“Why is no one calling?”

“Where are all of the public calls for prayer for our ‘brothers and sisters’ in Israel?”

“Why does no one seem to care?”

The list of questions goes on for myself and everyone else I know who is accustomed to instant, undying support from our friends, family, and community in the Diaspora. Terror attacks, missions, wars – no matter the circumstance – we felt the embrace. In the age of instant communication, expressions of empathy, regardless of the situation, have become louder and more consistent than we had ever experienced before.

Two weeks into Operation Sha’agat HaAri, I found myself waiting by my phone for a message that still hadn’t arrived. Still waiting for an influencer of any kind to post a piece of content telling their followers to take action on behalf of the Jews in Israel. Still waiting for a song to be released by the world of inspiring Jewish singers about what is happening. Still waiting for the expected script to play out, where we find a moment of comfort in the safe embrace of the Diaspora.

Still waiting for the expected script to play out, where we find a moment of comfort in the safe embrace of the Diaspora.

Still waiting for the expected script to play out, where we find a moment of comfort in the safe embrace of the Diaspora.

After my initial frustration – feeling abandoned and simply let down by what seemed to be a total lack of caring – it dawned on me that the issue might not be “there.” As the Baal Shem Tov famously points out, when you point your finger at someone else, there are four fingers pointing back at you. What was I missing? Why was the total void of outreach from our Diaspora “family” creating such an emotional strain?

Throughout the illustrious history of the modern State of Israel, and even reaching back to the pre-state Yishuv, Jews living in Israel have often been cast as the victim. The constant pleas to send money and resources to support the poor, to build forests, to pray for the plight of the people. In times of war and in times of peace, victimhood has so often defined our relationship vis-à-vis the global Jewish community.

In times of war and in times of peace, victimhood has so often defined our relationship vis-à-vis the global Jewish community.

In times of war and in times of peace, victimhood has so often defined our relationship vis-à-vis the global Jewish community.

To be clear, this has been similar to the way our government has viewed itself in the eyes of the global community as well. From peace deals to Israel advocacy, the national platform has consistently been that of the victim – or, in the best-case scenario, the little brother who is worth protecting because we will do the dirty work in the difficult Middle East that no one else is willing to do.

This national personality of victimhood was highlighted most poignantly when, following the atrocities of October 7, Israeli advocacy efforts focused on turning horrific scenes of pogrom into bureaucracy. Parading around the world, to all who would listen, the images and videos of atrocities no eyes should see, shouting the message: “WE ARE THE VICTIM.”

Our miraculous and thriving country has been built on the backs of heroes. Illustrious diplomats, pioneers who arrived in a land to build farms when no one said they could, and immigrants who came with nothing but a smile on their faces. The stories of the unfathomable courage of soldiers who have lived and died for the sake of their fellow Jews have become part of the national lexicon. At every corner you turn, the names of strong, brave, and noteworthy individuals are emblazoned on street signs across the country.

The story of the miraculous, heavenly orchestrated return of the Jewish people to Israel after 2,000 years of exile is built on the backs of millions of individuals who will go nameless in the history books. Their decisions to stand strong and live their lives every day with unshaken faith – in the face of financial, emotional, and existential adversity – are the blank pages upon which the history books will ultimately be written.

So I ask myself again:

“Why is no one calling?” 

“Why is there silence?”

And then it dawned on me –  the Jewish people of Israel are no longer the victim.

The Jewish people of Israel – the proud and strong individuals who heeded the call to our national destiny – are no longer the victim.

A global military power. A global innovator in technology and health. A global leader in social welfare initiatives and charity. A global beacon of light for justice and peace. The Jewish people of Israel have become the hero in the story of the Jewish future.

The Jewish people of Israel have become the hero in the story of the Jewish future.

The Jewish people of Israel have become the hero in the story of the Jewish future.

The metamorphosis from victim to hero is a transformation decades in the making. Since hitting historical lows of subjugation to international pressure – and the ensuing tragic decisions such as the Oslo Accords and the disengagement from Gush Katif – the demand for a different trajectory has been growing. The silent outcry for our government and our citizens to shed the persona of an exiled slave mentality has finally become audible. The glimpses of independent strength and a thriving national identity that we have seen throughout decades of small and large victories – military, economic, and otherwise – needed to become the standard.

So I ask myself again: “Why is no one calling?”

“Why is there silence?”

The answer is apparent.

We are experiencing a national identity shift – one that will hopefully be another step forward toward the fully realized redemption of the Jewish people into the light-bearers of all that is good in this world.

So perhaps the silence is not abandonment. Perhaps it is recognition. Recognition that the Jewish people in Israel are no longer the fragile outpost of a wandering nation, waiting for rescue or reassurance from afar. We have become something else entirely. A nation that stands on its own feet. A people who carry the burden and privilege of shaping our destiny with our own hands. And maybe the question was never really “Why is no one calling?” 

Maybe the moment has simply arrived when the Jewish people in Israel no longer need to wait for the phone to ring.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)