When Silence Breaks: A Phone Call on Yom Kippur

Yesterday, during Yom Kippur’s morning prayers, just as we prepared to reach the spiritual peak of Mussaf, a voice rose from the congregation. The quiet words were meant to unite us and center our minds and hearts. But before they could finish…a phone rang. The silence broke, and two people stood up—a husband and wife whose phone had shattered the reverent quiet. Without a word, they slipped out, hurrying to a side room.

Everyone’s eyes were on them, breaths held, all wondering. When they returned minutes later, their faces told a story of relief tinged with heartache: their son was calling to say he was about to enter Lebanon. It was a call for a blessing before he had to turn in his phone. As a community, we exhaled collectively, and from that moment on, we prayed with a fierceness and a hope that words couldn’t capture.

In Israel, almost every family knows the feeling of holding their breath as they answer a call. Every phone ring, every update, every knock on the door brings a moment of dread, a silent prayer that it isn’t “that call.” Our soldiers go forward with courage, driven to defend and protect our nation. They do it purposefully, as they are trained and determined to shield the country from harm. But behind every brave soldier is a family, a community, holding its breath, waiting, coping, and hoping.

As we approach the second year of war, memories flood back. Simchat Torah will soon arrive, and with it comes the memory of that day—October 7. The day young men and women raced to gather their uniforms, to protect the borders from Gaza to Lebanon. The day we heard the explosions above and rumors of a ground invasion. That day shattered something within us. We became a new people—the post-October 7th Israelis. And here we are, suspended in a world of uncertainty.

But even amid our grief and uncertainty, there is resilience. Communities rally around families in need. Barbecues for soldiers and fundraisers to rebuild the South have become regular events. People from all walks of life come together to pick fruit on farms and offer their hands to rebuild. Through tragedy, we find unity. Through despair, we find purpose.

There will be a time for mourning and reflection, but right now, we’re simply doing what we can to hold on. We breathe together, praying for loved ones, for friends, for soldiers stationed across the country, as we race to bomb shelters at the sound of missile sirens. We didn’t choose this life, but it’s the life we’ve been given.

As we move forward, balancing hope and fear, we pray that the fervent prayers of these high holidays will be answered. We yearn for the day when the phone rings; on the other end, our soldiers say they’re coming home. Until then, we hold on to hope, one prayer at a time.