrants, whether legal or illegal, receive few if any welfare benefits. Most don’t want to stay in the U.S. if there’s no work available. Thanks to modern communications — cell phones and the Internet — news about the job market in the U.S. now makes its way in real time to the villages of Mexico and Central America. And as a result, the number of workers arriving annually lines up fairly neatly with the number our economy needs: over the past few years, roughly 1.5 million a year.

Of course, immigrants, skilled and unskilled, are more than just economic building blocks — what Marx called “elements of production.” They also bring hope and vitality and rejuvenating enthusiasm for the things that make America American. As President Bush has said, they “renew our soul.” But our immigration policy — our annual quotas — still ought to be driven by economics and based on supply and demand. Anything else is a recipe for chaos: either too much competition for the jobs available (if the quotas are too large) or the rampant illegality we live with today because the quotas are too restrictive (roughly one million a year, in contrast to the 1.5 million workers we need).

Bottom line for me: we’re lucky. Our economic self-interest lines up with our history and our values — and together, they argue for a fairly generous immigration policy.

Only one additional factor would give me pause — if today’s immigrants were not assimilating as our parents and grandparents assimilated, learning how to succeed in the U.S. and what it means to be American, even as they balance this with the traditions they bring from the Old Country. If I thought Spanish was replacing English as the number one language in the United States, or I saw Mexico’s authoritarian politics displacing American democracy, I’d say forget about the economic growth — some American interests are bigger and more important than economics. But the good news is that most of today’s immigrants are assimilating — as successfully as our ancestors. Most who choose to spend their lives here are eager to become citizens. Their children are learning English; they’re moving up the social ladder. And if anything, most newcomers are more patriotic than the native-born.

So for me, there’s no conflict — and in my view, no problem for America. We need to fix our immigration policy, expanding quotas so that they line up with economic reality, and we ought to be doing more to help the new arrivals become Americans, by, for example, providing English classes. But in the end, we can satisfy our hearts and our heads, remaining a nation of immigrants — arguably the secret of our success.

As Jews, when we consider immigration reform, we are obliged to begin with the central Jewish teachings that emphasize welcome, protection, and love for the ger, the stranger. Jewish tradition also includes principles of piddyon shevuyim, redeeming the captive, chesed, kindness, and hachnasat orchim, hospitality, which create a solid framework for a compassionate response to the needs of immigrants and refugees.

The Jewish tradition is absolute in its support for refugees as seen in the Torah’s insistence that “you shall not turn over to his master a slave who seeks refuge with you…” ( Deuteronomy 23:16) This has been the driving principle behind the Jewish community’s historic efforts to rescue and resettle hundreds of thousands of Soviet Jews, as well as Jewish and non-Jewish refugees who fled persecution around the world.

What the Torah does not contain, however, are concrete solutions for specific immigration problems. The medieval Jewish principle of harem hayishuv is most often understood to allow communities to exclude migrants from permanent settlement when there is a concern that the migration of certain individuals would have an adverse economic impact on the community. Clearly, the Jewish tradition cannot be seen as supporting an absolute right of settlement or to promote open borders. Instead, the full scope of interests of the contemporary Jewish community needs to be factored in to identify the “most Jewish” approach to immigration.

Immigration influences many other areas of Jewish community concern, including foreign, economic, and social policy. From the perspective of migrants, immigration is about seeking access to the opportunities provided by the United States — frequently a chance to provide economic sustenance for one’s family. If one has no work at home, the lure of the U.S. job market can be irresistible. Under our current system where fake documents are readily available and an unworkable employer sanctions program is in effect, migrants are confident that if they are ready to work hard, face the dangers of illegal border crossings, and accept life in a legal limbo, they can find work and a chance to survive.

An independent taskforce on immigration concluded last year that immigration augments and complements the workforce exceptionally well, helps the U.S. maintain a competitive edge and adapt to global market conditions, and gives our economy a particular dynamism. However, they also concluded that despite the positive net benefits of immigration, illegal immigration can have a negative impact on wages at the bottom of the pay scale.

The best way to reduce the negative consequences of illegal immigration is to change the system into a legal system where low- skilled workers can protect their rights. This change would both improve their standing and prevent their employment from undermining the standing of native-born workers. While competition from new workers can legitimately be seen as a threat to these workers, a comprehensive approach to immigration — coupled with a renewed emphasis on education and training — can address these concerns while still serving to grow the economy and the workforce in ways that are important over the long term.

National security is a key issue and paramount concern today when considering immigration reform. Efforts to tighten enforcement while providing legal opportunities for the current undocumented immigrant population and future flows of immigrant workers will best target enforcement resources on those migrants who pose the greatest danger of terrorist or criminal connections. Today, immigration agents waste valuable resources chasing busboys and nannies.

