By Rachel Faulkner
NCJW Senior Director, Program and Event Engagement

It took our ancestors three tries to cross that bridge.

The first attempt, led by John Lewis and Hosea Williams, began peacefully, but as the marchers crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge, they were met by police and violently and brutally attacked.

The second attempt came just two days later, led by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. But again, the marchers were met by state troopers. This time, instead of pressing forward into certain violence, Dr. King knelt in prayer and then turned the marchers around.

It was not until the third attempt, 12 days later, that marchers successfully crossed the bridge and began the 54-mile journey from Selma to Montgomery — a journey that is credited with being the catalyst for the Voting Rights Act of 1965. That law outlawed racial discrimination in voting, ending literacy tests, poll taxes, and other barriers used to suppress Black voters.

It took our ancestors three tries. They were beaten, they were intimidated, they were pushed backward — both figuratively and literally.

I carried this history with me as I helped organize National Council of Jewish Women’s Selma trip this weekend for the 60th anniversary of Bloody Sunday, bringing together over 100 Jewish leaders, including many Jews of Color, to engage with the legacy of the civil rights movement and wrestle with what it means for our work today. I believe deeply in Jews visiting the Civil Rights South — not just to honor the past, but to honestly examine the role we played in it, the moments we showed up, and the moments we didn’t. This history is personal to me. My Black ancestors were deeply involved in the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, while my Jewish ancestors worked to register Black voters in the 1950s and ‘60s. I know they would be proud of the work we are doing now.

I designed this experience with intention — ensuring that Black women’s voices were at the center, including our faculty Dr. Kohenet Harriette Wimms and Rabbi Sandra Lawson, whose leadership and wisdom shaped our reflections. We were intentional in hiring Black vendors – the hotel we stayed at is a Black owned franchise, our bus company was owned by a Black woman, meals were from Black owned restaurants and catering companies. As I shared with the group, I believe Dr. King would be proud — not just of the intentionality behind this trip, but of how we used our economic resources, and the fact that we showed up as Jews today.

Because right now, the path forward is not easy.

Rising antisemitism has made many in our community want to turn inward, to focus on only protecting ourselves rather than linking arms with others. That instinct is understandable. Fear and trauma can push people to retreat. But history shows us that justice requires us to do the opposite — to step forward, and across lines of difference, anyway.

Our civil rights movement is at a bridge crossing of its own.

It is not an exaggeration to say that many in our communities are under attack. Access to reproductive healthcare is being stripped away. Trans and nonbinary people are being targeted. Mass deportations continue. Public education is under siege, disproportionately impacting those with disabilities and learning differences. Voting rights are being gutted. And the list goes on. Just as in Selma, the forces that seek to block our path forward are powerful, well-funded, and relentless.

So we have a choice. Do we turn back? Or do we step forward, knowing that the road ahead will be hard?

The story of Selma reminds us that justice is rarely won on the first attempt. We will be pushed back as we try to move forward – literally pushed back, and figuratively pushed back. We will be intimidated. We will be told that the obstacles are too great. But we must get up, again and again, and stand together at the foot of the bridge. Maybe our struggle will take three tries. Maybe five. Maybe more. But what’s most important is that we get back up and we stand again, arm in arm, at the foot of the bridge.

What most important is that we remember that our bridge crossing is not yet finished. And lives — just as they did 60 years ago — depend on our ability to keep marching.