As I walk through the streets of my neighborhood, I hear the sounds of stirring music and soulful singing coming from the windows of shuls and private homes. Thousands of Jews descend upon the Kosel and join together to say S’lichos.
During Elul and Aseres Y’mei T’shuvah, one can participate in a variety of gatherings scheduled to help people get in the mood of the Yamim Nora’im.
Maybe I don’t remember correctly, but I don’t recall the prevalence of such gatherings during my youth. It seems to me that while the t’filos remain the same, much has changed over the years, at least for me. These positive and inspiring developments address the needs of our generation.
When I was a little girl, my family would spend our summers and Yamim Nora’im in upstate New York, where my father z”l was the rabbi of a shul. The shul provided us with a cozy house and a beautiful backyard. I loved spending those carefree afternoons swinging a bat at a ball hurled in my direction via a pitchback and hanging upside down on the swing set with my brother. I can still smell the musty odor of the cellar hidden under our home. Pulling open the cellar door was an adventure in itself. The two-hour-plus journey from our home in the city to the country seemed like forever to me, but I was thrilled to be there once we arrived.
You could hear a pin drop when my father captivated the k’hilah with his drashah every Shabbos. But the awe-inspiring atmosphere during the Yamim Nora’im was on another level. As always, my brother would sit on the bimah next to my father, and I would sit like a princess next to my mother, proudly watching my father lead his flock.
I shuddered when the baal t’kiah would lift his long and twisted shofar to his lips and fill the shul with his piercing blasts. I would follow the tassel that flipped from side to side on top of the chazan’s cap as he swayed back and forth, pouring out his heart in t’filah. I would watch with fascination as he would bend his knees and lower himself to the floor during Aleinu and the Avodah, all while keeping his feet together. And most importantly to me back then, I would get a good look at the unusual selection of shoes that the men wore to shul on Yom Kippur.
During davening, I would play in the lobby with the dumbwaiter (remember those?), but I would come running back inside whenever the chazan would sing my favorite tunes. Since they were all my favorite tunes, I spent quite a bit of time in shul.
By far, my all-time favorite was Ki Anu Amecha. I could not believe my good fortune that of all the tunes we sang on Yom Kippur, Ki Anu Amecha was the one we sang repeatedly. When the time to sing Ki Anu Amecha would be getting close, my mother would point it out to me on the page of the machzor so I wouldn’t unintentionally be outside and miss it. That would have been terrible! I would return to shul with time to spare, sit down next to my mother, and wait in anticipation. As the chazan led the song, my mother and I would sing together.
When we sang the words “anu maamirecha, v’ata maamireinu,” we would smile at each other knowingly, sharing our precious secret. While everyone else in shul sang, “We are the ones that Hashem addresses, and He is the One to Whom we speak,” we sang about my Mommy, which sounds like “maamirecha.” I felt sheltered and safe sitting near my mother, with my father close by on the bimah, at the helm.
Eventually, my brother and I went off to sleepaway camp, and my father left his position at the shul.
Over the years that followed, I davened with my parents at whichever minyan they chose to daven. When I got married, I had to share my parents with my brother, so I didn’t always daven with them. But even when my mother wasn’t sitting next to me in shul, I always thought about her during Ki Anu Amecha. It was our song.
Then my father passed away a few months after I gave birth to my oldest son. I lost my “Get out of shul during Yizkor” pass and was relegated to the ranks of women who cried during U’N’saneh Tokef. My Yom Tov davening was never the same again. My carefree days were a thing of the past. My wall of security was further breached when my mother passed away almost 14 years later.
These days, the Yamim Nora’im are a different experience. I love the singing of contemporary tunes in addition to the traditional ones. The song “Ochilah LaKeil” plays repeatedly in my kitchen as I prepare for Yom Tov. I can’t imagine the Yamim Nora’im without it at this point. I love it when the t’filah comes alive with spirited singing and sometimes even spontaneous dancing in the men’s section. I am moved when young children harmonize the t’filah with their pure and innocent voices.
As time passes, some things change. We can hold on to our traditions while incorporating changes that enhance those traditions. To this day, my eyes fill with tears whenever I sing Ki Anu Amecha. I don’t believe that will ever change. But when my daughter sits beside me in shul, I feel deeply grateful for my family. “Anu maamirecha.” I try to be the best mother I can be.
Suzie Steinberg, (nee Schapiro), CSW, is a native of Kew Gardens Hills and resident of Ramat Beit Shemesh who publishes articles regularly in various newspapers and magazines about life in general, and about life in Israel in particular. Her recently published children’s book titled Hashem is Always With Me can be purchased in local Judaica stores as well as online. Suzie can be reached at This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it. and would love to hear from you.
