Following the launch of Israel’s Operation Am K’Lavi—a bold preemptive strike against Iranian military and nuclear targets—Jewish communities worldwide found themselves seeking to understand this pivotal moment through the lens of Torah. There are rare moments in history when silence becomes both irresponsible and a missed opportunity—times when failing to address what is unfolding around us risks spiritual disconnection and neglects the responsibility to understand contemporary events through Torah wisdom. The significance and weight of such events demand a spiritual response, one that can be found in Parshat Beha’aloscha and its teaching about the chatzrotzros, the silver trumpets.

The chatzrotzros described in this past week’s parsha offer precisely such a framework, providing insight into how Jews should respond to pivotal moments in history.

The Torah outlines four distinct situations when these trumpets must be sounded:

1. For Communal Assembly
עשה לך שתי חצצרות כסף והיו לך למקרא העדה
“Make for yourself two silver trumpets and they shall be for you to call the congregation” (Bamidbar 10:2)

2. For Mobilizing the Camps to Travel
ולמסע את המחנות
“and for the journeying of the camps” (Bamidbar 10:2)

3. For War and Distress
וכי תבאו מלחמה בארצכם על הצר הצרר אתכם והרעתם בחצצרות ונזכרתם לפני ה’ אלקיכם ונושעתם מאיביכם
“When you go to war in your land against an adversary who oppresses you, you shall sound short blasts on the trumpets, and you shall be remembered before Hashem your Hashem, and you shall be saved from your enemies” (Bamidbar 10:9)

4. For Joy and Celebration
וביום שמחתכם ותקעתם בחצצרות והיו לכם לזכרון לפני אלקיכם
“On your joyous occasions you shall sound the trumpets and they shall be a reminder for you before your Hashem” (Bamidbar 10:10)

These four categories encompass the full spectrum of human experience: daily function, transition, crisis, and celebration. In each situation, the Torah instructs the sounding of chatzrotzros—an alarm that awakens religious awareness and connection.

It seems to me that this consistency reveals the deeper purpose of the trumpets: they are designed to redirect consciousness toward Hashem at every moment of life. Whether gathering for routine communal business, embarking on a journey, facing mortal danger, or celebrating joyous occasions, the chatzotzrot serve as a spiritual reset button—a divine interruption that pulls humanity back from the autopilot of daily existence.

In times of war and distress, this divine redirection becomes especially crucial. The Rambam explains that the purpose of sounding the alarm during crisis is fundamentally about maintaining connection to Hashem:

דבר זה מדרכי התשובה הוא בזמן שתבא צרה ויזעקו עליה ויריעו ידעו הכל שבגלל מעשיהם הרעים הורע להן אבל אם לא יזעקו ולא יריעו אלא יאמרו דבר זה ממנהג העולם הרי זו דרך אכזריות
“This is part of the ways of repentance. When trouble comes and they cry out over it and sound the alarm, everyone will know that because of their evil deeds, evil has come upon them. But if they do not cry out and do not sound the alarm but instead say ‘this is just the way of the world’ this is a path of cruelty” (Hilchos Ta’anis 1:1-3)

The Rambam warns that treating crisis as mere coincidence—attributing events to random chance or natural causation alone—is derech achzariyus, a form of cruelty. The cruelty lies not just in ignoring suffering, but in allowing drift into a godless worldview where events have no spiritual meaning.

When failing to sound the trumpets in times of crisis, there is risk of losing sight of divine providence entirely. This leads to seeing oneself as an autonomous actor in a random universe rather than a participant in a divinely orchestrated story. The chatzrotzros in times of distress serve as a lifeline back to spiritual awareness—a reminder that even the darkest moments are opportunities to recognize Hashem’s presence and relationship with the Divine.

This teaching challenges the common misconception reflected in the phrase “All we can do is pray,” as if prayer were a last resort after all practical options are exhausted. Such thinking reveals how divine connection has been unconsciously relegated to the margins of life.

