A few weeks ago, I attended the World Cup quarterfinal match between Spain and Belgium at Los Angeles Stadium. The night before the game, my host alerted me that we would be taking three more guests to the game: three of the last Israeli hostages released after 738 days in captivity. I watched as these free young men smiled from ear to ear, fulfilling a dream to see a World Cup match.

After an exhilarating game, we drove them to the airport. As we parted ways, I told them, “We don’t know each other well. But I want to let you know that for 738 days, our community knew you.” The three freed hostages extended their arms for an embrace and replied, “And we felt your prayers every single day.”

This Jewish New Year will begin like no other. For the first time since October 7th, we will no longer need to pray on the High Holidays for the return of the hostages

The Passover Haggadah does not tell us to retell our story as if we were slaves in Egypt, but rather to tell our story as if we left Egypt and became free people.

This Rosh Hashanah will be different. We will be a free people, but our work is far from over.

When Jews arrive at their synagogues this year, they will miss the sound of the shofar, as it is not sounded when the new year coincides with the Sabbath. Yet, this may be the exact moment we need this year.

The ancient ram’s horn is our spiritual alarm clock. The prophet Isaiah teaches us, “rise and wake up, shine your light unto the world” (Isaiah 60:1).

Sometimes we do not hear the alarm clock when it sounds, and other times it fails to go off. So this year, when we are commanded not to sound the shofar, what are we obligated to listen to?

Perhaps the answer comes in the central prayer of the High Holy Days, called the Un’taneh Tokef. The liturgy tells us that the great shofar is sounded, and a still small voice is heard.

This year we must listen to the cries of those we cannot hear. Last year, those cries emanated from the tunnels of Hamas, from the families whose loved ones were murdered on that fateful day. We heard their stories, we met their families, we stood in public squares, blasting the shofar to bring them home.

As released hostage Yosef Ohana recently told an audience in the United States, he could understand why his parents and family would continue to pray for him, but it did not make sense to him why the entire world would do so too. That is the power of hearing those cries, as they stir our souls to make a difference.

There were not 251 hostages. There were 251 worlds that needed to be restored.

While in captivity, we could not hear their voices, but the sound of the shofar symbolized their shouts from the depths of distress.

And now, on this first Rosh Hashanah of their freedom, as they tell stories that we could never imagine, the sound of the shofar will be silent.

So this year, while the shofar cannot be sounded, we must make our voices heard.

We know we cannot do it alone. That is the power of bringing together the voices of our people. A place where a diverse spectrum of the Jewish community can gather to exchange ideas, sharpen each other’s minds, and make significant differences in building the bridges of tomorrow.

This new year, listen to the silent cries, for they too can pierce our hearts and souls as strongly as the loudest sound of the shofar.