Moadim Lesimcha: To those who lead when it matters most

There is a line I have found myself returning to this week, as we reflect on the story that has shaped us more than any other.

Let my people go.

Four words that changed the course of history.

Four words spoken not from a position of power, but from a place of responsibility. Words delivered in the court of Pharaoh, to the most powerful man in the world, by someone who knew exactly what it might cost him.

When uttering these words Moshe did not wait for permission, he did not wait for consensus, instead he stepped forward and he spoke.

The story of the Jews is not one of passive survival, it is a story of leadership. Ours is a story of individuals who rise in moments of pressure, of uncertainty, of danger. Moments where the easier path would have been silence, deference, or delay, but that has never been our way. Leadership, in our tradition, is not about title or status, it is about action. It is about recognising that there are moments when truth must be spoken, even when the cost is high, especially when the cost is high.

That is how we endure, not by waiting for others to act, but by stepping forward ourselves. Not by hoping that someone else will speak, but by understanding that sometimes it must be us. That is our model, our inheritance and our obligation.

Pesach reminds us of something else too. That this story is not abstract, not detached from place or time. By 1200 BCE, a people known as Israel are already recorded in the land of Canaan. This is not the story of a foreign arrival into an unknown land, but of a people forming, enduring and remaining rooted in that region since antiquity.

The journey from Egypt, the forty years of wandering in the desert, is not towards something new, but towards something known. A land, a people, a connection that has endured for over three thousand years.

The modern State of Israel is not a colonial expansion, it is the continuation of that story.

Each Friday I try to end the week by saying Shabbat Shalom to those who have made a difference over the past few days, those who have stepped forward when it mattered most, often publicly, often at personal cost. (Ed.note: Due to lack of time before Shabbat, this article is being posted now, during the Intermediate Days of Pesach, Holiday of Freeedom, when one uses the Hebrew greeting Happy holiday, Moadimlesimcha.)

Every week the names change, but the idea remains the same, to recognise those who lead. This week, the thread that connects them is clear. They did not stay silent, they did not step back, they did not wait for cover.

They said the words.

So this week, I want to say Moadim Lesimcha to the following people.

Moadim Lesimcha to Nicole Lampert.

This week, she did something increasingly rare. She reported a story that others would rather leave untouched and she did so clearly, directly and without qualification.

Her reporting on Zack Polanski and the direction of the Green Party was not built on speculation, but on testimony. Members of his own family speaking of fear, of a party they believed was hostile to Jews, of a trajectory that left them deeply concerned not just for politics, but for community and country.

What she wrote was uncomfortable, contentious, but necessary and for that, she was met with a response that tells its own story.

In the space of 48 hours, Polanski fired off 32 tweets directed at her, about her, and about the paper she writes for. His response was not a rebuttal, nor was it a considered response, but a barrage. At one point accusing her of “parasitic behaviour," language that carries a weight and history that should give anyone pause, particularly when directed at a Jewish journalist, particularly when spoken by another Jew!

This is what leadership looks like in 2026. Not disagreement, but attack, not debate, but denunciation.

It would have been easier for Nicole to step back, to soften the framing, to avoid the story altogether, but she didn’t. She did what Moshe did in Pharaoh’s court. She brought uncomfortable truth into a room that would rather not hear it, knowing full well the reaction it would provoke.

When that reaction came, she did not retract, did not retreat, did not disappear.

Moadim Leshimcha to Nicole Lampert, and to those who are willing to report what is difficult, withstand what follows and ensure that truth is not dictated by how loudly it is shouted down.

Moadim lesimcha to Modi.

There are moments when leadership is not about what you say, but about what you refuse to legitimise. This week, on learning that Zohran Mamdani would be attending Michael Dorf’s annual “Downtown Seder" in New York, comedian, Modi Rosenfeld made a decision.

He stepped away, not quietly, not ambiguously, but clearly.

“We were not told Mamdani was participating in this event until today," his team said. “Modi will no longer be participating." No hedging or attempt to manage the optics, just a line, drawn.

Modi’s decision was because he understood something fundamental. That presence can be endorsement, that his participation can be permission, that silence, in moments like this, can be misread as agreement.

The context only sharpened the decision. Criticism had already begun to build. Questions were being asked about what it meant to share that space, to lend legitimacy, to provide what one voice described as a “kosher stamp of approval" at a time when many within the Jewish community are actively challenging Mamdani’s positions, rhetoric and insidious alliances.

It would have been easy to stay, to perform, to separate the moment from the principle, but he didn’t. He chose absence over complicity, clarity over comfort and principle over platform.

He stepped back in order to stand firm.

Moadim lesimcha to Modi, and to those who understand that sometimes the strongest position you can take is the one you refuse to endorse.