Improperly labeling situations “threats to national security” can harm other core values and interests. For example, today refugees from regions across the world are being denied protection and resettlement here because of the overly broad definition of Material Support for Terrorist Activity put into law after 9/11. These victims of persecution are being barred even though the support they provided to an “alleged terrorist organization” may have been given to a group fighting an enemy of the U.S. or made under duress. By analogy, this provision would have barred Jews during the Holocaust who had assisted the resistance to Nazi genocide.

America is at a crossroads: as the new Congress tackles the pressing issues facing the country today, what happens regarding immigration policy will affect generations to come. What is needed is a careful, considered, and compassionate approach that incorporates the pressing security concerns of all Americans while maintaining America’s historical essence as a welcoming haven.

Congress should pass legislation that provides for border protection policies that are consistent with American humanitarian values; an opportunity for the hard-working undocumented immigrants in our country to regularize their status after fulfilling reasonable criteria; reforms to our family-based immigration system to more quickly reunite families; legal avenues for workers and their families to enter the U.S. to work in a safe and orderly manner; and programs to enhance citizenship and encourage the integration of newcomers in American society.

Unlike many circumstances where the Jewish community faces difficult choices between its deepest values and immediate interests, adopting a comprehensive approach to immigration reform fulfills both humanitarian and other interests simultaneously.

Ignoring that market forces tacitly encourage illegal immigrants to come and perform labor that most Americans won’t do, former California Governor Wilson disparaged them as “invaders.” If we sufficiently dehumanize immigrants, it becomes easier to justify the onerous laws and policies we impose. Unfortunately, rhetoric and labeling seem to be an essential element of our immigration debate. What does that say about us? Well, immigration policy is one of those issues that help define society. Often unable to articulate the values that are common to those we consider “members” of our society, we instead reveal core principles by the rules we apply to those who we exclude from membership.

What are the conditions for membership? Whose interests must be taken into account? The deserving immigrant who brings needed skills? The torture victim seeking a safe haven? American business? Unemployed American workers? And if Congress looked to the Jewish value that we are all created in the image of God, b’tselem Elokim, to guide its policymaking, what would that look like? When “made in the image of God,” the stranger appears not only as an immigrant seeking economic opportunity but also among the homeless, the unemployed, and the low-wage earners. What is the proper balance among these competing interests?

These are the questions that confront Congress as it contemplates yet another round of immigration reform. Over the past 25 years, we have enacted major legislation on four occasions. And the debate typically has been couched in extreme terms: Should we pursue Pat Buchanan’s vision of Fortress America or the laissez-faire open borders approach?

Congress will soon be considering bills to overhaul the immigration system. The first question will be whether to enact comprehensive reform that includes some form of a legalization plan for the approximate twelve   million undocumented aliens or to simply focus on law enforcement measures. The backdrop for this debate will be our insatiable thirst for cheap labor that seems to outweigh any real attempt at border or workplace enforcement. This hypocrisy was revealed again last year when Congress authorized a wall to be built along the Mexican border but didn’t appropriate funds for it. So, look for politicians to continue to talk tough about the border but, as always, market forces will trump politics on the ground.

One key proposal would require, or at least authorize, local police officers to enforce federal immigration laws. But we must not divert the resources of police departments from enforcing state and local laws to performing the federal government’s responsibility to administer immigration laws. Once we convert local cops into federal immigration agents, they will lose the trust and cooperation of the community. Crime victims will be chilled from reporting crimes, fearful that the local officer receiving the complaint will turn around and investigate their immigration status. Another provision would allow temporary workers to enter the country. While it’s unclear whether sufficient labor protections can ever provide for a fair guest worker program — allowing temporary workers to enter the country — Congress must ensure that any such program allows for job mobility so that workers are not locked into abusive work environments. Finally, fair procedures, including a confidentiality clause, must be established for the legalization program if we expect people to come out of the shadows.

Vulnerable minority groups (including Jews) often argue that if we don’t support immigrants, who will support “us?” Citing Niemoeller’s famous speech about how “they came first for the Communists and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Communist . . . ,” these groups are moved by a sense of self-preservation. But for Jews, self-preservation is not enough. We must be equally animated by an unadulterated concern and respect for the “other.” So while it may be “good for the Jews,” we support the immigrant because we understand that this outsider is motivated by the most natural of instincts — to provide for herself and her family. That doesn’t translate into throwing our doors open to all who want to enter, but it certainly means tempering our myopic focus on a law enforcement approach to a socioeconomic phenomenon. We must recognize that it’s not simply an act of generosity to admit immigrants, but it actually keeps us vital — economically and culturally — while honoring the mandates of Torah.