Echad — One. It’s the Jewish Number.

Echad as in Sh’ma Yisrael HaShem Eloheinu HaShem Echad.

Echad, as in Echad Mi Yodea, Who Knows One from Pesach.

In each of these examples, the Echad refers to God. God is One. That’s kind of our thing. Well really it’s kind of God’s thing, but it is the thing about God that we have shared with the world.

During Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur there is another important Echad. This Echad does not refer to God, although spoiler alert, God is involved. The Echad I am referring to describes us, the Jewish people.

Yachad — together, as in Yachad Nenatzeach, together we will overcome — the rallying cry of Israelis and the Jewish world since October 7th.  Yachad has the same root as Echad. And we can’t be one as a people unless we are Yachad — together.

We will read, chant, and hear this word, Echad, towards the beginning of every Amidah we will recite over these three days. It appears in the first of three paragraphs that you can identify by their shared first word — U’v’chein. During that first U’v’chein paragraph, we pray “Va’yeiasu Chulam Agudah Achat La’asot R’tzoncha B’leivav Shalem” “God, help us be bound together as one, carrying out your will wholeheartedly.”

The Echad we pray for on these days describes a feeling of unity that spurs us to action to do God’s will. This powerful feeling leads Jews to take enormous risks for one another. It motivated Jews to smuggle books and Judaica into the Soviet Union. It motivated Israel to rescue the Jews of Ethiopia. And it is the feeling that motivates us to stand up for Israel and one another, sometimes without even understanding why.

I didn’t yet realize the power of Echad  in fifth grade, when Mike Roberts and I were misusing our school supplies in Mrs. Oro’s class. But, of course, drawing jet fighters seemed more important than memorizing spelling words.

We sketched warplanes loaded with missiles, sneaking peeks at each other’s drawings, stealing ideas, and trying to one-up each other—-typical ten-year-old boy competitiveness. It flared up when Mike noticed I’d drawn a Star of David on my plane, making mine Israeli, while he had drawn the Stars and Stripes on his plane.

“America’s Air Force is the best!” It turns out that Mike’s father was an air force veteran.

“It might be the biggest, but not the best!” At least, that is how I remember asserting my pride in Israel. It went on for a bit, neither one of us letting go.  The next day, the grudge was gone. Mike had told his father about the argument, and his had father told him that the Israeli Air Force was pretty good too.

Years later, I wondered why “standing up” for Israel mattered so much to me. I hadn’t been to Israel, I didn’t know any Israelis, and I never learned about Israel in religious school because my family didn’t belong to a temple.

Growing up, my town felt very Christian. My friends all had places they belonged—Catholic education, Sunday school—even my few Jewish friends went to religious school. But not me. My Jewish experience was limited to cousins’ B’nai Mitzvahs and Seders at my aunt’s house.

Looking back, I think my pride in Israel gave me a connection to something Jewish without the discomfort of feeling lost and like I didn’t belong. Even though I knew little about Israel, I knew more about it than anything else Jewish. It gave me a sense of belonging that didn’t remind me how much of an outsider I felt.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but I viscerally “felt” a teaching from the Talmud in Masechet Sanhedrin where our tradition calls the Beit HaMikdash — The Temple — Bitna HaOlam, the Navel of the World. They don’t call it the heart of the world or the brain of the world. They pick Bitna — Navel, for what it represents, the place where we receive nourishment from our mother. The Beit HaMikdash, or for our purposes Yerushalayim, is the place that connects all Jews and from which we receive spiritual succor.

When I “threw down” with my friend over Israel, I felt that mystical umbilical cord connecting me to something that connects to all Jews. We American Jews have felt that mystical connection, that powerful and instinctive cord that binds us to Yerushalayim, since October 7th. It is the source of the Echad-ness we feel. And because we felt it, we needed to take action. We had to do something. Our shared purpose in this moment is to take action together, to heal and to help our Israeli Family. This has been true since minute one of this crisis. Our sense of common purpose and the unity it has engendered is the silver lining that comes from the dark, dark cloud of the past year.

In a few moments, we will pray and reflect upon these words again in the Mussaf Amidah. “V’yei’asu Chulam Agudah Achat La’asot R’tzoncha B’leivav Shalem”

“God, make us bound together as one…” — help us feel connected to our Jewish brothers and sisters around the world.  Help us  “to carry out Your will” …to care for one another as we work towards security and peace, “…wholeheartedly!” with our complete dedication.

