Smuggling Grace

This week, I’ve taken some lovely walks at Metroparks in Southeast Michigan, and I’d love to share.

—Photos by Renee Roederer : Kensington Metropark, Huron Meadows Metropark

I was riding my bike down a street when I saw large, square banner at the end of someone’s driveway. It had a black background with white writing. Before I read its content, those are the details I noticed. All of those markers prepared me to read a religious message. Something like, “If you died tonight, do you know where you’d go?” or maybe a different message you might find on a proselytizing tract.

But that’s not what it said.

It said, “How do you know you won’t be next?”

As in,

When an authoritarian government is harming some in this particular country, within a world where authoritarian governments are harming some in additional places, perhaps this is not the time to simply shrug our shoulders and say, “Well, at least it’s not me.”

How do you know you won’t be next?

Maybe it’s hard to lean into that question. And if you’ve read me for long, you certainly know I’m not a doom and gloom writer. I believe in hope. I believe that grace often smuggles its way in. But I also believe there is truth to what Martin Niemöller wrote so poignantly:

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist.

Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.

From my bike, I expected a banner rooted in a particular theology of hell. Instead, I received a banner that reminds me we are capable of creating hells on earth for one another. And sometimes, we are unwilling to prevent them.

I’m tempted to circle back to that hope, but instead, I’ll let the question linger because it’s a vital one:

How do you know you won’t be next?

— Renee Roederer

I received a text from a senior I know:

“An Elvis Impersonator came to my exercise class!” Sure enough, my phone had an image of my loved one with the King. (Or a King Wannabe). And this felt very on-brand. She would love this kind of thing. And that made me smile.

Once I had a chance to talk with her, I learned more. She’s been going to a Senior Center with a friend for an exercise class, and as part of this program, they get a free meal afterward. Upon learning more, I heard that seniors can take these meals home, too. “And sometimes, they’ll deliver them to you,” she added.

That’s when I put two and two together and understood that Meals on Wheels is partnering with the Senior Center in this way. I began thinking about how important this is: Seniors have an opportunity to get movement for their bodies, have social connection, sit down for a meal together, or take food home, or sign up some of their own loved ones to receive what they need at home, too.

This is all care. When it comes to health outcomes, it’s also prevention. What’s that phrase? An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure? This seems like such an incredible example of that. This keeps seniors connected. It benefits their finances. It makes them less likely to end up in the hospital. And if they do have serious health needs, they have both staff and a circle of peers to check in on them. And on top of all of that, they’re receiving Elvis to boot.

I also found myself sad, thinking about how these kinds of programs are experiencing funding cuts. I wonder how many of those seniors are aware that these very kinds of programs are in danger of drying up. I hope that won’t be the case for this particular set of offerings I’ve described. But I know it’s going to happen somewhere, or even a lot of somewheres.

I continue to be moved by people who have the vision to create such compounding benefits for their communities. We’ll also have to do the work to ensure they receive the funding they need.

— Renee Roederer

— Photos by Renee Roederer

When I clicked on a link to this video, I thought, “This is probably too long to share.” But upon pushing play, I found myself very intrigued, and I think this is worth it. Enjoy!

Hubs are essential — people and communities working in connection rather than isolation. When we move away from silos and toward collaboration, everyone benefits.

This week, I found myself using the word “hubbing” as a verb. It’s not a common word, but maybe it could be. Hubbing is something we can do intentionally. In any setting of care or support, we’re better served when different pieces are connected to the whole.

More than a decade ago, I served as a pastor in a congregation that joined a consortium of congregations. Together, we coordinated care for the broader community. One congregation ran the food pantry. Another provided bus tickets. Another offered help with utility bills. Another hosted a clothes closet. When someone came to any one of us with a need, we didn’t just respond individually. We could connected them to all of these services collectively.

Today, at the Epilepsy Foundation of Michigan, we’re doing something similar. We’re working alongside other organizations through a grant that helps build and connect transition services for youth and young adults with epilepsy. This includes moving from pediatric to adult healthcare, from middle school to high school, into college or vocational training, into the workforce, and toward supportive, independent living. The leadership team spans multiple organizations, and we’re reaching out to even more.

Hubbing is vital. It helps streamline care, coordinate efforts, and most importantly, get people to what they need — not in fragments, but toward the whole.

— Renee Roederer

Three years ago, the neighbors on our block held an outdoor party. We wanted to honor a neighbor who had passed away, and we figured she would love the idea of bringing us together. I’m grateful to say our block party did just that. I met some neighbors for the first time and deepened my connections with others.

That one gathering sparked something. Soon, we started a group text for our block, and from there, we began helping each other more intentionally. We met in driveways for after-work drinks. We sent each other memes. We exchanged plants and yard furniture.

Eventually, the group text turned into a neighborhood WhatsApp—and from there, it turned into something even more delightful: naming the neighborhood skunk. Yes, a skunk has been waddling through our yards… and leaving its mark. (Side note: What if skunks don’t even want to smell like that?)

I suggested we call it Putrid Petey — Petey for short. But someone came up with the perfect name: Skunky Brewster.

It’s a silly story, but I’m really sharing it to say this: When we bring people together, we never quite know what might flow from that moment. Connection leads to care. It leads to laughter. It leads to naming skunks— or whatever unique, particular thing emerges in community.

I hope the neighbor we honored that day would be pleased to know she brought us together. And I hope, in our own ways, we can each live like that too.

