I called my father this week to ask what he remembers about the Yom Kippur War, whose 50th anniversary we mark on Monday. At the time, I was 13 years old, and my father, now 92, was the president of our local synagogue in Queens.

All these years later, the memories flowed with little prompting:

“There was an ominous feeling that Israel was at the brink, its very existence at stake, a stark difference from the euphoria of the Six-Day War. I also remember how the entire Jewish community of New York — despite its many differences and disagreements — came together with a sense of unity and common purpose that was reminiscent of the Second World War.”

The Yom Kippur War remains a watershed moment for the Jewish community. If you were alive then, you remember where you were and how you felt when you first heard of the surprise attack by the Egyptians and Syrians on the holiest day in the Jewish calendar.

The news in the early days of the war was very bleak, with thousands of Israeli casualties. Over the three-week war, 2,656 Israeli soldiers lost their lives and more than 12,000 were wounded. Ultimately, thanks largely to a massive resupply of weapons from the United States, the tide turned and Israel prevailed.

The story of Israel’s eventual victory is well chronicled. But there's a historic footnote that relates to UJA-Federation of New York as we know it today. 

In 1973, there actually was no UJA-Federation. Rather, two separate and distinct organizations existed: The Federation of Jewish Philanthropies of New York, established in 1917, focused on supporting the needs of the local Jewish community. The United Jewish Appeal of Greater New York, established in 1941, focused on supporting Jews overseas, primarily in Israel (even before its formal establishment) and Eastern Europe. 

By mutual agreement, to avoid unnecessary conflict, Federation ran its fundraising campaign in the fall, and UJA did its fundraising in the spring. In fact, the two organizations employed many of the same fundraisers, who split their year, carrying their rolodexes from one office to the other.

The Yom Kippur War made this arrangement no longer tenable; UJA couldn't possibly hold off its fundraising until the spring. For the well-being of the community, the leaders of UJA and Federation made the decision in 1973 to have one joint campaign, their collective fundraising prowess compounded to raise emergency funds for Israel.

And that connects back to my father…

As president of our synagogue, he and his fellow board members decided to do something in the midst of the war they'd never done before: as part of the Yizkor appeal over Sukkot, they required every family in the synagogue to stand up and announce a pledge to UJA, row by row, seat by seat. Similar campaigns took place in synagogues across New York. 

The success of that first joint UJA-Federation campaign led to the eventual merger of UJA and Federation in 1986. One organization, one campaign, for all local and global needs, as we still are today.

And all this brings us back to Yom Kippur, the 25-hour period that compels us every year to take stock of ourselves and our actions. Throughout Yom Kippur, we thump our chests, reciting the Al Chet, the prayer that lists the litany of sins “we” committed.

We, not I.

A not-so-subtle reminder that while Yom Kippur is surely a time to reflect and reset personally, another critical dimension is about remembering our collective responsibility for each other. We are all bound together: our history, our fate, our destiny.

Yom Kippur, 1973, we faced an existential crisis and came out on the other side because we stood together, willing to change the status quo.

Yom Kippur, 2023, we face a near constant state of crises, finite resources, and an even more fractured world.

So we ask ourselves: How can we look beyond our own interests and better knit our philanthropic efforts together for the sake of all those counting on us?

How do we prepare ourselves for whatever might be asked of us next?

How do we carry our community forward — writing our people’s history as our fathers and mothers did before us?

Or the even better question:

How do we not?

May we be sealed for a good year. A year of life. A year of blessing. A year of meaning.

Shabbat shalom and g’mar chatimah tovah