14 May CHOSEN, BUT FOR WHAT?

We just finished
celebrating a Yom Tov
during which we said in
davening and Kiddush,
over and over again,
Asher bachar banu
mi’kol am, You have
chosen us from all the
nations. We may have said it, but it sure
doesn’t feel like it.
If you consider the current condition of the
Jews in the world, you can easily fall into
despair. Israel’s ongoing war against Hamas,
the continued captivity of our precious
hostages, and the unrelenting threat of Iran,
are exhausting first and foremost for our
brothers and sisters in Israel, but also, in a
smaller but significant way, for all who care
desperately about our homeland and our
people. The metastasizing antisemitic cancer
rapidly spreading throughout college
campuses, the systemic hate of the Jew even
among professors and administrators of
institutes of “higher” learning, the distortions
and lies of the media, the bias and
discrimination of Jews by members of
Congress, can easily breed a sense of
hopelessness. When “friends” and “allies”
use the right words and issue eloquent
statements but fail to take meaningful action,
you can’t help but wonder, how will this end?
The post-October 7 energy of being part a

united, tenacious people, determined to
defeat our enemies, restore security and fight
for peace for all decent people feels like it is
dissipating and giving way to the cruel reality
of what feels like an endless existential
loneliness and isolation. The adrenaline that
powered our soldiers and their families in
Israel, that energized protests and advocacy
in America, and that inspired contributions
and donations from all over, is draining,
potentially leaving in its place fatigue, fear,
and despondency.
One expects the UN to unfairly condemn
Israel, and it would be upsetting but certainly
not surprising if the International Criminal
Court (ICC) issues an arrest warrant for
Prime Minister Netanyahu, but when
America withholds a weapons shipment to
Israel while the IDF is bearing the burden and
paying the human price of fighting a shared
savage enemy, it leaves Jews and those who
love Israel wondering if we have anyone to
turn to or count on.
If this is what being the chosen people feels
like, maybe we can be less chosen and more
safe and secure.
As we were marking Yom HaShoah, the day
designated to remember the six million
Kedoshim, the martyrs of the Holocaust, and
to honor the survivors on whose shoulders
we stand, the IDF began a long-awaited

invasion of Rafah
to battle our
current enemy and
to rid the world of
the modern
continuation of the
ideology of the
Nazis.
Reflecting on the
confluence of
these two events, I
thought about the
Jewish condition
in the world 80
years ago, what it
is today, and how one may be able to educate
us about the other.
The Klausenberger Rebbe, Rav Yekusial
Yehuda Halberstam (1905-1994), was taken
to Auschwitz, where his wife and 11 children
perished. He survived the war and came to
America, where he remarried, had more
children, and built a grand Chassidic
movement. He moved to Israel where he built
a thriving community in Netanya and
established the Laniado hospital. He was a
truly extraordinary individual and a brand
new Artscroll biography tells his remarkable
life story.
I have seen different versions of the
following story, but the way it is told by Rav
YY Jacobson, in the concentration camp,
the SS guards began taunting and teasing
the Klausenberger Rebbe, pulling his
beard and pushing him around. The vile
soldiers trained their guns on him as the
commander began to speak. “Tell us,
Rabbi,” sneered the officer, “do you
really believe that you are the Chosen
People?”
The soldiers guarding the crowd howled
in laughter. But the Rebbe did not. In a
serene voice, he answered loud and clear,
“Most certainly.” The officer became
enraged. He lifted his rifle above his head
and sent it crashing on the head of the
Rebbe. The Rebbe fell to the ground.
There was a rage in the officer’s voice.
“Do you still think you are the Chosen
People?” he yelled.
Once again, the Rebbe nodded his head
and said, “Yes, we are.” The officer
became infuriated. He kicked the rebbe in
the chin and repeated. “You stupid Jew,
you lie here on the ground, beaten and
humiliated, in a puddle of blood. What
makes you think that you are the Chosen
People?”
With his mouth gushing blood, the
Rebbe replied, “As long as we are not the
ones kicking, beating, and murdering
innocent people, we are the chosen
people.”
Before our precious soldiers entered
Rafah, they did several things that no
other army in the world does. American
leaders and the media told us that it
would take weeks to evacuate the

refugees from Rafah, but within three hours,
over 100,000 refugees from East Rafah were
safely relocated. They said it would take
weeks for the IDF to enter Rafah from the
moment the evacuation began but the IDF, in
a staggered operation, entered Rafah within a
few hours with no civilian casualties.
The IDF did this by not only announcing
they were coming, they not only notified
civilians to relocate, but helped them. The
IDF dropped leaflets, sent text messages, and
made phone calls. A recording of one of
those calls was released and it reflects the
contrast of our peoples:
IDF: We must do everything within our
means to prevent any fatalities.
Gazan: We want to die and our children also
must die.
IDF: No, G-d forbid.
Gazan: We love death the way you love life.
As long as we love life, even while they
celebrate death, we are the chosen people. As
long as we have the most moral and ethical
army in history and are fighting the most
moral war ever, despite opposing vicious,
savage, immoral monsters, we are the chosen
people.
Before the soldiers entered, they gathered to
do what the Torah instructs Jews to do before
going out to battle: they prayed, asking
Hashem for victory and for peace. As long as
while our enemies pray for war, we pray for
peace, we are the chosen people.
We don’t rely on the media, America, the
international community, or the UN to know
or feel that we are the chosen people. It is up
to our rising to the moment, to be proud,
practicing, moral, ethical, Torah Jews, to
demonstrate we are indeed the chosen people.
The Klausenberger Rebbe suffered
devastating loss. He was knocked down, but
far from out. He never lost his faith in
Hashem, his resolve, or his mission. Yes, he
suffered and he grieved, but then he put one
foot in front of the other and he not only
survived, but he thrived. He did it by never
doubting for a moment that he was a member
of the people chosen by Hashem. We grieve
as well now, we have suffered, but as
members of that same people, that same
Father, with that same mission, we too will
thrive, no matter who stands with us, supports
us, or understands us.