Why I Am Going to Minneapolis

This week, I am traveling to Minneapolis to join other clergy in a gathering focused on learning, witness, and presence. I want to share why I am going—not as a political statement, but as a Jewish one. As a personal one. As a deeply American one.

I am going because of Dr. King, who taught that faith is not meant to be kept safe and abstract, but lived in public, embodied ways. He taught that there comes a moment when neutrality itself becomes a choice—and not the right one. His vision of the Beloved Community still calls to me, not as nostalgia, but as unfinished work.

I am going because of my parents, Rabbi Myron Kinberg and Alice Haya Kinberg, z”l, lifelong civil rights workers who raised me to believe that comfort is not the highest value, and that conscience matters. They taught me that when you have the ability to show up, you do. That faith without responsibility is hollow. That silence is rarely neutral.

I am going because of my children. Because I want

them to know that loving your country does not mean pretending it is perfect. It means caring enough to stand up when something is wrong. It means teaching them that Judaism is not only something we study or celebrate, but something we do—especially when it is hard.

And I am going because of this country, which I love deeply. This may be one of the most patriotic things I have ever done. Patriotism, for me, is not blind loyalty to power. It is loyalty to people. It is devotion to the promise that everyone who lives here deserves dignity, safety, and the chance to live without fear.

In our tradition, witness matters. The central prayer of Jewish life, the Shema, is not a private meditation. It is a declaration. “Hear, O Israel.” Pay attention. Do not turn away. Let what you see shape how you live. Witness is not passive. It is an act of responsibility.

In Jewish language, what draws me to this moment is chesed—lovingkindness that is not earned, not transactional, not conditional. Chesed is loyalty to our fellow human beings simply because they are human. It is standing with those who inhabit this land alongside us, whether or not their safety is guaranteed, whether or not their voices are heard.

To stand in solidarity is not to claim someone else’s story as your own. It is to say: You are not alone. It is to say: Your life matters enough for me to show up.

I am not going to Minneapolis because I have all the answers. I am going to listen. To learn. To bear witness. To return home changed, and to bring that learning back to this community with care and humility.

Judaism has never asked us to be fearless. It asks us to be faithful.

May we be a people who hear.

May we be a people who show up.

May we be a people whose love is wide enough to hold this moment.

— Rabbi Yohanna Kinberg