This week we learned the gut-wrenching fate of the beautiful Bibas children—Ariel and Kfir. They were grabbed from their home in Kibbutz Nir Oz and brutally murdered—not because of anything they did or said, but simply because they were Jewish.
Not like them.
Hamas paraded their bodies through jeering, cheering crowds. Who cheers the murder of a child or the death of a baby? Israel cried, while Hamas jeered. Two peoples, living side by side, yet not like each other.
The phrase “not like us” has been used for centuries to justify hatred and inflict pain. But it doesn’t have to be that way—indeed, it should never be.
This Shabbat, as we welcome the new month of Adar—the month of Purim—we recall a chilling passage in the Megillah. Haman, the villain, tells King Achashverosh:
“There is a certain people, scattered among the nations… and their laws are different from every other nation.”
In other words, they’re not like us. And because of that, he wanted them gone.
But here’s the thing—we weren’t like them. Though scattered, the Jews remained one nation with one G‑d and one Torah. We didn’t respond by trying to change who we are. Instead, we fasted, prayed, and stood together. With G‑d’s miracles, the day meant for our downfall transformed into our greatest celebration.
Venahafoch Hu—everything flipped. Sadness became joy, fear turned into strength, and dispersion transformed into unity. That’s the power of Purim. That’s the power of Not Like Us.
Your unique identity is a reason to celebrate—a call to embrace the opportunities G‑d gives and to share His blessings with the world. In Adar, we dance, laugh, exchange gifts, and lean into what makes us distinct. Being different isn’t a weakness—it’s a strength.
Throughout history, many have tried to erase our differences. Yet, despite tragedies and threats—including the Holocaust—we endure. Not Like Us doesn’t mean less; it means unique, special, and proud. I am not like you. You are not like me. We are not like them. And that’s exactly how G‑d designed it—not to create division, but to forge connection; not to weaken the world, but to strengthen it; not so we could fight, but so we could help one another.
The Bibas family was taken simply because they were Jewish—because they were not like them. Shiri and Yarden chose their children's names with great care; Kfir and Ariel mean "lions" in Hebrew. Now, we need to roar for them—living bolder and prouder as Jews.
Your Invitation
Purim isn’t just a holiday—it’s a mindset. It’s a chance to transform darkness into light, to stand together, and to bring joy into the world. So here’s the invitation: do a mitzvah right now:
- Give tzedakah.
- Help someone in need.
- Put on tefillin.
- Light Shabbat candles.
- Share Mishloach Manot.
- Join a Megillah reading.
- Come to a Purim celebration.
Every mitzvah adds light; every act of goodness brings us closer to the world we envision. When things seem dark, the best we can do is shine even brighter.
As we prepare to celebrate Purim, may G‑d wipe away all tears, cure the world of cruelty, and erase sadness forever. May we soon experience the ultimate Venahafoch Hu—when pain turns to joy, exile to redemption, and darkness to eternal light.
May your mitzvot bring some comfort to the Bibas and Lifshitz families and hasten the arrival of Moshiach! Visit: onemitzvah.org/BIBAS to record your special Mitzvah in their honor.