Moadim lesimcha to Hillel Neuer.

There are moments when leadership is not just about speaking, but about walking into the room where the narrative is being written and refusing to let it stand unchallenged.

This week was one of those moments.

Antonio Guterres stood before the world and said: “My message to the United States and Israel is that it is high time to end the war…" before going on to insist that “Israel must stop its military operations and strikes in Lebanon… The Gaza model must not be replicated in Lebanon."

A statement that to some and on the surface may sound balanced, measured, perhaps even responsible, but listen more closely and the omission is deafening.

No mention of Iran’s role in the conflict, no mention of Hezbollah whatsoever, no October 7, no acknowledgement of decades of attacks against Israel, the United States and the West.

On Lebanon, a complete inversion of reality. A ceasefire had been in place for months, it’s condition was clear: Hezbollah would disarm. They didn’t, Lebanon's government did nothing, and instead, Hezbollah rejoined the conflict, unprovoked, launching attacks once again on northern Israel, forcing civilians into shelters, displacing communities, reigniting a front that had been quiet.

Yet for the UN and its Secretary General, the responsibility, once again, was placed solely at Israel’s door.

This is how power speaks when it expects not to be challenged and thus how narratives are set.

This is where Hillel Neuer steps in. Like Moshe walking into Pharaoh’s court, he does not ask for permission and he does not soften the message to suit the room. He stands in the very place where distortion is given legitimacy and he says, clearly and publicly, this is not the truth.

Through UN Watch, he restores what has been omitted, names what has been ignored. He refuses to allow carefully constructed half-truths to harden into accepted reality. Because if those words go unanswered, they do not remain statements, they become history.

He walks into that chamber, again and again, and refuses to let silence do the work of distortion.

Moadim Lesimcha to Hillel Neuer, and to those who are willing to walk into the court of power, speak truth without compromise, and ensure that what is written about our world is not built on what was left unsaid.

Moadim Lesimchato the people of Israel.

There are moments when leadership is not chosen, not debated, not assigned, but simply lived. This week, like so many before it, was another of those moments.

As Jews around the world prepare to sit at the Seder table, telling the story of our liberation from Egypt, the people of Israel are once again telling that same story under fire.

Cluster munitions falling on civilian areas, indiscriminate attacks, even organisations like Amnesty International calling them potential war crimes. Once again, it comes at a time that is not incidental, it comes during our holy days. As if history insists on reminding us that the story we tell each year is not confined to the past.

Yet here is what the world so often fails to understand. The people of Israel do not step back, they stand up, they accept their role, not because it is easy, not because it is safe, but because it is necessary.

They are doing the job that others will not. Defending not just the future of Israel, but the stability of a region and the values of a wider world that too often fails to recognise the cost at which that defence is carried out.

Iran is not a distant threat, it is without doubt a present one. A threat to Israel, yes, but also to the West, to liberal society, to the very freedoms that so many take for granted. Israeli civilians live on that front line, they stand between that threat and the rest of us.

This is what leadership looks like. Not in speeches, not in statements, but in lived reality.

-Families gathering around Seder tables in bomb shelters or at home poised to rush to them if the siren wails.

-Children asking the four questions while sirens sound overhead.

-A people retelling the story of Exodus, of leaving oppression behind, while once again under attack.

Moshe stood before Pharaoh and demanded freedom. Today, an entire nation stands in that same tradition, not asking for permission, not waiting for protection, but holding the line themselves.

Moadim Lesimcha to the people of Israel, and to those who do not have the luxury of stepping back, who carry the burden of defence for themselves and for others, and who continue, even now, to choose courage over fear, duty over comfort, and life over everything that seeks to extinguish it.

Every week there are people who lead. Not always in ways that are visible, not always in ways that are universally supported, but always in ways that matter.

This week’s article recognises just a few of those people. A journalist who refused to soften the truth despite sustained attack. A comedian who chose principle over proximity. A relentless advocate who continues to challenge power in the most hostile of arenas. A nation that continues to live, fight and endure on the front line of a conflict that extends far beyond its borders.

Different arenas, the same instinct, to step forward, to speak, to stand firm, to refuse to bow, to cower, or to wait.

So if someone made a difference this week, by stepping forward when it was difficult, by saying what others wouldn’t, by leading when others chose silence, add their name.

Leadership, like memory, does not sustain itself, it survives because people choose it, again and again. When we recognise those who do, when we celebrate them and shine a light on their actions, we make it easier for others to do the same.

If you’ve seen someone make a difference this week, in your community, in your workplace or simply by refusing to step back when it mattered, nominate them. Because there are far more people worthy of a Shabbat Shalom than can fit into a single column.

Moadim Lesimcha, and may we never fail to lead when it matters most.