May 12, 2026|כ"ה אייר ה' אלפים תשפ"ו The People Who Defy History By Rabbi Jonathan Muskat

No one quite knows how to respond to Britain’s rising antisemitism – a recent lead article in The Atlantic made exactly that point. Just last week there was a brutal attack in Golders Green. In Canada, B’nai Brith recently released a report documenting 6,800 incidents of antisemitism in 2025 – a 150% increase since October 7^th –  including a shooting outside the very shul I grew up in in Thornhill. And in the United States, a new report this week showed that violent attacks against Jewish Americans have reached a 46-year high in 2025.

Israel is not viewed much more positively. A recent Pew study found that 60% of Americans now view Israel unfavorably. Among Democrats, that number rises to 80%. Even among Republicans, 41% view Israel unfavorably – and among younger Republicans, it climbs above 50%. There is real cause for concern in the rise of antisemitism and anti-Zionism.

At the same time, there is deep uncertainty surrounding the war with Iran. Did we stop our attacks too early? How much damage was truly done? Is northern Israel now truly safe from Hezbollah rocket fire?

Many of us may feel deeply discouraged about the state of the Jewish people and the State of Israel. I understand that feeling. There is so much antisemitism, so much hostility toward Israel, and so much uncertainty about Iran’s nuclear program. And yet – despite all of this – there is also so much to be optimistic about.

And my optimism begins in an unexpected place: the Tochacha at the end of Parshat Bechukotai.

At the end of the Tochacha, the Torah says: v’hitvadu et avonam v’et avon avotam - the Jewish people will confess their sins and the sins of their ancestors.

And then the Torah continues: v’heiveiti otam b’eretz oyveihem… az yikana levavam he’arel – I will bring them into the land of their enemies, and then their stubborn heart will be humbled.

At first glance, this is very difficult. If they have already begun teshuva, why does exile continue? Why does God “bring” them into the land of their enemies? Shouldn’t redemption follow immediately?

The Ramban explains that this is not punishment alone, but a process. He understands these pesukim as referring to the period of Bayit Sheni. The Jewish people had returned physically to their land, but they were not fully free. Foreign empires still ruled over them. Enemies surrounded them. They were in Eretz Yisrael – but still, in many ways, under the shadow of others.

The Ramban teaches a powerful idea: history is not binary. It is not simply exile or redemption. There can be a middle stage – a reality in which we are back in our land, but still living with pressure, danger, and uncertainty. Not yet fully redeemed, but no longer in galut as before.

That is where we find ourselves today. We are no longer in classical exile, but we are not yet in complete redemption either. We are in transition – moving forward, step by step.

This is why Yom Yerushalayim, which we celebrate this week, is so significant. Yom Ha’atzmaut and Yom Yerushalayim are not only historical celebrations marking incredible modern gifts by God. They mark a new stage in Jewish history. We are not fully redeemed, and we are not in galut. We are in the middle – b’eretz oyveihem –  back in our land, but still facing challenges and uncertainty.

And yet when we step back, the transformation is staggering: Jewish sovereignty, a rebuilt Jerusalem, a flourishing Torah world in Eretz Yisrael, and the ingathering of exiles from across the globe. At the same time, there is still pain, danger, and unfinished work. That is the tension of our moment.

It is easy to become overwhelmed by war, antisemitism, and uncertainty. But from the perspective of Jewish history, this period is extraordinary. We live in a pre-redemptive era – complex, fragile, but full of movement and possibility. And the Ramban reminds us: redemption unfolds slowly, but it is always unfolding.

And many of us ask why. Why is there so much hatred toward the Jewish people and toward Israel? But perhaps the deeper question is different: why is there such a fixation on the Jewish people and on Israel? Why does the world seem so intensely focused on us?

A few weeks ago, the Israel Board of Tourism released a bold, humorous parody video. It takes aim at anti-Israel commentators and social media influencers from Tucker Carlson to Candace Owens and Marjorie Taylor Greene, asking: “Wondering why everyone is so obsessed?”

The ad uses sarcasm to highlight the constant global focus on Israel, flipping criticism into a punchline. It ends with: “Come find out why they’re all obsessed. Visit Israel!”

The campaign turns negativity into marketing, using humor to point out how much attention Israel receives – and inviting people to see the country for themselves.

But that raises a real question: not only why there is antisemitism, but why there is this deeper obsession with Israel and with the Jew.

Alana Newhouse recently argued in Tablet Magazine that Zionism has become a kind of mirror for the modern world – reflecting its deepest anxieties about identity, nationalism, belonging, and meaning.

Israel, in her framing, represents something many modern societies struggle to process: an ancient people who survived centuries of exile and then returned to build a modern, creative, sovereign state rooted in history and memory. And precisely because this project has succeeded, it evokes both admiration and resistance. It forces much of the modern world to question some of its most basic assumptions and ask whether strong identity and historical purpose still have legitimacy today.

Much of the modern world tends toward flattening difference – the idea that all people are essentially the same, and that history, tradition, and particular identity should fade. The Jewish story resists that. It insists on memory, peoplehood, and purpose. In that sense, it stands as a counter-cultural challenge to much of modern universalism.

But perhaps what Newhouse says about Israel is also true about the Jew himself.

The Jewish people have always defied the normal rules of history. Nations in exile typically disappear. They assimilate and fade. But the Jewish people endured — preserving identity, tradition and memory across thousands of years.

And the Torah tells us why.

On the pasuk “v’heiveiti otam b’eretz oyveihem,” Rashi explains: “ani b’atzmi avi’em” – “I Myself will bring them to the land of their enemies.” At first glance, the pasuk sounds like abandonment. But Rashi reads it differently. It is not abandonment at all – it is divine accompaniment.

Rashi explains that God ensures the Jewish people will not simply disappear in exile by sending spiritual leaders to ensure that we return to God. God preserves the covenant. He guides history so that Jewish identity does not dissolve. Even in exile, He remains with us, sustaining continuity against the natural flow of history.

For centuries, thinkers predicted the disappearance of the Jewish people. Enlightenment optimism assumed Judaism would dissolve into universal culture. Communism expected it to vanish. Modern secularization theories assumed religion itself would fade. And yet – the Jewish people remain. And not only remain – they reawaken.

Again and again, Jews who thought Jewish identity no longer mattered find themselves drawn back – sometimes through crisis, sometimes through Israel, sometimes through tragedy, searching, or moments like October 7.

Rashi is teaching something profound: Jewish survival is not merely sociological. It is not accident or history. It is covenantal. God Himself ensures that the Jewish people do not disappear.

And in that sense, what Newhouse describes about Israel is really true about the Jewish people as a whole. The world cannot stop looking at us because we represent something it does not know how to categorize – a people who defy the usual laws of history.

So where does that leave us?

It leaves us not in despair, but in perspective.

We are not in galut as before. We are in a transitional stage of history that is moving, slowly but unmistakably, toward redemption. The world may be anxious about us, obsessed with us, or even hostile toward us – but that very obsession is itself revealing: we are not like other nations, because our story is not like other stories.

And instead of being broken by that attention or overwhelmed by uncertainty – whether from Iran, antisemitism, or global hostility – we can even wear it with a strange kind of pride.

Because the Torah is telling us something radical: even in exile, God is still guiding the story. A people that should have disappeared long ago is still here – still building, still returning, still surviving history itself.

That is not an accident. That is a brit – etched into the fabric of who we are.

And that is why, even in the middle of uncertainty, we can hold our heads up high.