Prayer is not a fallback—it’s recognition that Hashem is present in every moment, crisis and calm alike. It represents the primary relationship with reality itself. Prayer doesn’t compete with practical action; it transforms understanding of what practical action means.

The Jewish response to uncertainty, fear, and hope is through teshuvah, tefillah, u’tzedakah (repentance, prayer, and charity). This is the modern sounding of the chatzrotzros—the contemporary way of redirecting consciousness toward the Divine presence that underlies all circumstances.

Just as the ancient trumpets called ancestors to awareness in every situation, these spiritual practices serve as wake-up calls, ensuring that no experience—whether mundane or dramatic—passes without the opportunity to recognize Hashem’s hand in human affairs.

Though silver trumpets are no longer physically blown, their spiritual pattern of divine redirection continues in every category of human experience. The chatzotzrot are sounded not only during national crises but in personal battles too—job loss, illness, family struggles. Life transitions, personal challenges, communal celebrations—all are moments that demand looking upward and recognizing that these experiences are not navigated alone.

The genius of the chatzrotzros system is that it trains recognition of Hashem in the ordinary as much as the extraordinary. A community meeting is not just bureaucracy—it’s an opportunity to recognize divine guidance in collective decision-making. A journey is not just logistics—it’s a chance to acknowledge that steps are directed by providence. A celebration is not just personal achievement—it’s recognition that joys flow from divine blessing.

This constant redirection toward Hashem prevents what might be called “spiritual compartmentalization”—the modern tendency to reserve religious consciousness for synagogue while treating the rest of life as secular. The trumpets insist that there is no secular realm, only varying degrees of awareness of Hashem’s presence.

A Vision of Unfolding Redemption

Although Tishrei is still months away, it seems like the right time to call attention to the prayers of Malchuyot, which speak to this moment with startling relevance:

ובכן תן פחדך ה’ אלהינו על כל מעשיך ואימתך על כל מה שבראת וייראוך כל המעשים
“Therefore, place Your awe, Hashem our Hashem, upon all Your works and Your dread upon all that You have created, so that all works will revere You”

ובכן תן כבוד ה’ לעמך תהלה ליראיך ותקוה טובה לדורשיך ופתחון פה למיחלים לך
“Therefore, grant honor, Hashem, to Your people, praise to those who revere You, good hope to those who seek You, and confident speech to those who await You”

ועולתה תקפץ פיה וכל הרשעה כלה כעשן תכלה כי תעביר ממשלת זדון מן הארץ
“Iniquity will shut its mouth, and all wickedness will vanish like smoke, when You remove the dominion of evil from the earth”

וידע כל פעול כי אתה פעלתו ויבין כל יצור כי אתה יצרתו ויאמר כל אשר נשמה באפו ה’ אלוקי ישראל מלך ומלכותו בכל משלה
“Every creature will know that You created it, every formed being will understand that You formed it, and everything with breath in its nostrils will say: Hashem, Hashem of Israel, is King, and His sovereignty rules over all”

These are not distant aspirations but descriptions of a process already underway. What unfolds before our eyes appears to be precisely this divine transformation in action.

The current moment reflects the gradual fulfillment of the vision articulated in our most sacred prayers. Evil regimes that seemed unshakeable find their foundations crumbling as ומעביר ממשלות זדון מן הארץ – “and removes evil kingdoms from the earth” – manifests before our eyes. Authoritarian powers that once operated with impunity in shadows are being exposed and confronted by forces they cannot comprehend or control.

Simultaneously, the world is beginning to recognize what it long refused to see: the significance of the Jewish people and the Jewish state. Where once Israel stood isolated and misunderstood, increasingly there is acknowledgment of its role as a force for justice and moral clarity in a chaotic world. This recognition comes not through Jewish self-promotion but through the inexorable workings of truth itself.

