Why N'ilah Matters

Cantor Jessica (Fox) Epstein

Cantor’s Notes:  Temple Ner Tamid

September 2001

N’ilah is the last service on the Day of Atonement, and I confess, it is my favorite.

Yes, I love all the services. Rosh Hashanah is majestic and exciting. Kol Nidre’s melody wakes the soul and stirs long-sleeping memories. But during N’ilah, people come because they want to. There are no societal expectations. There’s no extra credit. We’re all tired and we look it. We pray because we want to, or need to. Purified through hunger and thirst, the words we’ve spoken and sung together over the day resonate now through hollowed-out parts of ourselves. We feel lighter. Cleaner. The gates are closing. We know the sun is setting. Our stomachs rumble like thunder over the plains.

The gates are closing, hurry! The gates are closing!

As the last rays of light fall upon us we implore, "Hear us, Adonai when we call. Do not turn us away!" As the last blast of the shofar fades, we arrive for havdalah breathless and thrilled. We made it.

N’ilah is closure. It is the change of direction in the day. The nusach, or melodic motif, lacks the majesty of Rosh Hashanah or Kol Nidre. There are no more cheerful tunes, no grand arpeggios; during n’ilah the notes are incessant and demanding. They help push the congregation to the last breath when we heroically affirm, "Adonai Hu HaElohim!" "Adonai is God" seven sacred times.

Maybe it’s just my low-blood sugar that leads to my ecstatic feelings. Maybe it’s the upbeat Sephardic hymn, "El Nora Alilah." Maybe it’s the way we turn off the lights, put our arms around each other’s shoulders and sway. Maybe it’s the drama of the last, great cacophony of shofarot. All I know is what’s true. I feel a surge of energy flow through me and carry me to the end of the service. The swaying is touchy-feely, yes. But hey, we earned it.

N’ilah is one more plea. One more prayer. One more moment to confess. One more chance to renew. It’s like running for the closing elevator while shouting, "Hold the door!" It’s like pushing past the crowd, flying down the station steps two at a time, and leaping into the R as the doors slam shut behind you and you speed away smiling through the mysterious, wonderful darkness of the tunnel that’s taking you home.

You speed away smiling through the mysterious, wonderful darkness of the tunnel that’s taking you home.