The machine clicked alive, then hissed static at a high decibel until the voice of the great Rabbi moaned, liltingly, out. The Hebrew language and Assyrian semantics piercing the damp greyness of Ukraine.  

"Naaaaaaaaa-ch-maaaaaan soooon of Feeeeei-ge, 

"Buri-eeeeeed heeeeer in Uuuuuu-Man    . . . Askeeeed us to saaay." 

The excitement quickened and built as the loudspeaker clunked out, then on again, until the holiest prayer of all boomed. The prayer that every Jew, from the Yiddish-speaking fanatics of Mea Shearim in Jerusalem to the assimilated graduates of Oxford colleges, knows. The microphone moaned, calling out beyond the Rabbi. 

"Sheeeeeeeeema Israaaaaaa-el." 

Hear O Israel.

"Adonaaaaaaaai Elo-hainuuuuuu." 

The Lord Is Holy. 

"Adonaaaaaaaai Ech-aaaaaaaaaad." 

The Lord Is One. 

The Jews roared the words. Every Jew roared-from the sparkling-eyed little Orthodox beggar child on my left to the weeping Afro-haired hipster in orange sunglasses on my right. The 20,000 looked heavenward, covering their eyes with their right hand lest they be blinded by His light. 

Shema Israel. The prayer Jewish children are taught to say before going to bed. The prayer Jews shout out in agony. The prayer Jews have sung for ever as their last words. Now, the roar, echoing through the post- Soviet slums. Shema Israel. My every plane takeoff. My fear before exams. My pain in dimly-lit NHS waiting rooms. 

Shema Israel. The only words that Adolf Eichmann knew in Hebrew. The words Eichmann during his terminal flight to Tel Aviv asked his Mossad captors to explain. Because when he stood outside the gas chambers they screamed those words every time. 

The roar curled up, hummed and ended. For those seconds we had all been one. This was the closest you could come to Mount Sinai, to the charge of Solomon's armies into Bashan, to the exodus from Egypt. The loudspeaker clicked out for good. There was no more need for it. The entire street jumped and waved in dance, ultra-Orthodox young and old, throwing their fedoras and kaftans into the air in a raw joy.                       

The street turned into a mosh pit of circle dances as pale Talmudists, desperate drug addicts, French boys in suits and bearded extremists in breeches locked arms and swirled around.