There is an inherent contradiction built into the Yamim Noraim. It is the most solemn time of year; it is the happiest time of year. We stand trembling before God, asserting all the ways in which we are not worthy, while staking an audacious claim to the right to be forgiven anyway. We simultaneously face God on God’s chair of din, of judgment, and on God’s chair of rachamim, of mercy. We join with our community, but each of us are judged alone. We are filled with self loathing. We are filled with hubris. We are filled with fear. We are filled with hope.
Perhaps my favorite piyyut in all of Yamim Noraim liturgy is the chazan’s prayer of Hineni, traditionally said before the beginning of musaf on both Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. The chazan begins by saying, “Hineni he’ani mima’as—Here I am, impoverished of good deeds.” The chazan, who has been chosen to guide their community through the perilous journey of musaf, presumably for their ability to daven forcefully and meaningfully, starts by saying, I do not deserve to be here. And yet, he knows he will continue, leading the community in their petitions. So he has no choice but to ask God not to hold his sins against his community, and to remove any impediments to his prayer. The tefillah ends, Blessed are You who hears prayer. The chazan does not invoke God’s names in his closing. Instead, he addresses God with intimacy—it is You, it is me, it is us. Please, let us find a way to come together. The challenge is figuring out how.
The pieces in this reader are the second set of articles born out of our new Hear Her Voice: Center for Writing, Homiletics, and Communications Training. Over the course of the previous academic year, our first, second, and third year Core Semikha students attended seminars and workshops once a week in order to strengthen their writing skills across different modalities. The goal of the program is to amplify our students’ voices. We know that their Torah is powerful, and we are excited to give them more tools to allow it to be heard by more and more people. These eight pieces each represent the Torah of our students’ hearts, guiding us through this beautiful, terrifying moment in the Jewish calendar with warmth, compassion, and faith.
As the pieces in this reader make clear, there is no single path towards God in this season of awe and fear and joy. The jumble of emotions evoked in each of us is the intentional outcome of the liturgical and ritual structure of Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. We must be humble enough to admit our failings but brave enough to argue that we deserve another chance. The question of how to balance those contradictions is different for each person. Whether you find answers in the machzor, in the leining, in the sound of the shofar, in the rituals, or in your own reflection, we hope that these pieces will guide your path to teshuva.
G’mar Chatima Tova