The Jewish people’s capacity for self-defense continues to strengthen, both militarily and morally. Where once Jews were passive victims of history, they now serve as active agents of divine transformation—not through domination, but through the modeling of righteousness in the face of evil. This evolution represents more than mere political or military success; it suggests the fulfillment of the ancient promise that righteousness will ultimately prevail.

Marching Toward Redemption

This is not passive waiting for some distant messianic age. This is active participation in redemption’s unfolding. Each moment of moral clarity, each act of justified defense, each choice to respond to crisis through spiritual awareness rather than purely secular calculation contributes to the steady march toward the perfection of the world under divine sovereignty.

The strength Israel demonstrates is not merely military but moral—the strength to act with precision and purpose while maintaining ethical boundaries that distinguish it from its enemies. This distinction becomes increasingly apparent to a watching world, as the contrast between forces of construction and destruction grows ever sharper.

The trumpets continue to sound, calling attention to this unfolding transformation. They remind us that current events are not random occurrences but chapters in the larger narrative of cosmic redemption. Each day brings new evidence of evil’s exposure and righteousness’s ascendancy. Each act of Jewish strength and moral clarity serves not merely Jewish interests but the interests of a world that desperately needs examples of how divine will can be actualized through human agency.

We witness the gradual materialization of the Aleinu vision: וכל בני בשר יקראו בשמך “and all flesh shall call upon Your name.” Not through coercion but through recognition. Not through conquest but through the irresistible power of truth revealing itself in history.

I do not presume to be able to interpret these events through any semblance of a prophetic lens, but still we must pay attention as these events unfold. In our prayers, we speak of צמיחת קרן—the sprouting of the horn—a metaphor used by Chazal to describe the gradual emergence of the מלך המשיח and the unfolding of the Messianic age. It is a process similar to that of the growth of a tree: imperceptible in real time, yet clearly observable in hindsight.

The Jewish people’s evolution from powerless victims to confident defenders represents more than a political transformation—it embodies the theological truth that evil cannot ultimately triumph over good, that falsehood cannot permanently obscure truth, that those who align themselves with divine purpose will find strength beyond their own.

This moment calls for recognition that we stand not at the beginning of some distant redemptive process, but well along the path of its fulfillment. The work of perfecting the world continues, but the trajectory is clear, the momentum building, the vision crystallizing into reality before our eyes.

The Continuing Call

The message of the chatzrotzros—those silver trumpets that summoned the people to attention in war and peace, sorrow and joy—remains eternally relevant. They called not only to action but to awareness.

That call hasn’t been silenced; it sounds differently now. Today it may come through prayer, renewed commitments, conversations with children, or quiet resolve to hold steady in the face of uncertainty.

The work of awakening the world is not finished. But perhaps it has already begun in ways more profound than can yet be fully comprehended. Each generation contributes its part to the larger project of revealing divine truth through human history.

May there be careful listening. May there be faithful response. And may this generation be privileged to participate in a story that continues to unfold with dignity, purpose, and ultimate redemption.

May we merit to witness speedily the גאולה שלמה ואמיתית, the complete and true redemption, when all the world will recognize the sovereignty of the Almighty, and the ancient promise will be fulfilled: ה’ אלוקי ישראל מלך ומלכותו בכל משלה—Hashem, God of Israel, is King, and His sovereignty rules over all.

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This essay is adapted from a derasha given at Congregation Beth Aaron, Parshas Beha’aloscha, 5785.

In the dead of night, as most of the world slept, the State of Israel rose like a lion.

Operation Am KeLavi — “Like a lion does it rise” — is already the largest Israeli military strike ever carried out against Iran. It is bold, unprecedented, and carries the weight of generations on its wings. Over 200 fighter jets launched more than 330 munitions against nuclear facilities, air defense systems, and senior military leaders deep in Iranian territory. The mission, according to Israeli officials, was designed not merely as a show of force, but as a necessary response to an existential threat — Iran’s accelerating nuclear ambitions, vast ballistic arsenal, and coordinated regional war plans through its proxies.

