There’s a striking video circulating on WhatsApp this week in anticipation of the Holiday of Yom Kippur. It follows an Israeli man in two parallel worlds. In one, he laces up heavy combat boots and fastens his helmet before heading into battle. In the other, he slips on simple non-leather shoes for Yom Kippur and wraps himself in a tallit, a prayer shawl. Overlaying the clips is a song by Yishai Ribo, one of Israel’s most beloved music artists. The lyrics capture the High Priest’s worship service in the Temple on Yom Kippur (found in passages from the book of Leviticus). At one point, the refrain of Ribo’s song pulls out a line from psalms:
The message is unmistakable. The soldier’s preparation for war and the priest’s preparation for worship are shown as parallel forms of service to God. Both require discipline, sacrifice, and devotion to something higher than the self.
This raises a deeper question: if priests once carried the burden of the holiest service, and soldiers now risk their lives for the nation, what does that mean for ordinary people who also yearn to serve God?
The Torah gives us several moments when the priestly calling was forged in fire.
The first is the aftermath of Chet Ha’egel, the sin of the Golden Calf. When Moses descended the mountain and saw Israel dancing before an idol, he cried out: “Mi la-Hashem elai!” — “Whoever is for the Lord, come to me!” (Exodus 32:26).
It was the tribe of Levi that answered. They took up arms, restoring order and reaffirming loyalty to God. From that moment, the Levites were set apart. Their priesthood was not just ritual; it was rooted in courage and fierce devotion.
The second moment is the story of Pinchas. When Israel fell into immorality with Moabite women and idolatry, Pinchas acted decisively. Scripture says:
For this act of zeal, God rewarded him with a brit kehunat olam — “a covenant of eternal priesthood.” Pinchas was not chosen in advance; he became a priest because he stepped forward when others stood silent.
The third comes later in Jewish history with the Maccabees. Though their story is not recorded in the Tanakh, it remains etched in Jewish memory. Descendants of the priestly Hasmonean family, they too cried “Mi la-Hashem elai!” as they rose against the Seleucid empire. They traded incense and offerings for swords and hammers, defending Torah itself in a time of persecution. Their victory lit the way for Jewish survival.
In each case, the priesthood was not passive ritual but active faith. The Kohanim were those willing to rise, to risk, to fight for the sanctity of God’s name.
The Avodah We Carry Today
This brings us back to Yom Kippur. In Temple times, the heart of the day was the avodah – the High Priest entering the Kodesh Ha-Kodashim (Holy of Holies), offering sacrifices and atonement for the entire nation. The white garments, the sprinkling of blood, the solemn silence when he emerged alive — all of this defined Israel’s holiest moment.
Today, we no longer perform that service physically. But in every synagogue on Yom Kippur, we recite the avodah. Line by line, we describe the High Priest’s steps.
And Yishai Ribo’s lyrics capture it beautifully:“Nichnas le-makom she-nichnas, pashat bigdei chol, lavash bigdei lavan” — “He entered the place where he entered, removed his ordinary clothes, and put on white garments.”
Without the Temple, ordinary men and women become the ones who serve. We cannot send a High Priest into the Holy of Holies, so we step forward ourselves. We confess our sins, fast, pray, and beg for mercy. We stand in the breach, carrying responsibility for our lives, our communities, our people.
The cry “Mi la-Hashem elai!” has not faded. It rang at Sinai, in the zeal of Pinchas, on the lips of the Maccabees. It rings on Yom Kippur, when we stand in synagogue and recite the avodah. And it rings on the battlefield, when soldiers prepare to defend Israel with the same devotion that once drove priests to take up arms.
What unites all these moments is the conviction that service to God is not about self-expression. It is about obedience, courage, and giving oneself fully. For some, that means fighting enemies with sword or rifle. For others, it means standing in prayer with shoes of humility and garments of purity.
Yom Kippur reminds us that the priesthood was never meant to remain distant. The High Priest once entered the Holy of Holies on our behalf. Now we are each called to enter – not through incense and sacrifice, but through prayer, repentance, and faith.
“Ashrei ha’am she’kakha lo, ashrei ha’am she’Hashem Elokav.” Happy is the nation that knows its God. Happy is the nation that serves Him – in the Temple, in the synagogue, and even on the battlefield.
So we ask ourselves: Are we ready to step forward?
