Overwhelming exhaustion. It’s a feeling many of us have experienced since October 7th, 2023. The vitriol directed at Israel and the Jewish people feels unrelenting and irrational. Why are we singled out for so much hate?
The usual answer is historical. There have always been antisemites. While we enjoyed a respite from open Jew-hatred since World War II, history has now returned to its "normal" course. As we recite on Passover night, "In every generation, they rise to destroy us.” The disproportionate attacks on Israel are just another modern manifestation of this ancient hatred.
But something deeper is going on—and two closely related commandments in this week's Torah portion Emor help us understand what it is:
"Do not desecrate My holy name. I must be sanctified among the Israelites. I am the Lord, who made you holy and who brought you out of Egypt to be your God. I am the Lord." (Leviticus 22:32)
The first is the prohibition against desecrating God's name—known in Hebrew as chillul Hashem. The second is its positive counterpart, the command to sanctify God's name—kiddush Hashem. God commands us to act in a way that brings honor to His name and to refrain from acting in a way that brings it into disrepute.
This raises some obvious questions. What do these abstract commandments mean in practice? Why does God care about His "name"? Isn't He bigger than that? And why do the Jewish people bear responsibility for His reputation if God can look after Himself?
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks answers these questions in his essay, "On Not Being Afraid of Greatness." While God cares for all of humanity, Rabbi Sacks explains, He has tasked the Jewish people with a unique mission: to be His ambassadors—or, in the words of the prophet Isaiah, His "witnesses" (Isaiah 43:10). Our actions impact God's reputation in the world. The same visibility that makes us so vulnerable also gives our actions their religious significance.
To understand why, we can briefly recall the Torah’s early narrative. God commands Adam and Eve not to eat from the Tree of Knowledge, yet they do. He sends Cain into exile after he murders Abel, and destroys the world with a flood because of its corruption.
As a result of these transgressions, God tries again. He narrows His focus, forming a people who will live as witnesses to His moral vision. That is the role assigned to the Jewish people. That is what it means to sanctify or desecrate God’s name.
As Rabbi Sacks points out, when a Jew—especially a visibly religious one—acts unethically in business, or is guilty of abuse, or speaks with contempt for others, it reflects poorly on all Jews and on Judaism itself. And conversely, when a Jew develops a reputation for integrity, for generosity of spirit, for caring for the vulnerable, it doesn't just reflect well on us. It increases the respect people have for religion in general and, through that, for God.
This same logic applies to Israel. The Torah's intense focus on the Promised Land is not incidental. The Land of Israel is where the Jewish people are called to build a model society—one that exemplifies justice, compassion, and moral seriousness in the fullest way. Expecting Israel to be viewed "just like any other country" misunderstands its divine purpose. Israel is not only a refuge for the Jewish people—as critically important as that is—but a place where the Torah's vision of a just society can be put into practice on a national scale.
So yes, antisemitism and anti-Zionism are ancient evils that must be combatted by Jews and non-Jews alike. And I want to be very clear: none of this means that Jews are to blame for antisemitism. Hatred of Jews is a moral failing on the part of the hater, full stop. Our divine mission does mean that we will never be "out of the news."
But there is also comfort in recognizing that our role as God's ambassadors will always provoke those who wish to deny God's presence in the world. We have never given up, and we never will.
The exhaustion is real—the weariness of being singled out, beyond all proportion. But Parshat Emor reframes that feeling. The weight we carry is not a historical accident but part of a mission. The question is not “why us?” but “what will we do with it?” Will our lives be a kiddush Hashem or, God forbid, the opposite? That choice is still ours—and we make it every day.
Rabbi Dr. Jeremy Bruce is Director of Programming at The Rabbi Sacks Legacy, where he oversees many of the key projects that have been developed since the Legacy was established, including the Sacks Scholars international programme, and the Torah v'Chochmah programme in North America. This role follows a successful period for Rabbi Bruce as Head of School of the Hebrew High School of New England and Principal of the Fuchs Mizrachi Stark High School in Cleveland, Ohio.
Rabbi Bruce received his semicha from Yeshivat Hamivtar, Efrat. He holds a BA in International History and Politics from the University of Leeds, a Masters in Educational Management from King’s College London, and a doctorate in Educational Leadership. Born and raised in London, he has worked for over 20 years in the educational field in the UK and the US, and was also an adjunct lecturer at the London School of Jewish Studies (LSJS), where he regularly taught Bible and Jewish philosophy.
This essay was written as part of our collaboration with The Rabbi Sacks Legacy Sacks Scholars.
