For decades, the Soviet Union waged a systematic campaign to destroy Jewish life. The practice of Judaism was effectively criminalized. Hebrew schools were closed, synagogues shuttered, and Jewish cultural institutions eliminated. Jews were barred from universities and prestigious jobs, while being prevented from emigrating to Israel. Most cruelly, the regime sought to cut Jews off from their heritage and identity, creating a spiritual prison alongside the physical one.
In this darkness, most Jewish leaders counseled silence and accommodation. Don’t provoke the regime, they warned. Don’t risk making things worse. When Natan Sharansky began openly demanding Jewish rights and the freedom to emigrate to Israel, leaders in both Russia and America recoiled in horror. His actions would bring disaster upon Soviet Jews, they insisted. But Sharansky refused to be silenced. Arrested in 1977 on fabricated charges of espionage, he spent nine years in Soviet prisons, including 400 days in punishment cells, rather than submit. When his KGB interrogators offered freedom in exchange for a simple confession, he answered: “To the people who arrested me, I have nothing to say.”
What drives some to act while others counsel endless caution?
The Book of Ruth presents this dilemma through the contrast between Boaz and a relative known only as Ploni Almoni – “so-and-so.” When Ruth, a Moabite convert, needed a redeemer to marry her and continue her deceased husband’s line, this closer relative refused. His excuse? He worried that marrying a Moabite would “mar his inheritance.” The text records his fearful response:
This man was no villain. He was, by all accounts, a pious Jew worried about following the Torah’s prohibition:
Yet he failed to understand that this verse applied only to male Moabites, not to women like Ruth. His cautiousness in interpreting the law blinded him to God’s purpose and blocked the path of redemption. The text purposefully erases his name, calling him only Ploni Almoni, because he placed his reputation above God’s plan. In contrast, Boaz understood that redemption demands action. He married Ruth, and through their union came King David’s line and the promise of the Messiah.
This pattern repeats throughout Scripture. When Mordecai learned of Haman’s plot to destroy the Jews, he challenged Queen Esther to approach the king unbidden – a capital offense. Esther hesitated, citing the dangers. Mordecai’s response cut to the heart of the matter:
Redemption would come – but would Esther claim her role in it?
The sin of the spies in the wilderness represents the ultimate failure of excessive caution. Ten tribal leaders, sent to scout the Promised Land, returned terrified. “We were like grasshoppers in our own eyes,” they reported, paralyzed by fear despite God’s promises. Only Caleb silenced the people before Moses, declaring “Aloh na’aleh” – “We will surely go up!” (Numbers 13:30). Rashi explains that even if Moses had told them to build ladders to heaven, they should have proceeded, knowing that with God’s word comes the power to achieve.
These biblical accounts teach us that piety must never become an excuse for passivity. When the spies chose fear over faith, they condemned their entire generation to die in the desert. When Ploni Almoni chose reputation over redemption, he lost his place in the biblical narrative. When Jewish leaders chose silence over solidarity with refuseniks like Sharansky, they missed their moment to partner with God in history.
This lesson speaks directly to our generation. Making aliyah (immigration to Israel) requires leaving behind security and comfort. Supporting Israel means facing social and sometimes professional consequences. Standing for biblical truth demands courage in a world that often rejects it. But God does not call us to calculate odds – He calls us to act.
The alternative to action is not safety, but irrelevance. Others will arise to carry God’s purposes forward, but we will forfeit our role in the divine story. The spies’ fear did not prevent Israel from entering the land – it only determined who would enter. Ploni Almoni’s caution did not block the Messiah’s line – it only ensured his name would be forgotten. The silence of Soviet Jewish leaders did not stop the exodus of Russian Jews – it only meant others earned the crown of leadership.
Today, as America enters a pivotal moment under President Trump’s leadership, we face our own test. Will we boldly support Israel and biblical values, or retreat into comfortable silence? Will we seize this historic opportunity to advance God’s redemptive purpose, or let the moment pass? History judges harshly those who hide behind piety to avoid God’s call to action. When He opens a door, hesitation is not humility – it is rebellion. The time for cautious calculation ends when God’s purpose becomes clear. Those who cannot grasp this truth will, like Ploni Almoni, be forgotten by history, while others step forward to claim their role in God’s redemptive plan.
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