I stand here today as an advocate of hermeneutics, deeply immersed in the tradition of interpretation. I believe in the power of perspective — that a single verse or event can be seen through multiple lenses, each offering its own truth. As a child of the Talmudic tradition, I know well how our sages often provide interpretations that not only differ but sometimes starkly contradict each other.
Take the verse about Noah, for example: “Noah was a righteous man in his generation” (Genesis 6:9). The Talmud asks, “Was he only righteous in comparison to the wickedness of his generation, or would he have been righteous even in a generation of just people like Abraham?” In other words, was Noah merely slightly better than the mediocrity surrounding him, or was he truly righteous across all generations?
Or look at the example from this week’s parashah. During the ritual of offering the first fruits, every Israelite was commanded to declare, “Arami Oved Avi.” Rashi translates this as “The Aramean (Laban) sought to destroy my father (Jacob).” Meanwhile, Rashi’s own grandson, the Rashbam, translates it as “My father (Abraham) was a wandering Aramean.” Three Hebrew words, two entirely different interpretations. One framing our story as one of victimhood, constantly under threat from those who seek to annihilate us, while the other speaks of journeys and new beginnings.
Narrative shapes reality. And as Jews, we are master storytellers. We gave the world the Bible, and along with it, countless artists, writers, and directors. But the question I want to ask today is: How are we telling our story right now? Especially when it comes to Israel.
This week, I had a revelation — one of those “Eureka” moments that hits you like lightning. I saw the news of Israel’s “Operation Beeper,” and I was in awe. It felt like something straight out of science fiction, but it was real. Israel had once again surpassed even the wildest imaginations of Hollywood. Infiltrating Hezbollah, selling them rigged beepers and walkie-talkies, and months later, making them explode with precision — 2,800 devices detonated in the hands of Hezbollah terrorists, with minimal collateral damage.
I thought, surely, this is a moment where there can be no other narrative. After all, the world has accused Israel of killing civilians indiscriminately. Here was a surgical strike, affecting only the terrorists. But no. The reaction was swift and familiar. Once again, the narrative was hijacked. Israel was not the hero of this story; it was cast as the villain — a terrorist state, they said, indiscriminately harming innocent people. How could this be? The footage clearly shows it was only Hezbollah operatives, men aged 20-50, affected. Even Hezbollah admitted it was their men who were hit.
Yet still, the narrative was spun. Israel was now compared to the attacks of 9/11. The Secretary-General of the United Nations, Antonio Guterres, tweeted: “I’m deeply alarmed by reports of communication devices exploding across Lebanon and Syria, killing civilians, including children.” How do we live in a world where a democratic state, defending itself with precision, is equated with a terrorist group firing rockets indiscriminately at civilians?
We are living in an age of post-truth. And in this age, facts are no longer enough. We must return to our roots as the people who tell stories. But this time, we must tell our story with strength, with pride, and without apology. We have to stop relying solely on facts and data, thinking that truth will naturally prevail. We must harness our creativity, our narratives, and tell the world our story.
And if they accuse us of being colonialists, we must respond clearly and boldly: Zionism is the very embodiment of anti-imperialism. We are the ones who cast off the British colonialists and pushed back against Arab conquerors. We did not invade a foreign land; we returned to our ancestral homeland, the land of our forefathers. The Jewish people have been indigenous to this land for over 3,000 years. Zionism is the story of liberation — the return of a people to their historic roots, their language, their culture. It’s not the narrative of domination, but of freedom from imperialism. Just as our ancestors threw off the chains of Egypt, we threw off the yoke of British imperialism and Arab occupation, reclaiming what has always been ours.
We can cite example after example of how our story is one of self-determination. Whether it’s building one of the most vibrant democracies in the world in the Middle East, integrating Jews from over 100 countries, or pioneering advances in science, technology, and medicine that benefit the entire globe, Israel is the very antithesis of colonialism. Israel is the story of a people fighting for their right to exist, to thrive, and to contribute to the world.
There is no middle ground here. There is no “both sides” in this conflict. It is our story, or it is theirs. And we must be unapologetic in telling it.
Our tendency as Jews is often to seek balance, to find the gray areas, to see both sides. But there are times when that is not the path. There are times when there is only right and wrong, only blessing and curse, as our Parashat Ki Tavo teaches.
We are at such a time now. We must embrace the clarity that comes when we see the world in black and white. We must believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that there is a battle between good and evil. Our enemies believe they are on the side of righteousness, and they are unwavering in their conviction. Why should we be any less certain of our truth?
We cannot afford to be weak. We cannot afford to show doubt. No matter how many facts we provide, no matter how much evidence we bring forth, for some, it will never be enough. The Beeper operation proved to me that no matter how precise, how careful, how surgical our actions, there will always be those who twist the narrative against us.
We must stop playing defense. We must stop explaining ourselves. We must take control of the narrative. And we must tell it with all the passion, all the pride, and all the creativity we can muster.
This is the time for us to raise our voices like the sound of the Shofar, to make our story go viral. Each of us must become a storyteller for Israel and for the Jewish people. We must tweet, post, write, and speak our truth at every opportunity, in every forum.
It is time to draw a line in the sand. No more shades of gray. There are times for seeing the nuances in life, but this is not one of those times. This is a time to stand firmly in the black-and-white, the right and the wrong, the blessing and the curse.
We are fighting for the very soul of our people. And if we don’t believe in the righteousness of our cause, we are in deep trouble. Our enemies are convinced they are on the side of good — we must be just as certain of their wrongness. There is no room for doubt. There is no room for weakness.
Now is the time to tell our story. Not as victims of history, but as a proud people — proud of our past, our present, and our future.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Uri
