These days of rabid antisemitism raging throughout the world, a candidate for NYC mayor who normalizes ‘globalize the intifada’ and hatred for our people, and the loss of beautiful souls who have given their lives for Eretz Yisrael, demands that we ask ourselves this question: Mi ani? Who am I? Why am I here? What do I do that makes a difference for my nation, my land, and my G-d?
When there is pain all around us it is easy to think, ‘well, what can I do, anyway?’
Moshe encountered Hashem for the very first time when the sneh, the thorn bush, was engulfed in flames. The sneh alluded to the hardship and suffering of Am Yisrael in Mitzrayim. Imagine if Moshe would have just walked on. He would have missed his moment. How many of us would have just kept going, barely noticing the fire burning in front of us? How many faces would be looking down, glued to their screens?
How often do we see suffering before our eyes, but somehow we do not notice what is happening?
The lonely soul. The broken heart. The struggling child. The overcome spouse. They are all the thorn bush on fire.
Moshe himself, when told that he would be having a shlichus to speak to Pharaoh asked “Mi Anochi?” Who am I? Who am I that I should stand before Pharoah and lead the Jewish people out of Egypt?
Moshe stopped in his tracks as he turned to see the burning bush. He moved closer to the flames. This is the sign of leadership. To be able to stop and recognize that there is a fire raging in front of you. Hashem knew that Moshe had this great quality. While he was in the palace of Pharaoh, he could have remained inside, cocooned in luxury and safety. Instead he went out to see the suffering of his people. And when a Jew was being beaten, he refused to stay silent.
“Mi Anochi?” Moshe, your question screams out to us till today. You have taught us the understanding of ‘who am I?’ I am a guardian for my people, a man of faith, and a heart that feels the pain of another Jew. I live with mission, stop at the sight of flaming fire, and know that I must live beyond myself.
As mothers and fathers weep, saying good bye to their precious boys who have died al Kiddush Hashem, we are heartbroken.
I came upon a clip of a most genteel Ema who spoke softly about her son, Ori Yitzchak Chadad.
“Ori hayah b’emet haor shelanu – Ori was truly our light.” She describes her precious boy, only 21 ½, as one who lived a full life, with greatness. I cry as I hear her next words.
“It was as if HaKadosh Baruch Hu said ‘Listen! I wish to bring the geulah but there are some who will have to pay a heavy price.’ I am sure that if he was asked, ‘Ori, takshiv.
Listen. Someone is going to have to go.’ I am sure that Ori would say ‘Ani’.”
Ani. Let it be me.
Ori said ani in his death.
We must say ani in our lives.
We cannot simply keep on walking and going about our regular days when there is a fire raging before our eyes. Am Yisrael needs each and every one of us to look within and make a difference.
We must each ask ourselves – who am I? What am I doing for my people? For my land? What am I doing to help bring the geulah?
It is time for this painful galus to end. Mi Ani?
