Solidarity by Rabbi Yerach

Solidarity

Last week, Adath Israel’s Solidarity Mission to Israel came to an end. Close to 40 of us traveled from Toronto to Israel to stand with our brothers and sisters. This is the second year in a row that our community has sent a Solidarity Mission — and that in itself is something remarkable.

But what moved me most was something deeper: the fact that for the second year in a row, the people of Adath Israel still feel this value — solidarity in their hearts.

Maybe one day I’ll sit and study the idea of Jewish solidarity more deeply. But for now, I’d like to think about it together with you.

Rabbi Shraga Bar-On writes that in Judaism, solidarity comes through the idea of arevut, mutual responsibility — the deep awareness that we are responsible for one another.

First and foremost, this is responsibility before God. In fact, God “imposed” this mutual responsibility on the people of Israel by placing them equally before Him, as the ultimate Sovereign.

This can be seen in the way Jewish tradition teaches that the many can be punished for the sin of one. Helping one another isn’t just a nice thing to do — it’s a religious obligation.

We see this in our economic laws as well, like shmita (the sabbatical year) and yovel (the jubilee year) — bold, radical ideas rooted in responsibility and care.

And on another level, solidarity comes from our shared historical destiny as the Jewish people.

One of the most moving moments of the mission happened on Friday morning, when we visited an army base. We came with good food — meats, fresh salads, cold drinks, and warm hearts.

As our bus pulled up to the base, there was a quiet excitement among our group. We were a little nervous, not sure how the soldiers would react. But as we stepped off the bus and began to unload something beautiful happened.

Smiles began to appear. First on our faces. Then on theirs.

It felt like a spark had been lit.

The soldiers came over, curious and kind. Some began helping us set up the tables. Others stood nearby, chatting with our group, asking where we were from, why we came. Within minutes, the nervousness was gone, and in its place was something that felt like family.

We cooked. We served. We ate together.

At some point, the music got louder, and a circle of dancing began to form. People who had never met just hours before were now clapping and swaying together in the heat of the midday sun.

One of the soldiers turned to me and said, “You have no idea what this means to us. Just to know that Jews from the other side of the world are thinking about us — it gives us strength.”

But what he didn’t know was that we were the ones who felt strengthened.

As I sat afterward, trying to take it all in, I realized: what happened at that base wasn’t just kindness, or a fun event.
It was solidarity — deep and true.

It was the sense that we are part of something larger than ourselves. That our people’s story, our struggles, our hopes — are shared.

We are responsible for each other.

We are equals.

We are bound together by faith, by history, and by love.