Walking, Walking: how prayer keeps us moving in uncertain times: Lech Lecha/Election 2022

I went to vote yesterday. It was a gorgeous day, and I was heartened by the lines. By the number of people who were eager to cast their ballot early. People excited and committed to exercising their civic duty. Folks eager to help determine the political fate of our Commonwealth and the nation. But as pleasantly surprised as I was by the turnout and the beautiful weather, I was also on edge. Because it occurred to me that this election might very well be the most consequential in my lifetime. 

Voting is a sacred act. And every single time I have voted, it has always felt that way. Important, potentially life-changing, hopeful, something worth celebrating. A privilege, really, to cast a ballot. But this year feels different. To me, the stakes are higher. The outcomes more uncertain than ever before, and more troubling. Yesterday, as I stood in line to vote, I didn’t feel hopeful. I felt afraid, overwhelmed, and so very very sad. 

Inside the polling place, the energy was also so lovely. Smiles all around. Poll workers and election officials seemed to be so pleased with the turnout– “we’ve had a steady stream of voters since we opened yesterday,” the woman who printed our ballots shared with us. It felt that everyone there understood that this election was different. And perhaps this turnout was on track to exceed midterm election turnout in Kentucky in previous years. 

And so I sat down at my table, with my ballot, cozy behind the upright corrugated dividers, that shield you from the curious eyes of other voters. I made my selections, moved through the majority of the ballot with little hesitancy or consequence. And then I landed on the very last question: 

Are you in favor of amending the Constitution of Kentucky by creating a new Section of the Constitution to be numbered Section 26A to state as follows: To protect human life, nothing in this Constitution shall be construed to secure or protect a right to abortion or require the funding of abortion?

I have never before looked a proposition like this in the face. I have never before read, in clear black and white, easy-to-read-font, such an intense affront to my dignity as a woman. I have never before had to make a choice, to fully fill in a square on a long piece of paper, that would indefinitely dictate whether or not I have agency over my own body and my personal healthcare decisions. When I reached this final and most important question on my ballot, time stopped. I knew what I would choose. I know which answer my faith as a Jew guides me toward. But I was so caught off guard, so angry, by the jarring feeling of having to make the choice at all. Filling in that tiny little rectangle next to the word no, it felt like I was begging. Pleading for this right that I had the privilege to take for granted my whole life, to remain in place. And I know I’m not alone in the feeling of never really believing that this day, that this choice, would come. I know I’m not alone in wondering what it will mean to raise children in a country where reproductive rights and healthcare are not guaranteed. And I know that I’m not alone in hoping beyond hope that on this particular issue, things stay the same. 

There is so much uncertainty right now. And so much fear. 

Parshat Lech Lecha begins with a dramatic moment that hinders on uncertainty. In the opening of our parsha, G-d instructs Avram to pick up and go:

וַיֹּ֤אמֶר יְהֹוָה֙ אֶל־אַבְרָ֔ם לֶךְ־לְךָ֛ מֵאַרְצְךָ֥ וּמִמּֽוֹלַדְתְּךָ֖ וּמִבֵּ֣ית אָבִ֑יךָ אֶל־הָאָ֖רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֥ר אַרְאֶֽךָּ׃ וְאֶֽעֶשְׂךָ֙ לְג֣וֹי גָּד֔וֹל וַאֲבָ֣רֶכְךָ֔ וַאֲגַדְּלָ֖ה שְׁמֶ֑ךָ וֶהְיֵ֖ה בְּרָכָֽה׃

G-d said to Abram, “Go forth from your native land and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you. I will make of you a great nation, And I will bless you; I will make your name great, And you shall be a blessing.

This is the first of Avram’s Ten Tests of Faith. This vague instruction from a newly encountered G-d, to leave everything behind, and go to some unknown place, to the land that I will show you. Avram doesn’t know where he is headed, doesn’t ask any questions, but gathers up family and community, takes an enormous leap of faith, and simply goes. 

This moment has always puzzled me. I think because I can’t relate to the kind of zerizut, the kind of enthusiasm and zeal that Avram demonstrates in this moment. And sadly, I don’t think I can relate to this kind of faith, either. I don’t know if any of us can anymore. And so, I like to imagine all of the ways Avram might have coped with this unbelievable ask. And the mechanism that I continue to return to, is prayer. I like to imagine that after Avram accepted this challenge, this test, that he prayed, day in and day out, in the interim moments, in wakefulness and exhaustion. That Avram prayed not only to make the journey go faster, to bring about the revelation of this unknown place, but to fortify his own faith that the place to which they were headed, really could be something worth believing in. Something worth journeying for. 

And in this sense, Avram’s pilgrimage becomes one of prayer. 

Frederick Douglas said, “praying for freedom never did me any good ‘til I started praying with my feet.”

And upon marching with Dr. King and other Civil Rights leaders and activists, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel said, “I felt my legs were praying.”

And we know that in the face of so much uncertainty, so much fear and anger and disappointment. In the face of violence, and all the evidence to suggest that nothing would ever change, the leaders and activists of the Civil Rights Movement continued their fight, continued their march because they trusted that there would be blessing on the other side, even if it took years to see that blessing realized. 

I wonder if Avram felt this way, too. That in the face of the unknown, the only things to do were to pray and to continue walking. 

Georgia Senator, Reverend Raphael Warnock, wrote that “a vote is a kind of prayer about the world you want to live in.” 

If, like me, you are feeling overwhelmed, disappointed, angry, sad, afraid. Go pray. Go vote on or before Tuesday. If, like me, you are concerned about protecting basic human dignity, go pray. Go vote. If, like me, you are feeling totally buried by the sheer amount of work there is to do in this world, go pray. Go vote. And if, like me, you are doing your very best to muster up the kind of courage and faith that Avram did, if you are tapped out, and tired, go pray. Go vote. 

Yesterday, for the first time, I felt like I was casting my ballot into the great unknown. But I am reminded today, that voting is prayerful, voting is walking, voting is marching toward that idea of a nation that we can be proud of. And I am doing my best to believe in this promise that G-d makes to Avram: You don’t yet know where I am taking you, you don’t yet know how things will turn out. But I promise you, that I am with you, and one day, maybe not in your lifetime, but one day, it will be a blessing. 

Shabbat Shalom.