By Rabbi Dr Margaret Jacobi

Last week the Government announced that British citizenship would no longer be available to migrants who arrived here by illegal means, for example on boats across the Channel. This would deprive the migrants of the possibility of an important right.

The concept of citizenship is relatively modern, but we can see its beginnings in our sidra this week. Being a citizen is different from being a subject. To be a subject means being subject to someone, usually a monarch. To be a citizen is to have rights as well as responsibilities. It means the state should grant you certain rights, such as: the right to vote, the right to be treated equally under the law and the right to protection under the law.

The Torah talks about three sorts of resident in the Land of Israel. There was the ezrach, the home-born, who had always been part of the Israelite people. Then there was the toshav, the sojourner, someone who had been settled in the land long term and was recognised as part of the Israelite community in most regards. Finally, there was the ger, the resident stranger, recently arrived and not yet settled.

Of the three, the ger was the most vulnerable. That is why they had the most protection. Twice in our sidra alone, we are told: ‘And you shall not oppress a stranger, for you know the heart of the stranger, because you were strangers in the land of Egypt.’ It is like a refrain, implanted twice for no obvious reason except to make sure it is heard. It is commanded 39 times in all throughout the Torah.

In later Judaism, the ger became synonymous with the convert to Judaism, someone who had voluntarily chosen to join the Jewish people, but in biblical times there was no formal conversion to Judaism. Rather, the ger had to take on what we might call the obligations of citizenship, to abide by the laws of their adopted country. If they participated equally, they would be treated equally. Again, the Torah is clear: ‘There shall be one law for the home-born and the stranger.’ If someone chose to reside in the land and obey its laws, they would be respected and treated as equals. If they chose to disobey the law, they would be subject to the same penalties as the home-born: no more and no less.

We, in Britain, seem to have departed from this principle. The Windrush scandal is the most blatant of many examples. In that scandal, people who had lived here for years, leading blameless lives and contributing to our society, were cruelly deported to a country they hardly knew, away from family and friends. We seem to have forgotten the humanity and kindness that are due to everyone in society, regardless of their place of birth.

Our Sidra reminds us of the basic requirements of justice. Witnesses must be honest. Judges must not take bribes. There should not be even the slightest indication that they were unfairly influenced in their judgement, as it says, ‘You shall not take a bribe for a bribe blinds the intelligent and perverts the words of the wise.’ Above all, everyone is equal before the law: king and commoner; rich and poor; home-born and stranger. No one shall be shown undue favour or disadvantaged because of their position in society. To be a citizen is to recognise one’s responsibilities to the law and also to know that you are entitled to protection by the law from unfair treatment and oppression.

My father and other German Jews were deprived of their citizenship by the Nazis early in the Nazi regime. Now, in this country and across the globe, we see similar moves to deprive vulnerable people of their rights. We must constantly remember and insist that the lessons of that terrible period are taken to heart, so that the words of the prophet Amos may be fulfilled: ‘Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.’

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