Dear CRS Community,
Communal responsibility asks something of us that isn’t always comfortable: to extend dignity and care to the people our society would rather not see at all. That’s part of what democracy asks of us too – at its best, liberty and justice are the default conditions for everyone. As we mark 250 years of this country striving toward that promise, I’ve been thinking about how we live up to it.
A few weeks ago, I joined Central Synagogue for one of their monthly visits to Rikers Island to pray with incarcerated individuals during their weekly service.
While I’m not an expert on incarceration, criminal justice reform, or the realities of Rikers, I know that learning begins with a willingness to bear witness.
Before going, I did what many of us do: I researched. What I found was heartbreaking. Years of federal oversight. Allegations of violence and neglect. A population that is, by and large, still awaiting trial, not yet convicted of anything. Rates of mental illness that are extraordinarily high. These are not abstract headlines. They are ongoing realities, for incarcerated people and staff alike, every single day.
And then I crossed the bridge to Rikers and saw it for myself.
Fortunately, it was not an especially hot day. But even so, one detail I cannot stop thinking about was the heat. Air conditioning existed in some guard areas, but not in many of the inmate housing areas. In the middle of a New York summer, some people are simply expected to endure it. You can read more about this in the NYC Board of Correction’s December 2024 report, Analysis of Summer 2024 Heat Mitigation Efforts in NYC Jails.
What I found inside was disturbing, heartbreaking, and deeply human, all at once.
The service itself felt almost ordinary: a short midday prayer service, some Torah study, some conversation. For the men there, it clearly was not ordinary at all. It was a reminder that the outside world had not completely forgotten them. We prayed together, studied together, laughed together, and talked about New York neighborhoods we all knew. Our presence offered a brief reminder of dignity, connection, and humanity, in a place where those things can feel painfully absent.
Then, at the end, they lined back up to return to their cells, while I freely walked out, crossed the bridge, and grabbed a coffee on my way home.
I have not stopped thinking about that difference since.
This, to me, is what communal responsibility looks like when it’s hardest to practice: not showing up for people we already feel connected to, but for the people it would be easiest to forget. As we mark 250 years of American democracy, I wonder how we can expand compassion and dignity to those we have traditionally cast aside or counted out. Even as our complex justice system works to check harm and ensure accountability, we can work for people inside our prisons to be treated humanely and to have pathways to prayer.
In the coming months, we are exploring ways CRS members might join future visits to Rikers alongside Central Synagogue, with the hope of eventually expanding into broader re-entry and support work. For now, the goal is simple: to remind people that they are not alone, and that community and prayer still belong to them, too.
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Ross Cohen
Communal Responsibility Manager
