I was on the news.

I was on the news because I marched through Boston alongside phenomenal Jewish organizers in solidarity with the Movimiento Cosecha, immigrants, and refugees as part of Never Again, a national movement. I was on the news because these concentration camps must close. I was on the news because I am a Jewish American whose family history tells an all too similar tale of a human rights crisis. I was on the news because I grew up in New Mexico, a border state with a large immigrant population. I was on the news because members of my community put their bodies on the line in Los Angeles and San Francisco, and were arrested in New Jersey, Boston, and Philadelphia while defending a moral imperative. I was on the news for many reasons, because I believe in collective action, freedom, and dignity for all.

But this movement and this moment is not about me. It isn’t even about the Jewish people. It is about the detainees in concentration camps facing horrific conditions day in and day out. It is about the families separated from each other. It is about abusive power structures embedded in institutions like Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). It is about the basic human dignity stripped from those who are simply dreaming of a better life, free from the atrocities they experienced at the hands of broken political systems and tyrannical dictators. Yet we, as a country, greet them with walls and cages.

Twenty-four people have died in federal custody during the Trump administration, six of whom were children. One of these children died in my home state. Democratic representatives condemned the camps, describing people being told to drink out of toilets, crowds packed into small rooms where there isn’t space to sit down, and the continued separation of children from their parents. The collective action in which I took part is about the people I saw detained in an ICE facility in Boston banging on barred windows, holding up signs that read “lockdown,” “help,” and “thank you,” while we stood outside the building. It is about them and the other detainees across the country. We should never forget that. The Jewish people, however, know our history, and bring that history in solidarity.

I am not particularly religious and consider myself a secular Jew, but I cannot deny the impact the teaching of religious leaders in my community has had on me. As Jews, we are taught to question everything, including our own religion. The Talmud is literally the director’s commentary of the Torah: clarifications made to our religious texts as our society, morals, and priorities as a community change. This questioning of even our holiest literature speaks to the strain of forward-thinking progressivism in some Jewish communities.

And the practice of questioning has remained a core tenet of my Jewish identity. I am curious. I am constantly searching for answers that are layered and address complicated circumstances with forethought. I challenge what is accepted, sometimes with a simple, “Why?” This questioning leads to action. It leads to collective movement. It leads to rapid response when we as a Jewish people cannot accept the answers we’re given. It leads to nationwide movements like Never Again Action.

In these moments, I am reminded of several stories from my own family about individuals who, despite the sacrifices, were generous to those in need.

My great-great grandfather owned a small general store in Taylor, Pennsylvania, at the height of the Great Depression. When he passed away, several strangers showed up to his funeral. When asked why they had come, they told my family that they were the grandchildren of folks who had survived the Great Depression solely because of my great-great grandfather, who fed and housed people with no expectation of receiving anything in return. The grandchildren of the people my great-great grandfather helped came to the funeral to thank him. Without him, they never would have existed at all.