The proud naming of Israel’s campaign against Iran was remarkably prescient. Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, presumably, intended it primarily as a reference to rising up from the calamity of Oct. 7, 2023.
But on a grander scale, it also marks the transition of the Jewish people into new, uncharted territory. The name Am Ke-Lavi (“Rising Lion”) is drawn from the biblical blessing bestowed by Bilaam upon the Jewish people: “Behold, a people rises like a lioness and raises itself like a lion; it shall not lie down until it devours the prey and drinks the blood of the slain.” (Bamidbar/Numbers 23:24)
But what does the verse mean? In what sense do we, as a people, “rise like a lion”? Rashi, following the Midrash, explains: “When they rise from their sleep in the morning, they strengthen themselves like lions to seize mitzvot (commandments)—to don the tallit, to recite the Shema and to lay tefillin.”
According to this reading, the might of the lion is a metaphor for spiritual vigor in serving God. However, Rashi also cites the Targum. Like nearly all traditional commentaries, Targum Onkelos offers a more literal interpretation: The Jewish people rise like a lion to do battle—to conquer the Promised Land and overcome their enemies. As the end of the verse makes clear, the lion’s power refers to military prowess.
These two interpretations reflect the extraordinary transformation the Jewish people are living through today: A shift from an era of private, inner devotion to one of national, public action rooted in the same eternal values.
Throughout the centuries of exile, it was only natural to interpret the lion’s rising in Rashi’s spiritual terms. Bereft of sovereignty and the ability to wage our own wars—and at times conscripted to fight in the wars of others—the Jewish tradition reimagined warfare in both psychological and moral terms: the war of the yetzer, the internal struggle against the evil inclination.
Thus, the classical idea of heroism was transformed into a spiritual virtue. “Who is mighty? He who conquers his inclination.” (Pirkei Avot/Ethics of Our Fathers 4:1)
Rather than external conquest, our sages emphasized the quiet battles of the soul. The author of Chovot HaLevavot (“Duties of the Hearts”) recounts: “They said of a pious man who encountered soldiers returning from battle, carrying spoils after a fierce war: He said to them, ‘You have returned from the minor war—prepare yourselves now for the great war.’ They asked him: ‘And what is the great war?’ He replied: ‘The war against the yetzer and its armies.'”
Yet we live today in a new Jewish era, one that restores to us the power and responsibility to fight not only internal battles, but external ones as well. For the first time in two thousand years, we are able to fulfill this verse in its full sense: Rising like a lion to confront our enemies.
Moreover, unlike previous wars in Israel’s modern history, which were often understood in regional or defensive terms, today’s war carries global significance. In a world enfeebled by secularism, radical progressivism and moral relativism, liberal democracies have increasingly lost the ability to distinguish between good and evil, and to fight for the right.
In their stead, Israel is emerging as a moral leader—a role that fits our biblical identity as a “kingdom of priests” (Shemot/Exodus 19:6). Beyond the geopolitical implications of the United States entering the war, I see the potential for a spiritual alliance: a partnership between the Jewish state and an American administration seeking to restore transcendent values to the heart of a great nation.
The secret of our strength lies in uniting both meanings of the “rising lion.” Even as we embrace our new responsibilities on the battlefield, we do not abandon our spiritual core.
It is precisely our inner devotion that preserves the clarity between good and evil—a clarity others have sadly lost—and empowers us to wage not only a physical war, but a moral one: the war of light against darkness.
This national journey toward greater responsibility is not without precedent—or difficulty. The Torah records how an entire generation perished in the wilderness because they were unwilling to make the transition.
They preferred the miraculous comforts of the desert to the earthly demands of sovereignty and settlement. As Moshe rebuked them (Devarim/Numbers 1:32), the people lacked the faith in God that would have given them the courage to fight.
Today, having returned to our land, we are called to go where no Jewish generation has gone in millennia: to fight not only for ourselves but for a world in desperate need of moral direction. We have already begun to rise to that challenge. We need only continue.