And yet, for those who listen closely, the power of this moment isn’t just in the jets or the missiles. It’s in the name.

Am KeLavi is not a term coined by strategists or speechwriters. It is taken straight from the Torah — from Bilam’s prophecy about the Jewish People: “הן עם כלביא יקום וכארי יתנשא” “Behold, a people that rises like a lion, that lifts itself up like a king of beasts” (Bamidbar 23:24).

The Gemara in Berachos (12b) teaches that Chazal originally considered incorporating the entire Parshas Balak into Krias Shema — specifically because of the words: “הן עם כלביא יקום וכארי יתנשא”. That single pasuk so deeply captured the essence of the Jewish people — a nation that rises with purpose and strength — that it nearly earned the entire parshah a place in the most central section of Jewish prayer. Ultimately, it was left out, not because it was unworthy, but because of tircha detzibbura — concern for burdening the congregation with additional length..

Still, the fact that this pasuk was even considered for such an exalted place in our tefillah is no small thing. It suggests that to rise like a lion — spiritually, morally, even physically — is central to our identity and part of our destiny.

Rav Soloveitchik z”l, in his 1956 landmark address Kol Dodi Dofek, reflected on the founding of the State of Israel as a moment of Divine opportunity — a knock from above that demands a response from below. In what he calls the second knock, he describes the miraculous survival and military success of the fledgling Jewish state:

“The tiny defense forces of Israel defeated the mighty Arab armies. The miracle of ‘the many delivered into the hands of the few’ materialized before our eyes.”

And in the fifth knock, Rav Soloveitchik speaks more directly to the meaning of Jewish sovereignty and military capability:

“Divine Providence has amazed our enemies with the astounding discovery that Jewish blood is not cheap! If the anti‑Semites describe this phenomenon as being ‘an eye for an eye,’ we will agree with them.”

These words echo loudly in our own time. The very name Am KeLavi announces to the world that Jewish dignity is defended. That the resolve of our nation is real. That our people will never again stand silently in the face of those who seek our annihilation.

Operation Am KeLavi is not just military. It is moral. It is the fulfillment of our nation’s duty to protect life, to stand guard against those who scheme destruction. It is also, in a way, a form of tefillah — not a whispered petition, but a thunderous declaration that Jewish destiny will not be undone.

We are taught to approach each day with the heart of a lion — להתעורר כארי לעבודת הבורא — to awaken like a lion to serve our Creator. And while that often means spiritual resolve, it sometimes means the unflinching readiness to act with ferocity when life itself is at stake.

Let us not be naïve. The coming days may be difficult. Drones are still flying. Sirens are still sounding. Families are stocking up on food and sheltering in place. But now is not a time for fear.

Now is a time for resolve.

As missiles fall, emunah must rise. As the world debates, we must anchor ourselves in clarity. And as our soldiers fly into enemy skies, we must lift our voices in tefillah — not as bystanders, but as a nation that rises, heart and soul, like a lion.

If ever there was a time to daven — truly daven — that time is now.

Rashi, commenting on “עם כלביא יקום”, teaches that Bnei Yisrael rise in the morning like lions — not to fight, but to seize mitzvos: to wrap themselves in a tallis, to recite Shema, and to wear tefillin. That’s how we rise. That’s how we push back. That’s how we bring strength into the world — through kavannah, consistency, and connection.

The battlefield may be thousands of miles away, but the front lines run through every shul, every home, every heart that clings to the truth that our tefillos matter.

Let us rise early. Let us rise with intention.
Let us rise keLavi — with urgency, with dignity, and with unwavering faith.
Like a lion.

Over the past year or two, there’s been growing and justified concern about the troubling rise of antisemitism around the world. Much of the attention has focused on global dynamics that have little to do with what we’ve done and everything to do with who we are. That reality is painful, frightening, and deeply unjust.

At the same time, we have to acknowledge that, on a personal and human level, our behavior shapes how others perceive us. That doesn’t mean we’re responsible for their judgments — but it does mean we carry a responsibility to act in a way that reflects the values we hold and the people we aspire to be.

