"Blessed shall you be in the field... and in the city, when you come in... and when you go out" Deuteronomy 28:3-6

It never fails to move me when I watch Fiddler on the Roof and see the rabbi leaving his abandoned synagogue for the final time, bearing the weight of his congregation's Torah scroll. Like the Jews of the fictional Anatekva, too many of our ancestors had to flee from their family homes to seek asylum on safer shores. Others, impoverished and desperate, emigrated with the hope of finding a better life for their struggling families. For us Jews, it is especially poignant to read this week's parashah as we witness the scenes on the overcrowded boats in the Mediterranean and in the fields outside the city of Calais, for this is a story we know too well.

The title Ki Tavo, "When you arrive", looks ahead to the realisation of a dream. After 40 difficult years of wandering and uncertainty, the Israelites are preparing to enter and establish the Promised Land. Moses reminds them to count their blessings. Yet this week's portion, which focuses on the reality of that new life, details both blessings and curses. In direct parallel to the verse above, we are also warned, "Cursed shall you be in the field... and in the city... when you come in... and when you go out." Not every journey is a positive one!

At Passover, as we celebrate our Exodus and recall that in every generation we have fled from persecution, we begin the recounting of our greatest story with yet another verse from this week's parashah, "My father was a wandering Aramean". Surely we, the very people commanded to love the stranger, must do everything in our power to help end this global immigration crisis. For as our tradition reminds us, we, too, have been strangers in a strange land.

Rabbi David Mitchell