Hineni He’Ani MiMa’as – הנני העני ממעש – Here I am, poor of deeds. 

These three Hebrew words have accompanied me since I was a young girl in synagogue during the High Holidays.

Hearing the Shliach Tzibur reciting those three words, watching him wrapped in a Tallit, gathering intention and humility into himself, chanting out his limited abilities and his desire to lead the congregation in prayer have always moved me

While this prayer is private, it gains its power from being recited publicly.

Here I am, poor of deeds. 

Last Yom Kippur, the words spoke to me again. They kept swirling in my head, and didn’t let me go.

Here I am, poor of deeds.

They didn’t let go when on Erev Rosh Hashanah 5785, my husband was called up to the Reserves. At 1:00 P.M they called, by 5:00 P.M he was fighting in Lebanon.

I didn’t hear anything from him for the first four days. After those four days, I only heard from him once for several days.

He was without a phone, somewhere in Lebanon. The horror made it difficult to function. I felt anxiety, apprehension, worry. These feelings compounded, one on top of another. Throughout those days, I worked, I cooked, I observed Rosh Hashanah. I parented my children who were probably also afraid and worried. I fed them, hugged them, fasted on Yom Kippur, and prayed with them.

Am I poor of deeds?

No. I’m not poor of deeds. 

Neither is anyone in the Jewish community.
Not the many combat soldiers and combat supporters, reserve, permanent and regular.
Not the women, who every time the order from the army arrives, they enlist.
Not the children who grow up in an impossible reality, because we have no other country.
Not the many charitable people who cook and bake and babysit for the recruited families.
Not the worshippers. Not those who think of others.
Not the educators who have been gently and sensitively holding our situation in Israel for an entire year, doing everything they can to prevent the widening of the crack in their students’ hearts.

No one is poor of deeds.

On the contrary, we are burdened with good deeds, commandments, charity, and kindness. 

We spread love and peace. All of us. We volunteer, we take care, we help and hold each other. 

So just before Ne’ila, the moment before Yom Kippur ended and the gates of Tefillah closed, I stopped saying, “We were guilty of…”

Instead, I called out to the Almighty and asked:

Enough. We’ve done so much this year. We contributed. We gave. We dedicated. We held on as long as possible. We prayed. 

Now it’s your turn.

Now it’s your turn, God, to see the deer waiting to be sacrificed and stop the many sacrifices.
Now it’s your turn to tell us that we’ve passed the test.

Now it’s your turn to return to our relationship and stop hiding your face. As long as the gates of heaven are open, the relationship should move in both directions. From our side, we’ve tried to reach out for a year now. We send you the best men to pray for us under the throne of honor. We shed our tears like water. Now it is your turn to reach out to us, to show us the “God is merciful and gracious, long-tempered and gracious and truthful.”

Now it’s your turn to promise us a happy new year and good news.

Now it is your turn to utter to us loud and clear the words: “And the Lord said, I have forgiven as you say.” (Numbers 14:20)

This has been a difficult and complex year for all of us. We have experienced personal, marital, communal, and national challenges. We are at war, and the burden is heavy. We want communication with Hashem. May Hashem hear our prayers so we know that this is a relationship that goes both-ways.