What happened to me today, though simple, gave me a moment to reflect. It doesn’t take away from the seriousness of the concerns we carry, but it did offer a different kind of clarity — a quiet reminder that even in small, everyday moments, we have the opportunity to represent something greater than ourselves. And sometimes, those moments can inspire hope — both in us and in others.

This past Friday, I visited someone in a hospital in New York City that offers valet parking. I handed over my car and went about my visit. When I returned home, much to my surprise, I noticed a phone sitting on my passenger seat. It wasn’t mine, and it was locked, so there was no way to identify its owner.

With Shabbos approaching, I brought the phone inside and set it aside. I noticed it again over Yom Tov, but was so distracted by the holiday that I forgot about it until this morning.

When I finally turned it on, I saw numerous missed text messages. Clearly, people were trying to reach the owner. Though I couldn’t access the messages, I noted the phone numbers and sent individual texts from my own phone:
“Hi, you recently texted someone whose phone I found in my car. If you know who it belongs to, please let them know I have it and would be happy to return it.”

Not long after, my phone rang. The voice on the other end was filled with relief and gratitude. He told me he’d figured he left the phone in someone’s car but had no idea whose. I apologized for the delay.

“Honestly,” he said, “I had already given up. Just yesterday I told my father I wasn’t going to keep trying.”

Then he added something unexpected: “I could tell you were Jewish — you have a Jewish accent.” (I’m still not sure what that means, but I let it pass.) When I confirmed that I was, he explained what had convinced him not to give up just yet.

His father had said: “You know, there’s a Jewish holiday going on right now. Maybe that’s why you haven’t heard anything. Aren’t there a lot of Jews who go to that hospital? If a Jew found it, he’ll return it.”

That was it. That simple confidence — that a Jew would do the right thing, even for a stranger — gave him the hope to wait just a little longer.

I’m not sharing this story to highlight any personal virtue. The truth is, returning a lost phone is basic human decency. Anyone reading this would have done the same. I’m sharing it because of what it reveals about the quiet power of kiddush Hashem — sanctifying Hashem’s name through our everyday actions.

It reminded me of the story of Shimon ben Shetach, whose students once bought him a donkey from a non-Jewish merchant. Hidden beneath the saddle, they discovered a valuable pearl. When they told their teacher he could now stop working — that this unexpected find had made him wealthy — his first question was: “Does the original owner know about it?”

When they answered no, he immediately told them to return it.

“I would rather hear people say, ‘Blessed is the God of the Jews,’ than keep all the riches of this world,” he said.

What happened to me wasn’t a test of integrity. It was an easy layup — the phone practically delivered itself into my car. But Shimon ben Shetach reminds us that sometimes doing the right thing requires real effort, or even sacrifice.

And people are always watching. As this phone owner’s father understood, they’re drawing conclusions — not just about us as individuals, but about our community and our values.

We live in a time when antisemitism surges from every direction, when our actions are scrutinized and our motives second-guessed. We should never have to prove our worth, but we can still choose to reflect the values we believe in, and perhaps even soften a world that’s grown cynical.

That father’s quiet trust didn’t come from nowhere. It was built on countless small acts by countless Jews, across generations, who chose to do right even when no one was watching.

The Gemara teaches that kiddush Hashem doesn’t always happen in the dramatic or heroic moments. It happens in the mundane — returning a lost item, keeping your word, dealing honestly, acting with restraint. It happens when we least expect it and when others least expect it from us.

We don’t have to live in fear of judgment or carry the weight of an entire people in every interaction. But we do have the gift of representing something greater than ourselves — of being part of a legacy of ethical responsibility that continues to shape how the world sees us.

The phone is on its way back to its owner. His faith in Jewish integrity has been quietly reinforced. And maybe, just maybe, the world became a little brighter today.

Of course, the world doesn’t always notice, but sometimes it does — and that matters