As we are about to enter the revered period of Selichos, it is important to remember that these prayers are not the usual ones we utter all year long. In the inimitable phrase of Rav Moshe Shapiro (Shuvi Venechezeh, Elul-Sukkos, page 542), “The uniqueness of Selichos is that while we are usually davening to Hashem, we are now davening with Him.”
This is proven by two different statements in the Gemara. First of all, Chazal (Rosh Hashanah 17b) teach that “Hashem wrapped Himself [in a tallis] like a shliach tzibbur (chazzan) and said to Moshe Rabbeinu, ‘Whenever Klal Yisroel sins before Me, let them perform this procedure and I shall forgive them.’” This indicates that Hashem is somehow also praying, but even more so, He is leading the tefillos.
The second Talmudic statement is even more incomprehensible without the guidance of our meforshim. It has become somewhat more famous because it is now part of a popular song, but it’s message is still unfathomable by itself: “From where do we know that Hakadosh Boruch Hu prays? …the House of My prayer. It does not say the House of their prayer, but rather My prayer. From here we learn that Hashem prays” (Brachos 7a). This proves irrevocably that Hashem actually davens.
The Gemara even continues to cite the story of Rav Yishmoel ben Elisha, who related, “One time [on Yom Kippur] I entered inside [the Holy of Holies]…and I saw Akasriel Kah Hashem Tzevakos and [Hashem] said to me, ‘Yishmoel My son, bless Me.’ I said to Him, ‘May it be Your will that Your mercy conquer Your anger and that Your mercy overcome Your [sterner] attributes, and that You behave toward Your children with the attribute of mercy and that You go beyond the boundary of judgment,’ He nodded to me with His head.”
This Gemara goes much further than the one in Rosh Hashanah. In fact, the Maharal (Be’er Hagolah 4; Siddur, page 590) is astounded: “Many are shocked at this statement that a mere mortal can bless the One from Whose blessing all are blessed.” However, he goes on to explain that chas veshalom to assume for a moment that the Creator needs anything at all from us. Nevertheless, the process of involving His creations allows us greater opportunity to become worthy and access to His blessings. In any case, as Rav Moshe Shapiro concludes, the formula for Selichos, which was literally demonstrated for us by Hashem Himself, allows us to “daven, so to speak, with Hashem in His minyan, in His bais haknesses, where He is the shliach tzibbur.
I would like to illustrate this rather abstruse concept and bring it down to earth a bit with a story told by the maggid Rav Reuvein Karelenstein (Yechi Reuvein, Yomim Noraim, page 19). He begins by quoting a well-known Medrash (Shir Hashirim Rabbah 5:2): Hashem says, “Open up for me a door of teshuvah even as tiny as the head of a needle and I will open for you doors so wide that calves and wagons will be able to enter.” Rav Elya Lopian added to this that everything is middah keneged middah, measure for measure: To whatever extent we open the door, it is to that extent that we gain the help of Heaven in our teshuvah process. This is the reason the name Elul in Hebrew is an acronym for “Ani leDodi veDodi li — I am to my Beloved and my Beloved is to me.”
To all this, Rav Karelenstein related his fascinating story. “At Arachim seminars, it is common to have newly-minted baalei teshuvah tell the story of how they returned. At one of these, a doctor stood up to relate his own journey. At the time, he lived in North Tel Aviv, where he would take his early morning walk before going to the clinic where he worked. On one of the mornings of Sukkos, he was striding on his route as usual when, suddenly, a religious Jew walked by carrying the daled minim. It reminded of his youth, when he had actually heard that at this time of year, Jews bring the lulav, esrog, haddasim and aravos to shul. An inner voice suggested that he go see what people did with these strange objects, but he was dressed for a jog, with no head-covering. Instead, he sprinted home to change. There he also recalled that he had an old tallis that he received at his bar mitzvah. He wrapped it around his neck like a shawl and ran to where he thought the local shul was located.
