Written by Cantor Danielle Rodnizki
Each year, as the Hebrew month of Elul arrives, I find myself listening. Listening for the quiet stirrings of my heart. For the tremble of awakening in my own soul. For the sacred invitation the High Holy Days extend to each of us to pause, to reflect, to begin again.
We are, after all, imperfect. We stumble. We miss the mark. And yet, we return. This season reminds us of who we are: b’nei Yisrael — the children of the one who wrestled with God. We are seekers and strugglers, question-askers and meaning-makers. Our wrestling is not a flaw. It is our inheritance.
On Erev Rosh Hashanah, we will hear the Hin’ni prayer. This prayer is a vulnerable plea — the cantor stands before the congregation, not as a soloist, but as a human being, asking for strength and humility to be a voice for the community’s prayers on these sacred days of awe. The prayer ends with a simple, yet powerful affirmation: Ki Atah shomei’a t’filat amcha Yisrael b’rachamim — “For You hear the prayer of Your people Yisrael with compassion.”
I learned from my teacher, Cantor Ellen Dreskin, that when vocalized differently, Midrash suggests that we might read Yisrael as Yashir Eil — God will sing. If read this way, then not only are we the people who wrestle with God, we are also the people through whom God sings.
This alternate reading transforms Hin’ni into something even more profound. God doesn’t just hear our prayers; God hears the music within them. God is the music within them. Our collective voice — our ancient melodies, our aching cries, our sacred silence — becomes a vessel for the Divine. We are not praying to God. We are praying with God.
There are moments during the High Holy Days when I stop singing and simply listen. To the power of the entire congregation singing Sh’ma. To a fragile whisper of Avinu Malkeinu. To the meaningful silence after the final note. These are holy sounds. Not because they are perfect, but because they are shared. They remind me that this prayer is not mine alone. Every voice in the room — each person with their own joys, regrets, doubts, and hopes — helps spark something transcendent, something beyond what any one of us could create alone.
Hin’ni concludes with the words: Baruch Atah, Adonai, shomei’a t’filah — “Blessed are You, Adonai, who hears prayer.” Not who “answers” prayer. Not who “fixes” our prayer. Simply: hears. And perhaps sings.
This High Holy Day season, may we join in community not as perfect voices, but as open ones. May we cry out, sing out, reach out, and trust that we are heard. Let us trust that through our imperfect prayers, God’s voice might be heard again. Because we are Yisrael. And through us, Yashir Eil — God will sing.
L’shanah tovah — May your new year be filled with compassion, connection, and song.
