Naama Lazimi
Smol Emuni Conference
March 30, 2025
As someone who’s been involved in the Smol Emuni in Israel since it’s first day, it’s exciting to see this much-needed voice develop outside of Israel as well.
I was asked to share thoughts on a difficult question, one that feels especially urgent in these times. Is there a contradiction between the two core values of our identity, that אדם נברא בצלם, “Human beings were created in the image of God,” which calls us to respect and love every human being, and that we are ,עם סגולה, “a chosen people,” which seems to set us apart from others? Can we truly hold both together, or are they in conflict?
This is not a theoretical debate. It plays out in real life and I encounter it every day--in the Knesset, in protests, and in meetings with Israelis around the country.
Sadly we see in Israel, especially among religious right leadership, growing extremism and racism, as well as a neglect of the weak and the poor. Is this what it means to believe in being a chosen people? To begin answering this question, I want to highlight what should be obvious: Once someone believes he deserves more than others, that his life is worth more than other lives, it becomes impossible to create clean divisions:
Pushing aside the lives of hostages is an important and tragic lesson.
Even them—our own sons and daughters, whose are being tortured and living a literal hell —are being neglected by those responsible for their lives, because they are seen as second place to other causes that we “deserve’” Is this type of chosenness the way of Judaism?
Is this what moral Zionism looks like?
The answer needs to be NO.
Some argue that we must choose:
Either we believe that all people are created in the image of God, or we believe in the chosenness of the Jewish people.
I believe that there doesn’t need to be a contradiction, but rather we should focus on the meaning of chosenness.
Our role as a Chosen People is to show that recognizing the divine image in every person is the foundation of our moral tradition.
I am a social democrat and a traditional Jew.
Both Judaism and socialism teach us again and again: Responsibility for our society. Care for the weak. Protect the stranger, the orphan, and the widow.
Do not hate your brother in your heart.
And not just your brother—the Torah commands us to not hate the Egyptian, or the Edomite. We are warned against abusing power, hoarding wealth, and forgetting those in need.
This is the role of the people of God.
One of the highest values in our tradition is redeeming captives.
The Rambam said no mitzvah is greater: אין מצווה גדולה כפדיון שבוים.
The Beit Yosef ruled that delaying their release is like taking their lives.
Rabbi Ovadia Yosef taught that we must free captives at all costs—even when it carries risks for the future.
This is the true path of Judaism.
This is the responsibility of a Chosen People, the responsibility of עם סגולה.
And our responsibility should not only be just towards Jews but extend to all lives.
Arab citizens in Israel are part of Israel society.
Yet today they suffer from rampant organized crime, neglected for years and now worsening under our current government.
It is our duty to see them, care for them, and fight for their safety, education, and healthcare.
This is the Judaism I was raised on.
This is the Zionism I believe in.
Our care should also extend to those beyond our citizenship.
When it comes to the violent and ongoing conflict that we have been living with for far too many years, I know that the most Zionist and patriotic thing—and also the most moral—is to recognize that there are two peoples in this land, neither of whom is going anywhere.
We must find a solution for all of us to live safely, freely, and equally.
Peace is not just true security—it is also the most moral, and the most Jewish, choice.
Our true strength is not measured only by our military power or technology but by our values – the way we see peace justice and equality, is what makes us stronger as a people.
Soon, we will celebrate Passover—the holiday of freedom.
This year, that freedom will be hard to celebrate, as our brothers and sisters remain in captivity.
But Passover is not just about Jewish freedom—it is about what we do with that freedom.
It reminds us to love the stranger, because we were strangers in Egypt.
Our history calls us to be kind, to stand up for and protect those in need—Jewish or not, near or far.
This is what it means to be a Chosen People: to lead with goodness and justice, bringing hope to out communities and to our neighbors.
We need to embrace this mission.
Hope will prevail. התקווה תנצח