When we read these words, they have the potential to evoke the connectedness, the ‘Echad-ness’ I am describing. And the work we do over these days is the inner work of reflection that helps us each have a Lev Shalem, a full heart, to answer the demands of unity with action.

Looking back over the past year, the powerful communal actions we took together give us hope for the future. Since October 7th, we American Jews have sent billions of dollars to Israel. Our Temple alone collected and distributed over $400,000 to soldiers, their families and the families of displaced Israelis.

We American Jews have been going to Israel, and we must continue to do so. We are the ones showing up. If you’re considering going—GO! It’s safe, and your presence makes a difference. You’ll see that our communities are more tightly bound to one another than ever. This unity is the strength we need to navigate these challenging times.

Do you remember when over 300,000 mostly American Jews marched on the Mall in Washington to demonstrate our support for Israel? Every mainstream Jewish organization had to be there. Jews of all stripes were represented. What an amazing moment to have been a part of. In one day, the gathering demonstrated the strength of our conviction and gave us hope.

I was not with you that day. I was in Israel on a rabbis’ mission. I can tell you that as much as the rally impacted us, it had an even more important impact upon Israelis. They could not believe that so many of us had shown up for them. Over and over again I was told “Now we don’t feel alone!”

And we’ve witnessed a remarkable unity emerge in Israel. On October 7th, it became clear. The deep political divisions and unrest of the past few years were set aside, as the spirit of protest was transformed overnight into a force of solidarity, support, and care. In the face of adversity, Israel came together—stronger, more united, and more determined to protect and uplift one another. This unity is a testament to the resilience and shared purpose that will guide Israel through its most challenging times.

Like many organizations, our sister congregation Torat Hayim in Herzliya turned itself into a distribution center practically overnight. The Masorti Movement has been conducting a daily Mincha service in Kikar Hatufim — Hostage Square, inviting Israelis of all stripes and backgrounds to join together in prayer for the hostages. So many Israelis gave blood in the first weeks of the crisis the Magen David Adam told donors who were on line to go home and save their donation for another day. Religious groups cooked dinners for displaced Israelis from the north, while groups of professionals descended to the Dead Sea to tend to the Israelis displaced from the south, living there in hotels. In the first weeks, some put washing machines in trucks and brought them to bases to wash the clothes of exhausted soldiers.

When I traveled to Israel last November, I met countless heroes. I heard incredible tales of bravery, selflessness, and dedication. It is so vital to appreciate that when I say Israeli, it is not code for Jews living in Israel. Israelis of all backgrounds are unified in this effort. The very first Magen David Adom volunteer who was killed on October 7 was an Arab man at K’far Aza. The unity of all Israelis standing against this kind of hatred and tyranny also gives us hope for the future.

I first realized this unity when I saw a flag I didn’t recognize, flapping against the night sky as our bus approached an IDF base near Kibbutz Alumim. It had been a dark, heavy day, like visiting Bergen-Belsen or Majdanek. Two young members of K’far Aza had just shown us the devastation of their community from October 7th.

While this destruction doesn’t compare to the Shoah, the wound is fresh, the smell of death still in the air. The war against Hamas is only weeks old, and we are shaken by what we’ve seen. Then, we notice that flag with five stripes—green, red, yellow, blue, and white flying against the dark desert sky. None of us can place it as we enter the base to join Golani soldiers for dinner.

Hours later, we learn it’s the flag of Israel’s Druze community, representing their five prophets. It flies over any base where a Druze unit is serving, which is not true that night. The Golani troops kept it flying to honor a Druze tank commander killed in battle the week before. The soldiers, remarkable and inspiring, and from every religious and ethnic community within Israel answered the call to serve both their nation and the Jewish people. What we didn’t realize when we first saw the flag was that, over the course of that evening, it would come to represent hope.

After a tour and Ma’ariv, the soldiers began to come out to greet us. As the smell of the charcoal for the B-B-Q wafts through the air, these young reserve soldiers tell us of the lives that they put on hold. One young man left his new position in a construction company, another returned from his honeymoon early. We speak in English or Hebrew. And as I turn from one soldier to another, my reservoir of hope and optimism, depleted by that afternoon’s visit to K’far Aza, is refilled.

