Why we need to stand up and be counted in the global climate movement
We are living through a climate crisis that is no longer abstract. It is here, in our poisoned air, food and soil, in the flooding and heat, in the quiet fear about what kind of world our children will inherit. At the same time, Jewish identity feels increasingly fraught, pulled into political narratives that flatten or distort who we are. It would be easy, in a moment like this, to turn inward, keep our heads down and focus on our own.
But the prophet Isaiah refuses that instinct. “Learn to do good. Devote yourselves to justice...” (1:17) “Raise your voice with strength… have no fear.” (40:9) These aren’t just gentle suggestions but clear demands.
This week, I felt that demand up close, in Santa Marta, Colombia, at the world’s first Fossil Fuel Phase Out conference. At this historic event, I was the only “official” Jewish voice, with the only Jewish NGO, EcoJudaism. This is not a point of pride, but discomfort; one I feel at all major climate conferences. Where are all the Jews?
Shouldn’t we be a force in these spaces, organised and reliably showing up to help shape one of the defining conversations of our time? And yet, we are noticeably absent.
Jewish climate advocacy is not a modern addition to our tradition. It is our tradition. The Torah begins not with a nation, but with a garden, and a responsibility: to tend it and to protect it (Genesis 2:15). That instruction feels achingly relevant as ecosystems collapse and countless lives are lost. It’s not enough to just mitigate against climate change; we are called to challenge its cause, visibly and courageously.
And right now, showing up matters. Because in the absence of Jewish voices, something sinister fills the space. I heard it: the idea that Israel, (read Jews), represents the extractive and oppressive structures the climate movement seeks to dismantle. It is a dangerous narrative, and it takes hold more easily when we are not there to challenge it.
It’s also wrong. Israel has ambitious renewable and net zero targets and is a leader in climate technology. But this is not only about correcting narratives; it’s about reclaiming our own.
The defining story of the Jewish people is our liberation from slavery. Every year, we ask ourselves what enslaves us in our own time.
The fossil fuel industry has bound us in ways both visible and invisible. It shapes our economies, dictates our geopolitics, pollutes our air, water, food and soil. It has compromised our health, destabilised our climate, and degraded the ecosystems upon which all life depends. Worst of all, it has narrowed our imagination, convincing us that there is no alternative, that this system is immutable, justice is out of reach and hope is naïve.
This is the fatalism of Pharaoh’s bondage: power is fixed, oppression inevitable. Judaism rejects this. We are a religion of destiny, not fate, “a rejection of the world as it is, for the world as it ought to be” (Rabbi Sacks) Hope is not naïve; it is the necessary fuel of any transformation.
And yet, the call to act can feel overwhelming. In Santa Marta I felt Moses' humble question: “Mi anochi?” (“Who am I?”) (Exodus 3:11)
Who am I - a 5ft2 Jewish mum - to stand against industries with immense wealth and power? Who are we - just 0.2 per cent of the global population - to think we can influence the course of a planetary crisis?
God’s answer shows that fulfilling this call is not about credentials or guaranteed outcomes; it’s about presence: show up and “I will be with you.”
To engage in climate advocacy as Jews is to reclaim our heritage of liberation and hope. It is to assert that another world is possible - not only surviving but thriving. It is to move from “Who am I?” to “This is who I am”; a people with millennia of experience in existential crises, of imagining alternatives, of refusing to accept the status quo. It is to raise our voice with strength and without fear.
Naomi Verber is the executive director of EcoJudaism
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