When chaos strikes, the truth is revealed: We are all, each and every one of us, anshei chesed

ON Simchas Torah 2023, when our distant and painful history landed on our doorstep, the illusion of control shattered and a wave of emunah swept across the land, as Jews all over began to reconnect with their core identity. And then, Hashem drew me into the saga as well, allowing me to stand alongside survivors and hostage families in their darkest hours, to visit the destroyed communities, to comfort the mourners, and later, to participate in shabbatons and other events. And then came the book — not a rehashing of the news, but a story that will be etched in the gold letters of Jewish history, deepening the bonds that connect us to one another and to our Father in Heaven.

Some of the stories have since had a happy ending. Some have ended in tragedy. And some are still unfolding. It’s my privilege to continue to share them with you.

During Covid, shuls in Tel Aviv made a striking discovery: When prayers are held outdoors, attendance soars. For some people, walking into a shul can feel intimidating, but joining a service in a public square or on the street feels less formal, more inclusive — more “general-Jewish.”

Even after Covid restrictions eased, devoted Jews continued to organize outdoor Yom Kippur services in central Tel Aviv. Yom Kippur 2023 would be the fourth in a row.

But over the previous year, deep divisions had erupted across Israel. The political left blamed the right; the right seethed at the left. Religion and state, chareidim and the military, judicial reform — the whole noxious mix fueled a fever pitch of tension, outrage, and vulgarity.

Hundreds of Jews gathered to daven in Dizengoff Square, hesitant and uncertain. They were met by a throng of aggressive protestors — enlightened Tel-Avivians — who tore down the makeshift mechitzah, scattered chairs, and pulled off people’s talleisim in a shocking display of hatred and hostility.

Even in times of spiritual decline, and even for Jews far from observance, Yom Kippur has always commanded reverence and carried a certain sanctity. But now even that sacred space had unraveled.

“It was more frightening than shocking,” someone who had been there told me. “How could they not fear raising a hand against the Kisei Hakavod? I begged the Ribbono shel Olam not to look at what was happening.”

But Hashem did look.

Perhaps He responded with anger, but also with longing. Perhaps He turned away, but He also reached out.

Just two weeks later, amid the horror and the suffering, there was an awakening unlike anything we’ve ever seen. The cost was staggering, but suddenly the hearts of His children opened — those who hadn’t spoken to their Father in years.