Two stories stand out in my memory for their power and for their uniqueness. One soldier stands out as he is taller and wider than anyone else. As we begin to chat, I am impressed with the gentle good humor he projects. I look closer, and I see that this giant of a young man has short, blond, peyes sticking out from behind his ears. These curls of hair tell me that he is from a Hasidic family.

His presence in this unit is surprising. Very few young men from Hasidic or Haredi families enlist in Tzahal – the IDF. And when they do, they most often enlist in Haredi specific units. But not this guy. He broke traditional barriers to serve with everyone else.

The soldiers around me are diverse in their appearance. The tapestry of colors and looks reflecting the diversity of Israel. As I stand there taking it all in, I realize that the people I am meeting tell a story of an Israel that is growing and changing. As we chat, another sign of that change is standing not too far from us — the unit’s combat paramedic, a modern day, real life Israeli Wonder Woman named Eliyah.

When we started talking, I didn’t realize the full picture yet. Eliyah shared stories from her life after completing her full-time service. Like many young Israelis, she’d been traveling, sharing her adventures on Instagram, where she’s a bit of an “influencer.”

Following her over the past year has been eye-opening for me. One moment, she’s in full combat gear, carrying her paramedic gear to save injured soldiers’ lives, and carrying what looks like a massive weapon, ready to protect their backs. The next moment, she’s juggling soccer balls on Tel Aviv’s beaches or dancing at a party. While I was impressed by her strength in a male-dominated, dangerous world, I didn’t yet understand the half of it.

The food was ready, and we of course insisted that the soldiers eat first. As we waited for them to get a first pass at the food, we connected again with the commander. As he described what he could share about their mission with us, he mentioned that in this unit of experienced combat veterans, the most powerful team was also the most unexpected. This young Hasidic man and this young, secular woman are the tip of the spear, the team he relies upon in the most challenging situations.

These two soldiers exemplify how so many young Israelis are not letting their dreams for themselves or for Israel be limited by the calcified categories and expectations of the past. A young Hasidic man and a young woman from Tel-Aviv are an unlikely partnership. The power that their partnership harnessed gives us a hint of what we can accomplish when the Jewish people are unified.

That unity is a precious commodity, its rarity stemming from the diversity of communities that comprise the Jewish people and our competing ideas for what a Jew should believe and how Jews should practice our traditions. The differences of interpretation and practice that make each group within the Jewish people unique is a beautiful resource, one to appreciate and explore. That diversity is a strength. And yet, too often., we let our particular understanding of tradition and our commitment to our way of doing things be stumbling blocks that get in the way of us realizing the unity we pray for in the Mahzor.

This year, saying these words “V’yei’asu Chulam Agudah Achat La’asot R’tzoncha B’leivav Shalem” –“God, make us bound together as one to carry out Your will wholeheartedly” feels different. As we experience the trifecta of threats to Israel, an indifferent world, and the rising tide of antisemitism, we can’t help but recognize that our fates are bound to one another. That elusive unity has been easier to find. This year, saying these words feels true.

As our community stands strong together in support of Israel and to confront antisemitism, it is vital that we pay attention to the power that our unity provides. Unity helps us speak with one voice. Unity helps us show up. Unity reminds us of the big things that are really important, but that when not threatened, don’t capture our attention. In an easier time, unity must be tended to.

A founding father of America, Benjamin Franklin, gave a similar warning to Americans in 1787. After defeating the British in 1781 it took six long years for the states to ratify our Constitution. Competing visions of what America should be got in the way. After the final successful vote, a matron of Philadelphia is said to have asked Mr. Franklin “Do we have a monarchy or a republic?” His reply “A republic, if you can keep it!”

Benjamin Franklin challenged this woman and all citizens of the newly formed United States to understand that we have a republic for the moment, but if we don’t care for and protect it, we will lose it. The same can be said of the unity we have felt since October 7th. If we take it for granted, it will disappear in an instant.

The power of that unity should fill us with awe for what we can accomplish together. That power has enabled American Jews to support Israel materially, politically and spiritually.

That unity of shared purpose leads us to act. It is why we keep going to Israel when others don’t. The unity is why we show up to demonstrate for the hostages. That unity will keep us strong until this crisis has abated. And when we tend to it and dedicate ourselves to keeping it, that unity will help us fashion a Jewish future with a strong and secure Israel, a Jewish future with a growing and vibrant American Jewish community. And most importantly, a Jewish future where all Jews feel bound to and supported by one another.