Myself, first of all, I am a Jew. And that is the most important

“Myself, first of all, I am a Jew. And that is the most important thing for me.” Thus spoke Ariel Sharon, soldier, statesman, and son of Israel — a man forged in the fire of struggle and bound by the unbreakable chain of identity. In this declaration lies not pride alone, but devotion, heritage, and duty. It is the voice of one who knows that before the titles of power, before the crowns of victory, there stands a truth far deeper — the truth of belonging. Sharon’s words remind us that to know oneself is to honor one’s roots; to forget them is to lose one’s soul.

Ariel Sharon was born in 1928, in the harsh soil of British-ruled Palestine, where the Jewish people were rebuilding a homeland from the dust of exile. His life was shaped by hardship and by the dream of a people who had wandered for centuries, persecuted yet undestroyed. As a commander, he fought not for conquest, but for survival; as a leader, he carried the weight of generations who had prayed for return to Zion. When he said, “I am a Jew,” it was not a statement of exclusion — it was a cry of continuity, a recognition of the covenant between a people and their destiny.

For the Jewish identity, to Sharon, was not merely a matter of faith, but of spirit and history. It carried within it the memory of Abraham’s promise, the fire of Moses’ law, the suffering of exile, and the triumph of renewal. It was the thread that bound him to his ancestors — shepherds and scholars, martyrs and visionaries. In declaring that his Jewishness was the most important thing, Sharon was not glorifying himself but acknowledging the inheritance of a people who had endured dispersion, slavery, and genocide, yet still stood firm upon the soil of their forefathers. His words were both personal and national — the confession of a man who knew that identity, once rooted in sacrifice, becomes sacred.

To understand Sharon’s heart, one must remember the Six-Day War of 1967, when Israel, surrounded and outnumbered, faced annihilation. Sharon, a commander then, fought with ferocity not born of hatred, but of ancestral memory — of a people who had learned that to survive, they must never forget who they are. That war, and countless others, were not only battles of territory but of identity — the defense of a people’s right to exist as themselves. Thus, when Sharon later became prime minister, his decisions — controversial and often misunderstood — were always guided by that same truth: that before politics or popularity, his allegiance was first and foremost to his people and their continuity.

And yet, Sharon’s statement transcends nationality. It speaks to all who have struggled to hold onto their essence in a world that seeks to dilute it. Every man and woman must know the soil from which they rise — the culture, the memory, the values that shape their being. In an age where identities are traded for convenience, Sharon’s words stand like a pillar: know who you are, and you will know how to live. When one loses that center, life becomes directionless, for it is our roots that give meaning to our reach.

His declaration also carries a moral weight — the call to authenticity. To proclaim one’s identity openly, in a world that often demands conformity, requires courage. Sharon’s life was filled with storms, but his compass never wavered. He taught, by example, that strength comes not from denying what you are, but from embracing it fully — even when it costs you acceptance or peace. The man who knows himself deeply can act with conviction, for his choices are not borrowed, but born of his own truth.

So, O seekers of meaning, learn from this man’s unwavering conviction: be true to your origin. Know your lineage — not merely in blood, but in spirit. Remember the prayers of those who came before you, the sacrifices that shaped your freedoms. Whether your heritage is of one faith or many, hold it not as a weapon, but as a lamp to light your path. For identity, when tempered by humility, becomes wisdom; when carried with pride, it becomes strength.

And in the end, Ariel Sharon’s words remind us of the sacred order of life: before we are citizens of nations, before we are servants of causes, we must first be guardians of our essence. To forget who we are is to betray those who built the road we walk upon. To honor our heritage is to stand, as Sharon did, rooted and unyielding — a living testament that identity is not a burden, but a blessing, and that from the soil of belonging grows the courage to face the world.