“They and We Are One”: Shacharit, Yom Kippur 5786. Kol Shalom, 2025

In my teenage years, the Yom Kippur midday service always 

included a moving Yizkor. 

I remember a phrase we always read that deeply touched me and 

became sealed in my memory. The text said: “In these moments, 

they and we are one.”

Those words penetrated my heart and gave me the comfort I 

needed. They didn’t hide the absence of my father at that time, but 

they gave it an almost cosmic sense of meaning.

There is something inexplicable in biology — in the very DNA we 

share, in the similar features of our faces and bodies. How is it 

possible that those genes carry such a similar formula?

The Midrash teaches that God created the first human being with a 

mold, and yet, paradoxically, we are all different. Still, there is a 

powerful genetic imprint that binds us to that unity.

That imprint goes beyond genetics and biology. In the upbringing, 

education, care, and love of our parents — biological or adoptive —

we find models to imitate, and almost magically, we begin to 

resemble them. Gestures, movements, attitudes — so alike.

We are connected through all those years, filled with countless 

moments of an unbreakable and wondrous emotional bond. 

Moments of joy and sadness, of growth and limits, of imagination 

— and, after their passing, of memory.

Our unity with our parents is also a historical unity. We carry in our 

backpack not only DNA, but the certainty that we are part of a 

chain that links us to them, even after so many years since they 

journeyed to the world beyond.

Yes, those we remember first are the ones who gave us everything. 

Words are not enough to express our recognition, gratitude, and 

love for them.

May we be able to respond by giving back, replicating even a part 

of what they gave us, to our own children and grandchildren.

On Yom Kippur we also remember our grandparents. Many of them 

came from faraway lands, fleeing hatred and persecution, in search 

of a chance to live in freedom and build a more just society. We 

sometimes complain about the challenges we must face, but they

faced truly tremendous trials — war, pogroms, and in many cases, 

the Shoah. 

They endured uprooting, a clash with a new language and culture, 

and often with no material resources. 

And still they pushed forward, like a green shoot breaking through 

the gray at the end of a harsh winter.

We remember our siblings, with whom we shared the formative 

stages of our personality. With them we played, and together we 

forged who we are. In our memory, we hold them with love, 

knowing that we ran and jumped together along life’s paths. 

So similar and so different — beyond the fights, jealousy, and 

resentments — with the undeniable force of that unity we did not 

choose at first, but that life and destiny chose for us. 

Some of us are blessed to choose them again, now by our own will.

I know there are many of you here today who carry the chronic 

pain of losing a child. There is no consolation for the tearing apart 

that comes from something so contrary to the natural order. 

There is no way to fill the void they left when their lives ended too 

soon. 

I can only pray that anger and pain may give way to the ability to do 

good for others in their name. This will not fill the emptiness, but 

surely it will ease the suffering. Purpose always helps us be 

resilient, to choose life again — even with its emptiness. 

Almost like a lullaby, before the silence of eternal sleep.

Today we also remember those we chose to be part of this sacred 

unity — our friends. They are not bound to us by blood, yet we 

forged indestructible bonds with them. With them we opened our 

hearts, sharing our deepest emotions, talking about everything 

without judging or being judged.

How much we miss them — their spontaneous sincerity, free of 

ulterior motives, simply letting themselves be carried by the 

powerful current of raw, primary emotions.

On this Yom Kippur I remember my teachers, especially my rabbi, 

mentor, and friend. I remember those who gave me what I can take 

with me everywhere — which is, essentially, myself.

On this sacred day of Yom Kippur, we bring them back into our 

lives, and this afternoon, we will grant them permission to go, and 

grant ourselves permission to move forward — inspired by them, 

endlessly grateful, and with eternal love.

In these days, as we speak of unity from so many dimensions of our 

lives, we lovingly remember our dear ones who are no longer with 

us, with the certainty that, truly, “they and we are one.”