From the moment the Israelites stood at Sinai, the idea of a “chosen people” entered the human vocabulary—but it has long been misunderstood. To be chosen by God does not mean elevation above others, but separation for the sake of others. The Jewish people were chosen to bring God closer to the world and the world closer to God. Their acceptance of the six hundred and thirteen commandments at Mount Sinai revealed a profound truth: chosenness is not a privilege but a burden—a divine mission to carry God’s presence into the world.

This mission is stated clearly in the book of Exodus, where God tells Israel that if they obey His voice and keep His covenant, they will be His “special treasure… above all people” and serve as “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Exodus 19:5–6). The language is covenantal, but also vocational: to be a priestly nation means to serve, to intercede, to teach, to illuminate. Israel was not given fewer rules than other nations—it was given more. Not fewer obligations, but a sacred calling that demanded everything.

Centuries later, the prophet Isaiah expanded this vision. In a time of despair and exile, he insisted that God’s purpose for Israel had not diminished. “It is too small a thing,” says the Lord through Isaiah, “that you should be My servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the preserved of Israel; I will also make you a light to the nations, that My salvation may reach to the ends of the earth” (Isaiah 49:6). Israel’s destiny was never limited to its own restoration. The nation was called to shine outward, reflecting divine justice, compassion, and holiness so that others might come to know the God of creation.

That vision has never been easy. But in our own time, it has become more urgent than ever.

On October 7, 2023, the world watched in horror as Hamas invaded Israel. The brutality of the attack shocked the conscience. The wounds—physical, emotional, national—are still open. And yet, in the midst of terror, something ancient stirred: the reawakening of Israel’s calling.

Israel did not choose this war. It did not provoke it. But as the world’s only Jewish state—and the only liberal democracy in the Middle East—it found itself once again cast into the role that Scripture has long assigned: a servant nation bearing burdens for others.

In defending itself, Israel has also defended the values that form the core of Judeo-Christian civilization: freedom of worship, the sanctity of life, and the right of a people to live peacefully in their ancestral land. These are not abstract ideals; they are lived commitments. And in upholding them—even under fire—Israel becomes, once again, what Isaiah envisioned: a light in a time of moral confusion.

What other nation warns enemy civilians before striking back? What other country, while under rocket fire, sends humanitarian aid into the very territory from which it was attacked? What other people—so small in size, so relentlessly threatened—cling to the belief that it must not only protect its own citizens, but also uphold its sacred duty to serve as a moral beacon?

This is the essence of chosenness. Not to dominate, but to serve. Not to demand loyalty, but to offer light. Not to avoid suffering, but to endure it—with hope and faith that God’s justice will prevail.

But the world does not always see it this way. A toxic mixture of ignorance, historical amnesia, anti-Semitism, and political bias has fostered an environment in which the only Jewish state on earth is maligned for defending itself. Critics—many of whom profess universal values—go silent when Jewish lives are lost. Allies become accusers. Supporters of human rights, when confronted with Jewish suffering, too often look away.

It is a bitter irony: a people called to carry divine light is frequently forced to walk through the valley of the shadow of death alone. Yet even that loneliness was foreseen. Isaiah did not only articulate Israel’s mission—he also foretold its vindication. In Isaiah 42:4, he writes that “the coastlands will wait expectantly for His teaching,” and in Isaiah 60:3, that “nations will come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your rising.” These are not images of domination, but of recognition. In Isaiah 56:7, God declares through the prophet, “My house shall be called a house of prayer for all nations.” The goal is not superiority—it is service. The nations will not merely observe Israel; they will one day come to Jerusalem with reverence.

For those who believe the words of the prophets, the question is not whether Israel will be vindicated, but when. The road is long, and the cost is real. But the calling is eternal. God does not abandon His promises, nor does He forget those He has chosen to carry them forward.

Victory will not come only through military strength. It will come when nations see clearly the light that Israel has carried—often in silence, often in pain, but always in faith.

If you are reading this as a person of faith, then you are already part of this story. Israel was chosen not for its own sake alone, but also for yours. The God of Israel is the God of all creation. And His light—shining through Israel— was meant to reach to the ends of the earth.

The question is not simply whether Israel has remained faithful to its calling. The deeper question is whether the world is ready to recognize it.

One day, as the prophet Isaiah writes, “the nations shall say: Let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob. For out of Zion shall go forth the law, and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem” (Isaiah 2:3).

That day will not begin with political declarations—but with spiritual recognition.

Until that day comes, Israel will continue to walk in its calling: not seeking glory, but bearing light. Not requesting applause, but fulfilling its purpose.

That is what it means to be chosen.