Dear Governor: Having to cancel the first stop of your “racial reconciliation tour” at Virginia Union University is a sign of just how difficult your road ahead is. What will you do from here? You face a fundamental choice. Is your reconciliation tour about your own political survival, or can you become an instrument of society?

Watching the unfolding events in Virginia this past week has only deepened my personal commitment and drive to address two key topics: identity and sorrow. These will be a new focus of our Studio on Community moving forward.

In September of 1964, King visited the Berlin Wall and spoke about “breaking down the dividing walls of hostility” that can separate people from one another. As MLK Day approaches, and our nation is mired in a seemingly endless impasse over building a wall on our southern border, I can’t help but think about Martin Luther King, Jr.’s urgings to tear down the walls that stand between us.

Just last week I was in Israel and visited the West Bank city of Bethlehem, where a young Palestinian man, Noor, took me around. As we turned a corner in the city, all of a sudden I confronted the wall that separates the West Bank and Israel. Up close, it is huge, imposing, cold and haunting. Here in the U.S., the federal government shutdown enters week three, locked in a showdown over a wall between the U.S. and Mexico. I wonder, what is the meaning of such walls?

In just one hour this morning, I read or heard a series of news stories that made me wonder if the world is spinning out of control and if there is anything you or I or anyone else can do about it. Or, do we simply have to wait for some new political savior to get things right? Amid my moment of helplessness and exasperation, I know we must not wait.

On Saturday, I didn’t move an inch from my couch from the morning until midnight as I watched in horror the unfolding scenes from Pittsburgh. As a practicing Jew, I feel a bottomless sorrow; as a devoted American, I feel emboldened. As a person who cares deeply about the health of our nation, I feel we must act.

I feel utter disbelief, rage and profound sadness as I watch the negotiations unfold between Dr. Christine Blasey Ford and the U.S. Senate Judiciary Committee. I am ashamed of many of our political leaders and sick to my stomach. We can disagree about who should sit on the U.S. Supreme Court—but a basic test of human dignity now stares us in the face. We must not fail.

Yesterday, a gunman walked into the Capital Gazette newsroom in Annapolis, killing five people and injuring two more. On the heels of the shooting, Capital Gazette reporter Chase Cook tweeted yesterday, “I can tell you this, we’re putting out a damn paper tomorrow.”

The island of Puerto Rico has become a quagmire that reflects the senseless condition of our mainland politics. How have we come to so compromise the dignity of the people who live on this small island and desperately seek our help? We must do more.

This morning on my drive into work, I heard an NPR story about two individuals who decided to go to Houston with their boat to help rescue people from flooded homes. When asked why they were there, they simply answered: “We have an obligation to help.” 

I am repulsed each day by what I read and hear on the news about what’s happening in our country—and to our country. Outright lies about political issues, deflections over personal responsibility, and bait and switch arguments over reality have left many of us bewildered about the state of America. In these troubled times, we must guard against cynicism and turning against one another.

While we watch in disbelief the unfolding White House drama, congressional members scurry for cover, and everyday Americans continue to lose faith in leaders of all sorts. There is one individual in America today who represents the kind of leadership we need: Pat Llodra, the First Selectman, or mayor, of Newtown, CT, who recently announced her retirement. Pat helped guide Newtown after the Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre of twenty first graders and six adults.