— Renee Roederer

Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and additional officials at the highest level of the government of Israel are denying that people are facing starvation in Gaza.  Deputy Israeli Ambassador, Amir Meron, has said, “We don’t recognize any famine or any starvation in the Gaza Strip,” and is instead claiming that pictures of adults and children starving are “false” as part of a campaign by Hamas.

The pictures speak for themselves. But also, what else would happen when the Israeli government has created and maintained a blockade of the borders, rendering food and fuel distribution minimal? What is the logical conclusion of people not being able to find or produce food to feed themselves and their families?

More than 1,000 Rabbis around the world have signed on to this letter below. How will we use our voices, and how will we engage actions that stop this blockade and lead to a lasting ceasefire?

The Jewish People face a grave moral crisis, threatening the very basis of Judaism as the ethical voice that it has been since the age of Israel’s prophets. We cannot remain silent in confronting it.

As rabbis and Jewish leaders from across the world, including the State of Israel, we are deeply committed to the wellbeing of Israel and the Jewish People.

We admire Israel’s many and remarkable achievements. We recognise, and many of us endure, the huge challenges the State of Israel relentlessly confronts, surrounded for so long by enemies and facing existential threats from many quarters. We abhor the violence of such nihilistic terrorist organizations as Hezbollah and Hamas. We call on them immediately to release all the hostages, held for so long captive in tunnels in horrendous conditions with no access to medical aid. We unequivocally support the legitimacy of Israel’s battle against these evil forces of destruction. We understand the Israeli army’s prioritization of protecting the lives of its soldiers in this ongoing battle, and we mourn the loss of every soldier’s life.

But we cannot condone the mass killings of civilians, including a great many women, children and elderly, or the use of starvation as a weapon of war. Repeated statements of intention and actions by ministers in the Israeli government, by some officers in the Israeli army, and the behaviour of criminally violent settler groups in the West Bank, often with police and military support, have been major factors in bringing us to this crisis. The killing of huge numbers of Palestinians in Gaza, including those desperately seeking food, has been widely reported across respectable media and cannot reasonably be denied. The severe limitation placed on humanitarian relief in Gaza, and the policy of withholding of food, water, and medical supplies from a needy civilian population contradict essential values of Judaism as we understand it. Ongoing unprovoked attacks, including murder and theft, against Arab populations in the West Bank, have been documented over and over again.

We cannot keep silent.

In the name of the sanctity of life, of the core Torah values that every person is created in God’s image, that we are commanded to treat every human being justly, and that, wherever possible, we are required to exercise mercy and compassion;

In the name of what the Jewish People has learnt bitterly from history as the victim, time and again, of marginalisation, persecution and attempted annihilation;

In the name of the moral reputation not just of Israel, but of Judaism itself, the Judaism to which our lives are devoted,

We call upon the Prime Minister and the Government of Israel

To respect all innocent life;

To stop at once the use and threat of starvation as a weapon of war;

To allow extensive humanitarian aid, under international supervision, while guarding against control or theft by Hamas;

To work urgently by all routes possible to bring home all the hostages and end the fighting; To use the forces of law and order to end settler violence on the West Bank and vigorously investigate and prosecute settlers who harass and assault Palestinians;

To open channels of dialogue together with international partners to lead toward a just settlement, ensuring security for Israel, dignity and hope for Palestinians, and a viable peaceful future for all the region.

‘I am a Jew because our ancestors were the first to see that the world is driven by a moral purpose, that reality is not a ceaseless war of the elements, to be worshipped as gods, nor history in a battle in which might is right and power is to be appeased. The Judaic tradition shaped the moral civilisation of the West, teaching for the first time that human life is sacred, that the individual may not be sacrificed for the mass, and that rich and poor, great and small, are all equal before God.’ Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Radical Then, Radical Now (London 2000).

How will we use our voices?

As I drove past a car in a parking lot, I read a bumper sticker on the back. It said,

Non-Judgement Day is Near

I chuckled. Then I thought, “What if we had a very near non-judgement day — today — perhaps starting with ourselves?”

Want to do that today?

— Renee Roederer

I stood at the ocean’s edge with gratitude. Waves moved back and forth, washing over my toes. Each one arrived consistently, yet uniquely — shaped by its own crest and force. I tried to stay present to what was happening around me. I was delighted to see the ocean again.

As I stood there, I found myself reflecting on what it means to feel joy — or at least to curate it, to cultivate it — especially in a time when so much harm unfolds around us, whether personally or on our screens. Is the world made better by my moments of joy? Or is my joy somehow insensitive?

Maybe it depends on how it’s framed.

“Joy despite” might be a way of choosing joy in the midst of difficult circumstances — not as denial, but as resistance, a form of groundedness in beauty that helps us stay whole and keeps us moving toward a better world.

But “joy in spite” feels different. While the phrase technically means the same, this framing can suggest a turning away — a shrug of the shoulders that says, “But this is what I want,” or “This is what I deserve,” even if others are suffering. It’s a kind of joy that distances itself. It can imply separation, even superiority, as if our joy matters more than someone else’s pain.

I want to choose joy that holds connection — joy that’s aware, joy that’s rooted, joy that builds rather than bypasses. What might that look like for us? How do we cultivate it? How do we share it? How do we build upon it with actions that change harmful circumstances?

— Renee Roederer