(RNS) — Amid a massive immigration crackdown in Minneapolis these past two months, hundreds of clergy joined crowds of demonstrators to protest the violent arrests and detentions of thousands of the city’s immigrants as well as the killing of two U.S. citizens.
But apart from the demonstrations — often met with smoke grenades, tear gas and bullets lobbed by federal immigration agents in military gear — a Reform rabbi and a Lutheran pastor of a mostly Latino church found another way to resist federal immigration officers — by deepening their partnership, building relationships and extending solidarity.
Rabbi Arielle Lekach-Rosenberg and Pastor Hierald Osorto were out on the streets demonstrating too. But in the wake of the deployment of as many 3,000 immigration enforcement agents in their city, they moved beyond public declarations. Over the past few weeks, they’ve held two joint prayer services — one at her synagogue, the other at his church. They are writing a play together.
Last week, the two congregations announced they are jointly raising $1 million by Sunday (Feb. 22) to aid people in Minneapolis who have been unable to pay rent or meet other needs as a result of the two-month siege.
“What has emerged, and that now exists between our communities, is a deepening commitment to each other’s survival through this time,” said Lekach-Rosenberg, 42, the lead rabbi of Shir Tikvah, a congregation of 600 families.
Osorto called the coming together of the two communities by the Yiddish and Hebrew term “chutzpah,” meaning audacity.
“We need more chutzpah, creativity, trust and connection,” said Osorto, 41, the pastor of San Pablo/St. Paul Lutheran Church. “I think our collective work has been powerful and grounding for our communities to hear, because they could then imagine what it might be.”
Border czar Tom Homan announced Thursday that the Minneapolis immigration operation was ending and that the U.S. Department of Homeland Security would begin drawing down paramilitary-style agents that have terrorized locals. But residents of the city have yet to relax.
The weight of the siege of Minneapolis has fallen heavily on members of San Pablo. The congregation, founded by Swedish immigrants, is now majority Latino, made up of immigrants from Mexico and Ecuador, as well as U.S.-born Spanish speakers. Services are a mix of Spanish and English.
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Ever since immigration agents swooped down on Minneapolis for Operation Metro Surge late last year, many immigrant families, no matter their legal status, have stayed away from church, work and school. They’ve been reluctant to leave their homes. One man related to a San Pablo church member was arrested, sent to an out-of-state detention facility and has since been released. Though initially focused on Minneapolis’ large Somali immigrant community amid a federal fraud probe, the operation soon expanded into what was widely viewed as an immigration enforcement indiscriminately targeting brown-skinned Latinos. Overall, an estimated 4,000 residents were arrested.
Amid the dragnet, community members have pitched in to help, picking up prescriptions and driving fearful residents to doctor’s appointments. Osorto said he never thought his pastoral duties would include buying blackout curtains for members of his congregation, but that’s what he did recently to help a family whose windows were too exposed to a back alley.
For Shir Tikvah members, fear of targeting by government agents in balaclavas is something many Jews, children or grandchildren of immigrants who escaped Europe to the U.S. for safety instinctively understand. Lekach-Rosenberg was one of the organizers of a recent two-day multifaith gathering that brought hundreds of clergy to Minneapolis to learn how to organize against U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement.
A fluent Spanish speaker, having spent time with an Indigenous rights organization in Honduras earlier in her life, Lekach-Rosenberg began a friendship with Osorto soon after President Donald Trump’s inauguration last year. Both had been interviewed by a local reporter about Trump’s executive action to void a decades-old policy exempting houses of worship from ICE actions. They started meeting for coffee at May Day, a worker-owned cafe in the city.
The two were together on the streets nearby when an ICE agent shot and killed Renee Good on Jan. 7. Afterward, they decided to plan a series of joint rituals as a way of bringing people together and showing solidarity. They envisioned a choir performance of “Todo Cambia” (Everything Changes), a famous song performed by Argentine singer Mercedes Sosa that speaks to the immigrant experience.
Nils Dybvig, a member of San Pablo who is fluent in Spanish, volunteered in the choir but soon realized one additional way he might contribute to the joint services would be to drive some members of his church to rehearsals, knowing that ICE was scanning license plate numbers and stopping those cars with plates owned by people with Latino-sounding names. “I don’t feel like I have to worry about getting pulled over,” said Dybvig, who is of Norwegian heritage.
Dybvig said he wanted to live into what has become his church’s mantra over the past few months: “I am brave, because we are brave” — “soy valiante, porque somos vallientes.”
At a Friday night “Shabbat Shira” or “Shabbat of Song” service on Jan. 30, Lekach-Rosenberg and Osorto sat next to each other, facing the combined congregation.
“Here’s the rule about Shir Tikvah,” said Lekach-Rosenberg as she translated into Spanish. “We sing loudly before we know the song.”
The Torah portion for that weekend read in synagogues across the world included Miriam’s song, celebrating the Israelites’ safe passage through the Red Sea on their way to the Promised Land.
Osorto took a moment to reflect on its parallels to the people of Minneapolis.
“We also need Miriam to teach us how to dance, how to claim joy in the midst of danger, how to imagine a different world,” he said.
Two days later on Sunday, members of Shir Tikvah joined San Pablo for Candelaria, a Christian feast day marking Mary’s presentation of baby Jesus at the Temple.
The service opened with a queer Aztec dance group and a reading from the Gospel of Luke. Because Candelaria coincided this year with Tu B’Shvat, the Jewish birthday for the trees, the joint service incorporated a Tu B’Shvat seder (with a tasting of various fruits and nuts). It ended with a feast of tamales and a piñata for the children.
Neither Lekach-Rosenberg nor Osorto favors interfaith services that dilute tradition. Both opened the service acknowledging their hesitation but later said they realized the service offered their congregations a way to imagine a future beyond the crisis.
“I think our collective work was powerful and grounding for our communities to hear and imagine what might be, versus focusing on whether or not the ritual that we’re doing was our traditional way of doing it,” said Lekach-Rosenberg.
The success of the two services has led the two clergy to consider what’s next. Although immigration forces will soon be leaving Minneapolis, the needs arising from the nearly two-month siege are immense.
A few months ago, Shir Tikvah launched a mutual aid fund called Yesod, from the Hebrew word meaning “foundation,” to help residents who needed cash for rent, utilities or other necessities. Last week, when the synagogue announced it was giving out a third allocation of $50,000, it took only seven minutes to disperse all of the funding.
That’s when Lekach-Rosenberg approached Osorto about thinking big. What if the two congregations could raise $1 million in mutual aid for the people of Minneapolis? They gave themselves a Feb. 22 deadline. So far, they have raised $250,000. (Shir Tikvah distributed $200,000 before the two joint fundraiser.) The two congregations are not equal. San Pablo is only a third the size of Shir Tikvah. But it, too, is committed to doing all it can to raise the money.
As Osorto said in a fundraising video the two clergy taped: “We don’t have to let others define what is possible, even as we face the impact of the federal invasion of our community. We are creating an ecosystem of dignity and care here in Minnesota.”
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