Emma Lazarus: Liberty’s Enduring Voice

In a bustling classroom, two Abraham Lincolns mingle with two Frida Kahlos, two Jane Goodalls, two Helen Kellers, and one Emma Lazarus. The Emma Lazarus is me. It's our second-grade Living Statues Project, a day when we have to pick a famous person, dress up as them, and pretend to be them for the day. 

I’m standing on a tiny plastic chair, mouthing the words I’ve practiced countless times: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore, send these, the homeless, tempest tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” 

The words of “The New Colossus,” the famous poem etched on a plaque at the base of the Statue of Liberty, were written almost 150 years ago, but they resonated with seven-year-old me. And as I recited them to my classmates and their parents, I saw looks of recognition, heads nodding, young faces spellbound.

Those lines are a testament to the enduring legacy of Emma Lazarus, a Jewish-American poet and fierce advocate for refugees and women's rights. Lazarus is not counted among the great American poets, but her words and advocacy remain ever more pertinent in our current era of political unrest and tension over immigration. 

From an early age, Lazarus was deeply influenced by feminist ideals. Her father ensured that she, her brother, and her five sisters were educated, which was uncommon for women at the time. 

Lazarus was born into a wealthy Sephardic Jewish family. She was a woman of means and education who could have easily ignored others and focused on her own life. But she was moved by the plight of poor European Jewish refugees, who were arriving in waves to the United States, escaping violent pogroms and rampant religious persecution. Most arrived with few belongings and spoke little or no English. 

Lazarus embodied the ideal expressed in the Talmud, “Kol yisrael arevim zeh bazeh” (All Jews are responsible for each other). She used her relative privilege to help new migrants, helping to found the Hebrew Technical Institute and the Society for the Improvement and Colonization of East European Jews, organizations that offered vocational training and support to poor Jewish immigrants. 

Although she was not traditionally observant, Emma was acutely aware of her Jewish identity and experienced antisemitism firsthand. As a relatively wealthy woman, she spent much of her time among non-Jews and was periodically reminded of her outsider status.

“I am perfectly conscious that this contempt and hatred underlies the general tone of the community towards us,” she wrote in 1883 to her friend, literary journalist Philip Cowen. “Yet when I even remotely hint at the fact that we are not a favorite people, I am accused of stirring up strife and setting barriers…” Although she was from a very different background and social class, she shared a sense of being “othered” with the Jewish immigrants who arrived at Ellis Island.

If the Statue of Liberty is an overpowering symbol, Lazarus’s poem highlights that difference itself is essential to the American vision. It’s not about assimilating, but embracing belonging. “In Exile,” written just a year before “The New Colossus," she explicitly references the liberty that America offers to practice Judaism: “Freedom to love the law that Moses brought, To sing the songs of David, and to think The thoughts Gabirol to Spinoza taught.” For Lazarus, America contained multitudes; it offered Jews the opportunity to carry two identities: they could show their full American identity while openly celebrating their Judaism.

Lazarus’s most famous poem, “The New Colossus,” explores the notion of power and womanhood. At the time, women had relatively few rights. Their property and earnings were entirely controlled by their husbands, they had limited access to higher education, and could not vote. 

By depicting America as “Mother of Exiles” in “The New Colossus,” Lazarus constructs a strong narrative in which women hold power. But the power they hold is not that of the ancient Colossus, “brazen giant of Greek fame, with conquering limbs set astride from land to land.” The Colossus of Rhodes, a vast bronze statue of the Sun god Helios that was one of the wonders of the ancient world, was designed to intimidate; the new Colossus was designed to welcome. The ancient statue projected power and strength; Mother Liberty evokes hope and refuge.  

That Living Statues Day was in 2017, shortly after the first Trump administration passed the Muslim ban, restricting refugees from several prominent Arab countries, including Yemen, Syria, and Sudan. Defending that policy, Stephen Miller, President Trump’s close adviser, diminished the poem’s significance, arguing that it was added decades after the statue’s construction. What Miller missed was the undeniable link between the statue and Lazarus’s words. 

Lazarus’s work has been given fresh relevance given the current military-style federal crackdown on immigrants. As in the late 19th century, America is in the grip of a wave of intolerance against new arrivals. Yet for millions of people around the world, the United States retains its promise of refuge and prosperity.

Emma Lazarus would be as shocked as many of us at the scenes of masked federal agents zip-tying suspected undocumented people and activists, separating family members, and raiding workplaces. Her words call us back to our common values of humanity, decency, and comfort.      

Dressed in my costume, I recited the words of “The New Colossus” that day in 2017. I didn’t quite understand their meaning, but I knew they were important. As a 16-year-old, I’m now reminded every day of their value, and I hope that my country will return to itself and the sentiment expressed by Emma Lazarus: 

“Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome.”