PEBBLES IN YOUR POCKET

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It’s not every day that the Speaker of the House talks about stuffing his pockets with pebbles. But that’s precisely what happened at a dinner in Washington, D.C., just a few nights ago. Speaker Mike Johnson was addressing a room packed with over 300 rabbis and pastors from across the country—Jewish and Christian leaders who had come to the nation’s capital with a shared mission: to lobby for Israel and to send a clear, unified message—when it comes to Israel, we speak with one voice.

With quiet intensity, Speaker Johnson described an unplanned, deeply moving nighttime visit to the Valley of Elah in Israel—the very place where David confronted Goliath. Beneath the stars, he bent down and picked up a few smooth stones, just like the one the young shepherd placed in his sling.

At first, he took only one or two. But then, sensing this was a once-in-a-lifetime moment, he filled his pockets with them. He told us that he still carries a few and occasionally hands them out to people who inspire him. “We all need courage in our pocket,” he said.

Moments earlier, Senator Cory Booker had taken the podium. His voice cracking with emotion, he described his own nighttime visit to a high vantage point just outside Jerusalem, from which he could see Mount Nebo in the distance. That moment, he said, changed his life. It brought to mind Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s final speech, delivered the night before his assassination:

“I don’t know what will happen now—we’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn’t matter with me now, because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land!”

The following evening, Dr. King was slain by an assassin’s bullet. Senator Booker told us about his visit to the Lorraine Motel—now the National Civil Rights Museum—and the powerful words inscribed on the memorial at the assassination site: “Behold, the dreamer cometh.” The very words Joseph’s brothers sneered as they plotted to kill him. But Joseph’s dreams came true. Those dreams, once mocked, became the blueprint for a nation that would eventually inherit the Promised Land.

Two powerful biblical images. Two American leaders. One shared commitment. That the Land of Israel is not just geography—it is the foundation of spiritual passion and a divine mission.

With that sacred footing, I joined my fellow clergy—rabbis from Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform communities, alongside Christian pastors from Baptist, Evangelical, Pentecostal, and mainline denominations—on Capitol Hill to speak with one voice, and to lobby for Israel. This incredible gathering of faith leaders was organized by the Zionist Rabbinic Coalition, American Christian Leaders for Israel, Israel Allies Foundation, and Eagles Wings.

It was historic. Never before has such a large, diverse, and spiritually charged delegation of faith leaders descended on Washington with a single, united message: that the Jewish state has the right—no, the obligation—to defend itself against those who deny its very existence and seek its destruction; and that there is a moral imperative to bring home the remaining hostages still trapped in the dark, fetid tunnels of Gaza, after more than eighteen agonizing months in captivity.

We didn’t agree on everything. Let’s be honest—you wouldn’t expect 300 faith leaders to agree on everything. Or maybe even on anything. But for 48 hours, we proved that we all agree on one thing: Israel.

What mattered wasn’t what divided us, but what united us. A shared belief that evil must be confronted. That truth must be spoken. That Israel is the fulfillment of biblical prophecy—and that no force on earth can stop the forward march of history.

Walking through the marble-floored, wood-paneled corridors of the congressional office buildings, it was impossible not to feel the stark contrast between this moment and a far darker chapter in American Jewish history.

In October 1943, more than 400 Orthodox rabbis came to Washington to plead for action as millions of Jews were being slaughtered in Nazi Europe. They were ignored. President Franklin D. Roosevelt refused to meet with them. No Christian leaders stood by their side. And the press barely noticed.

But just over eighty years later, history is not repeating itself. This time, the White House sent an official representative to the opening event. More than 100 Members of Congress and Senators welcomed us into their offices. And our Christian brothers and sisters were not just present—they were passionate, eloquent, and deeply committed in their support.

To be clear, this wasn’t a partisan gathering. Democrats and Republicans embraced us, heard us out, and stood with us. Something fundamental has shifted.

This week, in every synagogue around the world, we will read the portion of Kedoshim. God commands us: קְדֹשִׁים תִּהְיוּ כִּי קָדוֹשׁ אֲנִי ה׳ אֱלֹקֵיכֶם — “You shall be holy, for I, the Lord your God, am holy” (Lev. 19:2). It’s a big ask. Holiness in this world doesn’t come naturally.

But the Hasidic masters—those spiritual giants who reached into the mystical realms—offered a beautiful interpretation. Holiness, they taught, doesn’t mean retreating from the world and becoming a hermit. It means inviting the Divine into the world, so that the world itself becomes holy. To be holy is to elevate the mundane—to ensure that what is sacred finds expression in our lives, in our institutions, and in every corner of our shared reality.

Kedoshim lays out some of the most practical and moral commandments in the Torah: don’t cheat, don’t gossip, don’t take revenge, love your neighbor. Because being holy isn’t about hiding away like a saint in a cave.

It’s about showing up in the world.

It’s about walking into the halls of power with pebbles in your pocket and conviction in your heart.

It’s about standing shoulder to shoulder with people who may not share your theology but who share your values.

And it’s about remembering that holiness isn’t some distant, glowing aura—it’s what happens when you choose to do what’s right, even when it’s hard.

And that’s what we were doing on the Hill. I left Washington with two powerful images in my mind. One was Speaker Johnson’s smooth pebbles—symbols of faith, preparation, and courage in the face of towering threats. The other was Senator Booker’s tearful voice, evoking Joseph—the dreamer thrown into a pit by his brothers, only to rise and save a nation.

Both biblical stories end with redemption. But both begin with someone daring to stand up and be a believer against the odds. To share the prophecy. To walk into the battlefield. To create a future shaped by faith and salvation.

In the Valley of Elah, David was challenged by his brother Eliav, who saw his presence on the battlefield as an intrusion. David responded incredulously: “Why shouldn’t I be here? Who says my presence doesn’t matter?” He was right.

And in Kedoshim, God tells us: “Be holy.” He’s telling us that everyone has the power to bring holiness into the world—right here, right now.

This week in Washington, those two ideas converged. We belonged there—on the battlefield. And we brought holiness with us: into the halls of power, and through the corridors of influence. For Israel. For truth. For the world. And maybe—for redemption too.