As he sprinted along wearing the tallis, one of his patients, also out for her jog, moved toward him. She literally stopped dead in her tracks, since she knew her physician to be the ultimate secular man. The doctor, too, stopped, wishing her a hearty chag sameiach. Mocking him, she responded, “Boker tov,” clearly implying that it was a regular morning. The doctor, now challenged, once again said, “Chag sameiach,” to which she once again responded with her boker tov. After this exchange, the woman couldn’t control herself. “Doctor, please tell me, what happened to you? Why are you walking with a tallis in the street?”
His response was interesting. “I’m just an ordinary Jew. If I was an Indian, I would be wearing feathers on my head. So why is it so strange that for once I’m dressed like a Jew?”
The woman listened to his words, responded “Shalom,” and left as if she had been bitten by a snake. The doctor went to the shul, watched the services with curiosity, but neither the davening itself nor even the dazzling display of dozens of lulavim and hoshanos moved him at all. He went to work and returned home as before.
A number of months went by and a patient came in dressed in the modest garb of chareidim. It took a few moments, but the doctor suddenly realized that this woman was the very same one who was derisive and caustic about his own display of religiosity just a few months earlier. This time, it was the doctor’s turn to be incredulous. “What happened to you?” he blurted out. “Did you become a baalas teshuvah?”
“Yes, I did,” she proudly responded.
“But what brought you to this sudden change?” he queried, still shocked.
Then she uttered the astounding truth. “It was you, doctor, who brought me to this.”
Now the doctor could only utter monosyllables. “Me?”
The woman, now fully in charge, responded, “You brought me to repent. Don’t you remember the morning we met while jogging last Sukkos? You said chag sameiach and I insisted on responding boker tov.”
“Okay. So what?” the confused physician retorted. “That brought you to repent?’ “Don’t you remember? You also muttered, ‘I’m just a stam Yehudi — an ordinary Jew.”
The doctor was now thoroughly baffled. His bewilderment grew, even as the woman began to weep.
In a choked voice, she told her story. “I was born on a left-wing Shomer Hatzair Kibbutz. After I got married ,I rarely saw my parents, since we now lived in Tel Aviv. On one of my rare trips back home, my father took me aside and spoke seriously to me. “I have something that I must tell you. You know that I am a survivor of the Holocaust. I was twelve years old when we were taken away to Auschwitz. I was in the miserable cattle car with my mother, and on one of the stops, she took me in her hand and said, ‘I am too weak to escape, but you are small, agile and young. While the train has stopped, jump out the window and you will survive.’ I didn’t want to part from her, but she pushed me out the window. As I was falling, she called after me, ‘Wherever you are, no matter how many gentiles are around you, don’t forget saying to yourself, ‘I am just a stam Yehudi — an ordinary Jew.’
“As I was running away, a Nazi stopped me. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded. By all logic, I should have told him that I was a local citizen. But my mother’s words poured out of me. ‘I am just a regular Jew,’ I told him. He was so shocked by my honesty and bluntness that he actually freed me. ‘You are a good girl. You may go.’ That answer saved my life, and from then on, many miracles occurred to me and I ended up in this place.’”
The patient caught her breath and continued: “My mother passed away and my father developed Alzheimer’s. Soon he couldn’t recognize anyone or speak intelligibly, but he would always mutter, ‘I am stam a Jew.’ That is the phrase I heard day and night.
“After he, too, passed away, I went for a jog, and who passes by? My secularist doctor who who proceeds to tell me, ‘I am a stam Yehudi, a regular Jew.’ I said to myself that I must visit a rabbi. I found one and he guided me through the teshuvah process, which began …with you.”
The doctor, for his own sanity, decided that he, too, must explore the meaning of this strange turn of events and also attended an Arachim seminar, becoming a full baal teshuvah.
Yes, Hashem does get fully involved in our lives. He sends us messages, people with reminders, and opportunities for change. In fact, during Selichos, He davens with us, because He wants us to become better, to improve and to grow. He puts on the tallis and leads us, if we are willing to answer His call.
Let us listen to our Chazzan as He leads the Selichos and the magical mystical Thirteen Middos of Rachachim. When Hashem is the Chazzan, anything is possible.
