Yom Kippur in Heaton Park Synagogue, 2026

As I entered my shul – Heaton Park Synagogue – for Kol Nidre on Sunday evening, I could feel a tension and a sense of responsibility in the air. Alongside the familiar greetings of “fast well” and “good Yom Tov” was a silent understanding that this Yom Kippur was very different.

People seemed to be taking longer moments to reflect on their surroundings. Not only because we had the immense honour of having Chief Rabbi Sir Ephraim Mirvis praying with us throughout Yom Kippur, not only because we were entering our place of worship protected by more than a dozen uniformed police officers alongside armed units, which, whilst we are deeply grateful for their protection, also serves as a reminder that the very fact we need it represents a moral stain on our British society, but because this year we were standing not only before God, as we always do, but also with Melvin Cravitz z’l and Adrian Daulby z’l – may their memories be a blessing – at the forefront of our minds.

As Chazan (Cantor) Marx began the Kol Nidre prayer with the same melody being sung in thousands of synagogues around the world, you could sense the emotion in people’s prayers. As we sang the verse that asks, “Who will live and who will die?”, the realisation struck me in an even deeper way than I had imagined it would. We had all stood in those very same places last year and recited those words without knowing that it would be Melvin and Adrian who would give their lives in God’s name as martyrs of the Jewish people the very next day. How life can change in an instant.

As we began the traditional Yizkor memorial prayer the following day, during the middle of the daytime service, which we recite for family members who are no longer with us, we broke with tradition to begin with a special prayer composed by the Chief Rabbi for Melvin and Adrian.

My seat in shul is on the front row near the Aron Hakodesh, the Ark. As we began the memorial prayer, I glanced to my right and noticed that, no more than 30 feet from where I was standing, the doors to the foyer were open. I could see the shul doors that our brave congregants had held shut, the door through which the bullet had travelled, and the carpet upon which those who were injured and killed had fallen. I looked up and, praying directly across from me, were Yoni Finlay and Andrew Franks, both heroes who were badly injured in the attack. Standing immediately behind me was Alan Levy, who confronted the terrorist outside and then helped barricade the doors. To my left and right were Marc Magid and Andrew Cantor, who also risked their lives helping to secure the doors, all of whom were in the foyer when tragedy struck. And finally, as I looked behind me, I saw the empty seats of Melvin and Adrian.

I could not help but imagine how, exactly one year earlier, there had been death, destruction, injury, trauma and fear right here, simply because Jews had come together, as we were doing today, on the holiest day of our year to stand before God, atone, ask forgiveness for our sins and pray for a better year ahead. The enormity of that feeling was humbling.

And then came Neila, the closing prayer of Yom Kippur, the moment when, as Jews, we have our final opportunity to plead with God to seal us into the Book of Life for the coming year. We had the immense privilege of having the Chief Rabbi lead this part of the service with such emotion, such beautiful melodies and such profound feeling.

One of the greatest rabbis of our generation and the founder of the Religious Zionist movement, Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik z’l, delivered a seminal lecture in 1956 called Kol Dodi Dofek.

At the heart of Kol Dodi Dofek lies one of Rabbi Soloveitchik’s most profound insights: the distinction between two ways of reading one simple Hebrew word. The word lama means “why?” Yet with a slight change in vocalisation, those very same letters can be read as le’ma, meaning “for what purpose?” This subtle linguistic shift contains an entire philosophy of Jewish faith. The question of lama seeks explanation. The question of lema seeks responsibility. One asks: why did this happen? The other asks: what can we do now that it has happened?

Before we began this final part of the service, Rabbi Walker addressed us and, with his voice shaking with emotion, reminded us that just as in every generation people rise up to try to destroy the Jewish people and fail, so too this evil terrorist, who sought to destroy Judaism, has failed and nothing will destroy us.

He told us that, as Jews, we will always be here.

I believe this is our chance to fulfil Rabbi Soloveitchik’s vision of le’ma; to refuse to let the terrorist define us and instead choose for ourselves how we respond, both as individuals and as a community.

As Rabbi Walker told us, we will always have unity. He exhorted us to become better Jews, more passionate Jews, more connected Jews and prouder Jews because of what happened at our shul on Yom Kippur last year.

And that is exactly what we will do as proud Mancunian Jews in the memory of Melvin z’l and Adrian z’l.