Last week I attended the protests against Mayor Mamdani at Gracie Mansion. I brought my tefillin because when Jews gather, no matter the occasion and regardless of their political leanings, there’s an opportunity for souls to connect and mitzvot to be done.
To get into the demonstration, I had to pass through security. The line was long and chaotic, so I set up shop and started putting on tefillin with anyone who stopped and expressed interest.
Nearby, members of Neturei Karta and other groups were counter-protesting loudly - anti-Israel and pro-Mamdani. Security was tight, emotions were running high, and police were everywhere, making sure things didn’t get out of control.
When it was my turn to pass through security, the guard looked at me carefully, taking in my obviously chassidic look: black hat, jacket, beard, tefillin bag.
He was puzzled, unsure whether or not to let me through.
He pointed toward the Neturei Karta and asked, “Are you with them? Or are you here for the demonstration?”
My mouth hung open and I realized that to him, we all look the same. He doesn’t know the difference between Chabad and Neturei Karta. He doesn’t know that my father and brother both served in the Israeli army. He doesn’t know that I’ve spent much of my life advocating for Israel and that I am the founder of Belev Echad, an organization that exists solely to support wounded IDF soldiers!
To him, I am simply a chassidic Jew in a black hat who could belong on either side of the conflict.
Before I could answer, his boss - who knows me from events we’ve organized for Belev Echad - walked over and said, “Oh, this rabbi is fine. Let him in.”
I proceeded to the demonstration, but the whole interaction stayed on my mind for the rest of the week.
We spend so much energy defining ourselves by what separates us from one another.
This Jew is more observant; that Jew is less so.
This Jew is left-wing; that Jew is right-wing.
This Jew wears a wig; that Jew wears a scarf.
This Jew wears a black hat; that Jew wears a baseball cap.
But the rest of the world doesn't distinguish. Certainly our enemies don’t!
And while that can be a frightening thought, it can also be comforting. It means that a Jew is a Jew is a Jew. The labels are superficial; underneath we have a shared soul, shared destiny, shared purpose. We all stood at Mount Sinai together, every single Jewish soul that has ever or will ever exist, united “like one individual with a single heart.”
It’s so easy to get bogged down by the external minutiae and forget that at our core, we are a single unit. I’m grateful to that security guard who accidentally gave me a vital reminder!
As I walked away from that checkpoint, carrying my tefillin, I thought to myself: Maybe the greatest protest we can stage today is against Jewish division.
We can disagree, debate, argue passionately, and serve G-d differently. But we should never forget that before anything else, we are family, and the best answer we can give when asked, “Which side are you on?” is “I’m on the side of the Jewish people.”