Copyright timesofisrael
When wildfires rage in California or hurricanes hit the Gulf, the whole nation pays attention. News coverage is constant, relief funds appear overnight, and donations pour in. We instinctively understand that when disaster strikes, we show up for our neighbors. But what happens when the disaster isn’t natural — when it’s created by politics instead of wind and rain? Right now, thousands of federal employees across the country are unpaid, caught in the middle of a furlough that has left families uncertain about how to pay for groceries, rent, and childcare. It is a man-made crisis — and yet, unlike hurricanes or wildfires, there are few national headlines, no relief drives, and little visible outrage. On the drive to school this morning, my children listed the families we know who are furloughed. These are grade-schoolers cataloging financial devastation — not from a natural disaster, but from political dysfunction. In our community, federal workers are everywhere: parents at our schools, volunteers in our synagogues, neighbors at the grocery store. Many are required to show up to work, paying for gas, parking, and Metro — but without paychecks. Others are at home, waiting for a call to return to their jobs, while bills pile up. Our day schools are pausing tuition payments. Our local kosher pizza shop is offering food on tab. And at the Hebrew Free Loan Association of Greater Washington, where I serve as executive director, we are providing interest-free loans to help families cover basic expenses — groceries, mortgage payments, utilities. These acts of kindness and solidarity are inspiring, but they are also band-aids on a gaping wound. Our mission at Hebrew Free Loan is to help people build financial stability. The furlough loans we are now issuing aren’t about opportunity — they’re about survival, helping families preserve the stability they’ve spent decades achieving, now unraveling because of a political stalemate in Washington. This is not the first time our community has stepped up in crisis. During the pandemic, Jewish organizations mobilized swiftly — offering emergency aid, loans, and mental health support. That same instinct is visible now: a deep belief in arevut, mutual responsibility — that we are responsible for one another. But we should not have to live in a constant state of triage. A government shutdown — or “furlough,” as the term gently puts it — is not a temporary inconvenience. It is a slow-motion disaster that undermines families, destabilizes communities, and erodes faith in the systems meant to serve us. When a hurricane hits, no one blames the weather. But when the storm is caused by political dysfunction, we must name its source. The current furlough is not an unavoidable act of nature — it is a policy choice, the result of elected officials who have decided that partisanship matters more than people’s paychecks. Every day, I speak with people who are proud of their public service, yet are angry that their livelihoods are being used as bargaining chips. Their stories are heartbreaking: families choosing between paying tuition and rent, parents worrying about how to keep food on the table, and households accruing debt just to make ends meet. We need the nation to care — not only when the ripple effects reach the rest of us, like when flights are canceled. We should care now, while people’s financial lives are being quietly dismantled. Jewish communities have always understood that compassion isn’t conditional. Whether the crisis comes from floodwaters or failed leadership, our response must be the same: to see the suffering and act. That means two things. First, we continue to support one another — through loans, paused tuition, meals, and empathy. But second, we must demand better. Every budget impasse and shutdown carries a human cost measured not in political points, but in sleepless nights and unpaid bills. Congress is now in conversation about how to reopen the government — at least for now — through another short-term continuing resolution. That’s good news for the families who desperately need their paychecks to resume. But this is not a solution; it’s a reprieve. If history is any guide, we’ll be back here again in a few months, holding our breath as livelihoods hang in the balance. A furlough is not a pause. It is a dismantling of dignity in slow motion. And the longer it lasts — or threatens to return — the more it asks ordinary Americans, and our communities, to shoulder the burden of failed governance. When disaster strikes, we always say: Hineni — here I am. Our community is doing that now. The question is: will our political leaders?
