The cycles of the calendar often anchor us—offering predictability in an unpredictable world. For many years, as a devoted member of the Church of God, my life was ordered by the rhythm of those same Holy Days that govern the Jewish year. Our foundation was simple: to follow Jesus’s instruction to do as he did, which included observing the seventh-day Sabbath (Saturday, not Sunday) and keeping the ancient Feasts of the Lord.
I, too, have spent solemn hours in services marking the transition of Yom Kippur, or as we termed it, the Day of Atonement. It is a day of deep spiritual reckoning, a time when the human soul seeks to be reconciled—both with the Divine and with its fellow man.
It is this shared spiritual experience that makes the attack on the Heaton Park Hebrew Congregation so profoundly painful and utterly sacrilegious. While members were gathered in their holiest posture—seeking purity, forgiveness, and connection to God—Jihad Al-Shamie launched his unprovoked, monstrous attack.
Imagine the deafening contrast: the hushed, almost internal gravity of the synagogue gathering, dedicated to the sublime work of self-judgement, suddenly shattered by the external, profane noise of pure hatred.
The Spirit of Iblis
The attacker apparently aligned himself with the murderous, nihilistic ideology of the Islamic State. But to attribute such evil to the cause of Islam is a profound misunderstanding of both faith and depravity. True faith, of any Abrahamic tradition, demands respect for the sanctity of life and the inviolability of the house of God.
Monsters like Al-Shamie do not follow prophets or sacred texts; they follow the spirit of Iblis—the accuser, the divider, the one who stains. Their violence is not a theological act but a twisted control drama, a desperate attempt to assert power through destruction. They do not honour any God with their heinous crimes, but only indelibly stain their own souls. They corrupt the very prayers they might once have uttered.
The victims, gathering in service to their Creator, stood on ground made holy by their devotion. To attack them then and there was not merely a crime against humanity, but a spiritual violation of the highest order.
Joy Interrupted
As I write this, we are currently in the span of the Feast of Tabernacles (Sukkot). This is meant to be amongst the most joyous periods of the year for those who observe it—a festival of harvest, remembrance, and the joy found in the temporary dwelling (the sukkah), symbolising the fragility and eventual abundance of life.
It is a time when the faithful should feel enveloped by divine peace, a culmination of the spiritual work begun on Yom Kippur.
Sadly, for those who mourn the victims of such violence, this cherished period of joy has been submerged in grief. The shadow cast by the Day of Atonement attack, and indeed the torrent of violence currently sweeping across the Middle East, means that the temporary shelter of the Feast feels less like a joyous booth and more like a fragile defence against a world gone mad.
Breaking the Cycle of Contagion
It is inevitable that in discussing such trauma, some will attempt to create an equivalence—seeking to balance the heinous actions of terrorists targeting innocents with the actions of states responding to violence, such as Netanyahu’s military actions in Gaza, triggered by the horrific violence of Hamas.
But we must resist this moral math. The deliberate targeting of innocent worshippers, children, and unarmed civilians—whether by Al-Shamie, by Hamas, or by any force—is a moral absolute. It is a spiritual and ethical failure.
Attacking innocents never balances out an injustice. It fundamentally fails to redress grievances; it merely creates further, deeper injustice. It ensures that the only legacy passed down is trauma, bitterness, and the certainty of continued retribution. When cycles of violence exist, violence only begets violence, and hate only begets hate. The ledger of cruelty is never cleared; it is simply multiplied.
Our shared observance of the Holy Days—our shared quest for righteousness, purity, and peace—demands a moral clarity that rejects the logic of escalation.
The spirit of the Day of Atonement calls everyone to repent of hatred, and the Feast of Tabernacles calls us all to celebrate the hope of a world under secure shelter.
Let us all pray—whether our prayers rise from the quiet devotion of a synagogue, the solemnity of a church service, or the humility of a mosque—that one day sanity and compassion will prevail. Let us pray that the shelters we build, whether physical or spiritual, will finally be free from the shadow of Iblis. May peace, shalom, and salaam finally descend upon the earth we all share.
Worldwide Temple of Aurora 