In his 1909 book “Les Rites de Passage” (The Rites of Passage), anthropologist Arnold van Gennep identified liminality as the middle stage in ritual passages, where individuals exist “betwixt and between” social categories or personal identities. He described this as part of a three-phase structure in rites of passage: Separation (preliminal), Transition (liminal), and Reincorporation (postliminal). Sixty years later, anthropologist Victor Turner explored how liminality applies to both ritual practices and broader social and cultural phenomena. Turner explored the transformative potential of liminal spaces and states, where standard social hierarchies and structures may be suspended.
We are living in a liminal state. The election created a clear demarcation line between what was and is yet to be. I know this liminal space is filled with great expectations and excitement for some. That’s why Trump voters elected him. And I know that for members of the LGBTQ+ communities, American citizens born in the US to undocumented immigrants, civil servants, and others, this liminal space is filled with anxiety and fear.
That’s the thing about liminal space. We know that which was is finished and that which is yet to be is vague and unformed. In other words, this is the perfect space for wild enthusiasm and unbridled panic to bubble up simultaneously. It is a crazy moment.
Frankly, I’m exhausted. The campaign period through to election day was nonstop media coverage, and I was sucked in every day. I perused my news sources, listening to podcasts and talking to my family, my peeps, and anyone who wanted to review the issues. I then would weigh the conversations and information I gathered as it related to my family’s welfare, our collective congregational welfare, the welfare of American Jewry, my fellow American citizens, Israel, the socially disadvantaged… And then add those countless texts asking for money (please, isn’t there any way to curtail those???!!!); well, you see why I am exhausted.
In my personal liminal space, I’m filled with worry and deep concern. The future of America, both domestically and internationally, is uncertain. The path to combatting antisemitism is unclear. The ongoing conflicts in Gaza and Lebanon are escalating, and the hostages are still not home. These are just a few of the many concerns weighing heavily on my mind.
From this liminal space, I cannot declare that everything is going to be alright. I wish I could, but that would be utterly disingenuous of me. No one has the prophetic ability to declare that kind of message. So much hangs in the balance.
I know that Jews have lived in the Diaspora for two millennia and change. We have confronted a variety of conflicts and conflagrations. We have coped with revolutions, coups, purges, pogroms, expulsions, and genocide. In many ways, we’ve lived in active liminal space for centuries by virtue of our own sense of destiny and uniqueness and our unwillingness to compromise our Jewish ethical standards. Our strength was and has always been our sense of communal solidarity. I urge us all to lean into that strength as we slowly move into a more definitive, postliminal time. Of course, our congregation has folks on different sides who voted for different candidates. We will continue to have disagreements, which is a healthy aspect of an open and empathic congregation. I will continue to respect our diversity of opinions on all matters. And I will continue to champion ideas and actions that exemplify the best of our Jewish tradition, even if the waters get choppy. The Jewish people thrive on resilience and chutzpah. Even now, that truth gives me a sense of stability and certainty in this foggy, exhausting, liminal space.
Before Shabbat 