This Yom Kippur, I prayed with all my might - opinion

I am horrible at Yom Kippur praying. I don’t know if I’m stellar the rest of the year, but the fast completely wrecks my focus. I spend most of the day worrying about how hungry and tired I am, instead of ignoring my physicality as is intended. But this year was different. Something changed in me and I finally found the intention I needed.

The morning began as it usually does. As the repetition of the Mussaf prayer began, my mind was wandering, thinking about how hungry I was already and would be by the day’s end. Suddenly I had an epiphany: It was 11 a.m. On any given Shabbat, by that time, I have yet to eat anything. So, I had no reason to be overwhelmed with pangs of hunger.

This realization immediately refocused my prayer experience. I began to think of ideas such as “one person/voice can make a difference.” As much as I struggle with the efficacy of prayer, something welled up in me that made me feel like our prayers could actually help the hostages and soldiers who were making the ultimate sacrifice so that we could hold High Holy Day services.

Since the holidays were late this year, the break before Mincha was short. I was only able to shut my eyes for an hour. I tend to wake up groggy from short naps, and that’s exactly what happened. It took a good deal of energy to push through the exhaustion but when Neilah, the concluding prayer of Yom Kippur, came around I had rallied. Neilah means ‘locking” because we envision the gates of heaven closing as our prayers come to their summation. It’s our last chance to plead with God for whatever we need – be it forgiveness or something else.

A specific image accompanied me throughout the day.

Just before the holiday, a friend had been in touch with Rachel Goldberg-Polin, whose son Hersh was one of the hostages murdered – after being in captivity for over a year. Our friend confided in Rachel that the image she kept coming back to was of Hersh standing next to God, as the gates were closing. Just before they slammed shut, Hersh wedged his foot in the gate and said to God: “You’re not closing it until you grant them all that they’re praying for, for the coming year and beyond.”

AS THE repetition of Neilah began, my mind wandered to the previous year and how we are still in the middle of this protracted war.

Praying for the return of the hostages

Every time the prayer leader hit the word shvi (captivity), his voice cracked as if he were on the verge of tears. There were echoes of wailing throughout the shul. It felt like the entire congregation was one, begging for the safe return of our brothers and sisters.

As we arrived at the final segment of the repetition, a feeling of dread came over me. Since the war began, I’ve struggled with the prayer for peace. Not only because it feels inappropriate since it’s a time of war, but the tune many use for it seems out of place. Many sing an upbeat melody for this paragraph that is literally tone-deaf. I worried that the summation of the entire day of prayer would be tainted by this lighthearted tune.

But the leader began with a much slower, more subdued tune. At first, I didn’t recognize it because I’d never heard it used for these words before. And then all of the emotions of the day came flooding in. The melody was “Hatikvah” Israel’s national anthem. It was exactly what I’d been looking for this entire time even though I didn’t know it.

I prayed with all my might.

I prayed for the safe return of our hostages and soldiers. I prayed for the success of our defensive war. I even prayed for things I rarely do – for the downfall of our enemies. I had this childish notion that we might turn on our phones moments later to find good news. And all the while I envisioned Hersh holding the gates open for us, demanding that God heed our final prayers ascending heavenward.

I don’t believe prayers are regularly answered, at least not in the affirmative. This is why I limit specific petitions in my supplications. However, it felt like we had accomplished something on Yom Kippur. As the holiday went out and I checked my phone there was no monumental news in our region, but when we learned of Yahya Sinwar’s demise mere days later, I couldn’t help but think we had something to do with it. Maybe it was even thanks to Hersh.

The writer is a rabbi, a wedding officiant, and a mohel who performs britot (ritual circumcisions) and conversions in Israel and worldwide. Based in Efrat, he is the founder of Magen HaBrit, an organization protecting the practice of brit milah and the children who undergo it.