The Island

I’m standing for Shemoneh Esreh and around me I hear sniffles, people pressing their faces into their machzorim, a cloud of intensity hovering above the women’s section. I’m saying the words slowly, unhurriedly, and it dawns on me that I’m not caught up in the intensity. I feel light and calm. There’s none of the desperation I usually associate with the Rosh Hashanah tefillos; I’m not trying to push my own pleas into the words that speak of His Kingship.

Everything is different. I’ve been helped. I’ve been touched by His mercy. I know He can help. After years of facing a closed door, I now stand on the other side.

I recall past Rosh Hashanahs, gripping the machzor with clammy fingers, feeling alone in a crowd of congregants. Far out at sea, storms and tears and flailing emotions, whispering the same urgent plea over and over again. And then comes the vague guilt: Is Rosh Hashanah really a time to pray for our own personal requests or is it solely about crowning Hashem as King? And my assurance to myself that I can resolve the conundrum by putting the two together, saying, I’d be able to serve You better if only You’d grant me... But, if I’m going to be honest, in the face of pain, all thoughts of His Kingship slipped away, and there was only the plea for a life preserver as I foundered.

Now as I wait for the rav to bang on his shtender to signal tekias shofar, there’s none of that. I’m so heady with my fulfilled prayers, I don’t feel the need to ask for anything else. I stand there, feeling Rosh Hashanah transformed.