Reflections from the High Holydays (part II)

Of all the things I was most anxious about leading Rosh HaShanah, it was the Aleinu HaGadol. The prayer towards the end of the service that, only once a year, do we bow down, and fully prostrate in front of the opened Ark with the Torah.

When I say 'we', I must clarify; it is a tradition that I have observed for many years, and I myself have never done. I have seen the rabbis, cantors and leaders, and some members of the community, fully prostrate, but for me it was always an anxiety-inducing ritual I had never tried. But I knew that as the sole person on the pulpit, this year, it was definitely up to me.

For a female rabbi especially it comes with its own complexities - I chose flat shoes so that I didn't risk toppling or stumbling at the crucial moment. I was conscious that my tallit wasn't quite big enough to cover my whole body and I worried about what the view might be for some people. Most of all, I worried that the orchestration and timing would be wrong and I'd mess it all up for the community who had placed so much trust in me to guide them through one of our most sacred of days and moments in that day.

So as you can now imagine, the chance of me having a spiritual moment in those few minutes (which, let's face it, is the whole point of it) were really really slim. But I did it, without stumbling, faltering or making a fool of myself, and the relief was immense.

Having made our way down to London to be with my family for the rest of the new year, I was in shul as a congregant the next morning. There was zero pressure this time, and I actually found myself looking forward to that moment in the service. I was ready. I was going to do it, and without the pressures of feeling watched, or leading, or representing anyone other than myself, I was able to fully engage with it. I lifted the tallit over my head and closed my eyes. I started to bend my body, my head lowering to the floor.

I felt disconnected from the room and everyone else around me, but I also felt safe; safe in the tallit and safe in this space I was in; not quite material, but also not quite 'out of this body' either. The only way I can attempt to describe it is the liminal space in between.I knew where I was but it also didn't matter where I was because there was white all around me and the words of the ancient prayer was my reality. I was firmly rooted in the sacred.

I felt a really focussed energy connecting me to a different level of consciousness.

I am aware how pretentious this sounds, and that I've risked alienating a whole lot of people in writing it. But I wanted to speak this truth because maybe I'm putting language to something felt by others too, and perhaps if we spoke about this more, or were clear in our intention to offer space to feel this more, maybe it would elevate our experiences of prayer, and Jewish communal prayer, and sense of Jewish community, in being more open about this side of being Jewish too.

I also wanted to share this because, in hindsight, I wonder if that spiritual recharge I had that morning was the spiritual strengthening and preparation I needed for what was to transpire ten days later when I found myself as the only Jewish spiritual leader three miles away from a terrorist attack on a synagogue in Manchester (which I wrote about: here Reflections from Manchester (Part I))