Two Speeches One Day

This week, I spoke at two events in North Carolina. Both events are connected by a simple question: What does it mean to build a society that honors the dignity and humanity of every person?

The first was at the North Carolina General Assembly, where I joined faith leaders from across the state and from different traditions to speak about voting rights and protecting access to the ballot. Governor Josh Stein recently vetoed legislation that would have shortened early voting in our state.

Voting is one of the most fundamental ways people participate in our democracy. Our responsibility should be to expand access—to ensure that everyone has the time and opportunity to make their voice heard.

The second event marked 20 years since the last execution carried out by the State of North Carolina. I joined faith leaders and advocates to reflect on that milestone and to call for continued movement away from the death penalty.

I’m sharing both remarks below because they are part of the same work for me: showing up, speaking from our values, and building a North Carolina where every person’s voice and every person’s humanity matter.

Good morning. I’m Rabbi Sandra Lawson, Executive Director of Carolina Jews for Justice. We represent more than 6,000 Jews across North Carolina, and we are connected to synagogues across this state.

I’m honored to stand here today alongside people of faith from across North Carolina because, while our traditions may be different, we share a fundamental belief: every human being is created with dignity, and every person deserves a voice in shaping the community in which they live.

As Jews, we carry a shared memory. We remember what happens when people are told they no longer belong, when their rights and citizenship are taken away, and when they are forced from the places they call home. And because we remember, we have a responsibility to stand with others when their rights are threatened.

In the Jewish tradition, we are taught tzedek, tzedek tirdof — “Justice, justice shall you pursue.”

I’ve always been struck by that word: pursue.

Justice is not something we simply believe in. It is something we move toward. It requires us to act. Sometimes, quite literally, it requires us to march.

And that is why we are here.

Voting is one of the ways people exercise their voice and their power. When we protect access to the ballot, we are affirming the dignity of our neighbors. We are saying: Your voice matters. Your family matters. Your community matters. And you deserve a say in the decisions that shape your life.

For people of faith, this is sacred work.

And none of us can do this work alone.

There are forces that would like to separate us — Jew from Christian, Black from white, rural from urban, one community from another. But our faith traditions remind us that our lives are bound together.

My freedom is connected to your freedom. My dignity is connected to your dignity. And my ability to exercise my rights is connected to yours.

That is what interfaith solidarity looks like.

It looks like people from different traditions standing beside one another.

It looks like showing up for our neighbors when their rights are threatened.

And yes, it looks like marching together.

So as we march to the polls across North Carolina, we are doing more than walking. We are making a public declaration that democracy belongs to all of us.

We will stand together.
We will march together.

And together, we will continue the sacred work of building a North Carolina where every voice matters and every person can participate fully in our democracy.

Thank you

Twenty Years

For twenty years, North Carolina has gone without carrying out an execution.

That matters.

It matters because for twenty years, our state has shown that we can live without the death penalty. We can pursue justice. We can hold people accountable. We can care for victims and their families. And we can do all of that without taking another human life.

As a rabbi, I come to this conversation through the teachings of my Jewish tradition.

The Torah teaches that every human being is created b’tzelem Elohim — in the image of God. That teaching is easy to embrace when we are talking about people we love. The challenge is believing it when we are talking about someone who has caused tremendous harm.

Our tradition does not ask us to pretend that harm does not matter. It does not ask us to ignore the pain of victims or the grief of families whose lives have been shattered by violence.

Justice matters.

Accountability matters.

And so does the inherent dignity of every human being.

The rabbis understood the extraordinary gravity of taking a life. The Mishnah teaches that a court that executed even once in seventy years could be considered a destructive court. That teaching reflects a profound discomfort with giving human beings the power to make an irreversible decision about who should live and who should die.

And the Talmud teaches Whoever saves a single life is considered to have saved the whole world. And one who destroys a life is considered to have destroyed an entire world

All of this Letting us know that saving a life is over every other commandment

And we know something else today.

We know that our systems are imperfect.

We know that race matters. Poverty matters. Geography matters. The quality of your attorney matters. We know that innocent people have been sentenced to death and later exonerated.

And when a system is capable of making mistakes, the death penalty leaves no room to repair them.

For me, that is one of the most powerful lessons of these past twenty years. North Carolina has already shown us another way.

There are people sitting on death row today. There are families who have experienced unimaginable loss. There are communities still carrying trauma. Yet for two decades, the state has not executed anyone.

So perhaps the question before us is no longer whether we can live without the death penalty.

We already have.

The question is whether we have the moral courage to make permanent what we have already been practicing for twenty years.

And that is why it matters so much to me that this is an interfaith movement.

We come from different traditions. We read different sacred texts. We pray in different ways. We have different understandings of God, justice, punishment, forgiveness, mercy, and redemption.

We do not have to agree on every theological question to stand together on a moral one.

Across our traditions, we find teachings that call us toward the dignity of human life, toward mercy, toward justice, and toward the possibility that people are more than the worst thing they have ever done.

And there is something powerful when rabbis, pastors, imams, ministers, priests, lay leaders, and people of conscience stand together and say: We believe our communities can be safe without executions. We believe accountability does not require killing. We believe justice and mercy can occupy the same space.

Because ending the death penalty cannot belong to one religion, one political party, or one community.

It has to be something we build together.

Twenty years without an execution is an anniversary worth marking. But I hope we also understand it as an invitation.

An invitation to imagine what comes next.

An invitation to choose a justice system rooted in accountability and human dignity.

And an invitation, across all our faiths and traditions, to say together that twenty years is enough evidence.

North Carolina knows how to live without executions.

Now it is time to end the death penalty.

Thank you

Below is a link to the entire press conference