In California, a Jewish woman and a Baptist minister have united to protect a mixed-status immigrant family that could be torn apart by deportation. While the two daughters were born in the U.S., their parents weren’t. Last year, their dad was deported after decades here and their mom, who is also undocumented, feared a similar fate. The family was homeless for months until Rev. Zachary Hoover, a sanctuary leader, helped guide the family to a “safe house.” For their protection, the family and the Jewish woman who signed the apartment lease have not been identified. “In a statement, US Immigration and Customs Enforcement said, ‘Knowingly harboring an alien is a federal crime’”:
Hoover, a youthful, slight, optimistic minister seems an unlikely organizer for a network directly sticking its thumb in the eye of the federal government on moral grounds. But then the ordained American Baptist minister, who is fluent in Spanish, begins to speak.
"My particular call in the gospel is to be in partnership and stand beside people who are most attacked, who are most at risk, who are most suffering," he says.
Since the 2016 presidential election, the sanctuary movement has seen a resurgence. More than 800 congregations pledged to protect immigrants and “more than 2,000 congregations have trained in rapid response across the country, most of them in California,” according to CNN. “The network of safe houses has dozens of undocumented immigrant families who are hiding from ICE at any given time. The goal, says Hoover, is merely to keep families together.” There is very real fear of the government’s reprisal, the reverend says, but it won’t stop him. "We are asked to love our neighbors as ourselves. Ripping children away from their parents under the pretense of community safety when these are our neighbors and churchgoers? No.”
In the safe house, the family is attempting to go on with their lives amid huge uncertainty. Their dad thought he was on a road to legal status and had gone to an appointment with immigration officials, only to be detained and deported that same day. The remaining family members, fearful of their mom also getting swept up, packed some belongings and never returned to their home. "We can't talk to anyone,” said one of the daughters, a high school senior. “We can't tell anyone. Fear? You can't get rid of it. My mom's status isn't legal.” Their mom told CNN that "ICE destroyed my home”:
At the apartment, one of the daughters shows the Jewish woman her financial aid package for a college where she's been accepted. The girls are continuing to make plans for the fall.
"We're going to be someone in the future," says the younger sister. "We're going to show my parents that they raised two good daughters who are going to prove to them that we're going to be someone in life."
The Jewish woman and the undocumented mother hold hands. It's striking how similar their hands are.
"We're not going away," says the Jewish woman. "We're going to stand together. We're more unified than ever."
“By design,” CNN reports, “members of the network often don't know who is offering the help and who is being helped. Hoover keeps track generally by word of mouth from various congregants.” And the network doesn’t just help with sanctuary, it also helps connect families to legal assistance and offers accompaniment to appointments with ICE. The Jewish woman heard about the network at temple, when she was approached by another congregant about "a service opportunity.” Yes, the stakes are high for her, but it’s also personal:
"I grew up in the time where the Holocaust was not so far behind me," says the woman. "There was always that awareness, as a Jew, that it's possible to be kicked out of a country where people thought they were home. And many of those people didn't make it."
She says there is a strong feeling in the Jewish community. "We cannot let this happen. It's our responsibility. What was done to us cannot happen to other people."