Judaism and Immigration: The Ethics of Welcoming the Stranger

Thirty-Six Times

No commandment in the Torah is repeated more often than the obligation to the stranger. Thirty-six times, the Torah tells the Jewish people: do not oppress the stranger. Love the stranger. Remember that you were strangers in Egypt.

This is not a suggestion. It is the most repeated ethical imperative in the entire Hebrew Bible — more than the commands about Shabbat, more than the commands about monotheism, more than the commands about justice. The Torah apparently considers the treatment of the vulnerable outsider so important that it cannot say it enough.

The Biblical Framework

The Torah’s approach to the stranger (ger) operates on two levels:

Legal protection: The stranger is included in the justice system. “You shall have one law for the stranger and for the citizen” (Leviticus 24:22). The stranger has the right to fair wages, rest on Shabbat, and gleaning from the harvest. The legal system must not discriminate.

Emotional identification: Beyond legal protection, the Torah demands empathy. “You shall love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Deuteronomy 10:19). The basis of this love is not abstract ethics but lived experience. Jews know what it feels like to be the outsider, the foreigner, the unwanted refugee. That memory must generate compassion.

Jewish History as Immigration History

Jewish history is, in large measure, immigration history. Abraham was told to leave his land. The Israelites were strangers in Egypt. The Babylonian exile displaced an entire community. The Roman exile scattered Jews across the Mediterranean. Medieval expulsions — from England (1290), France (1306, 1394), Spain (1492) — created waves of Jewish refugees. Eastern European pogroms drove millions to America between 1880 and 1924.

This history is not distant memory. Many American Jews are only two or three generations removed from the immigrant experience. The stories of crowded ships, Ellis Island inspections, tenement apartments, and the struggle to build a new life in a new language are family stories, not textbook abstractions.

HIAS: From Jewish Aid to Universal Mission

The connection between Jewish values and immigration advocacy is embodied in HIAS — originally the Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, founded in 1881 to help Jewish immigrants navigate arrival in America. For a century, HIAS assisted Jewish refugees from pogroms, the Holocaust, Soviet oppression, and Ethiopian persecution.

In recent decades, HIAS has expanded its mission beyond the Jewish community, becoming one of America’s leading refugee resettlement agencies, serving people of all backgrounds. This evolution reflects a core Jewish ethical principle: the compassion that grows from your own suffering must be extended to all who suffer.

HIAS’s motto captures the transformation: “We used to help refugees because they were Jewish. Now we help refugees because we are Jewish.”

The Talmudic Tradition

Rabbinic literature reinforces and expands the biblical framework. The Talmud mandates hospitality toward travelers and strangers. Maimonides lists twenty-four specific ways a Jew must treat the stranger with kindness. The Shulchan Arukh (Code of Jewish Law) codifies obligations of communal support for newcomers.

Contemporary Application

Jewish organizations across the denominational spectrum have been active in immigration advocacy. The Reform, Conservative, and many Orthodox organizations have issued statements supporting humane immigration policies, refugee resettlement, and protection for undocumented immigrants.

The ethical principles are clear: refugees fleeing persecution must be given refuge; immigrant families should be treated with dignity; economic migrants deserve fair treatment and legal pathways; and enforcement policies must be humane.

Balancing Values

Jewish ethics does not demand naivety. The tradition recognizes the legitimacy of borders, governance, and communal self-protection. The question is not whether nations may regulate immigration but how they do so — whether policies are crafted with compassion or cruelty, whether they honor human dignity or violate it.

The Torah’s thirty-six repetitions suggest that the temptation to mistreat the stranger is powerful — so powerful that it requires relentless moral reinforcement. For a people that has been the stranger in virtually every land, this message is not abstract ethics. It is autobiography turned into obligation.