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.