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 אֶנְקַת מְסַלְּדֶֽיךָ, תַּֽעַל לִפְנֵי כִסֵּא כְבוֹדֶֽךָ

May the cry of those who praise You ascend to the throne of Your glory. 

Tears, a silent language from the heart, expressing emotions too deep for words.

Tears, a physical manifestation of our innermost emotions.

Tears, yearning for forgiveness, and promising to do better.

Tears, in their purest form, act as a river cleansing away our wrongdoings.

Tears, the most eloquent of prayers expressing what words often fail to convey.

And in the quiet comfort of my own tears, a reflection of my soul’s journey, each droplet holding the beauty and pain within.

As the sun begins to set, we get closer to the end of this day of atonement.

We plead to God with every ounce we have left.

We ask for forgiveness, we say we are sorry, would that we might also forgive ourselves.

And as our voices patiently wait at the gates of heaven, we are reminded of the extraordinary power of our tears, an unspoken language of our souls.

Yihi ratzon l’fanecha shomea kol b’chiyot 

“May it be Your will, You who hears the voices of the weeping”

Shetasim dimoteynu b’nod’cha lihiyot 

“That You place our tears in Your skin bottle for safekeeping”

I find it so beautiful and powerful this image of God not only hearing our tears but physically holding onto them.

For me, my tears are something private. I struggle with letting people see me cry, whether tears of joy or sadness and I only allow ones I feel completely safe with to see those tears. People I know who will hold on to them and protect them.

So perhaps this image is intended to do just that. To show that God can indeed be trusted with our tears and therefore our deepest and most delicate prayers.

Two words for tears…two words for weeping. The paytan (title of the person who write a piyyut) might have had these verses in mind. 

Meinekat evyonim ata akum 

“Hearing the cries of the needy.
I will help,” God promises to the Psalmists…

Jonah cries out to God saying 

Mibeten Sheol shivati 

“From the belly of Sheol I cried out shamati koli You, God, heard my voice” 

In both verses we see the same thing happening. A desperate heartfelt cry out to God and then untimely God’s response. 

And so, as we sing out our last cries, may we too have the divine assurance that God indeed hears our cries.

In this final Neila service, as the gates of heaven begin to close and the day of atonement draws to its end, the urgency of our prayers deepens. We stand before the Divine with hearts exposed, souls laid bare, aware that this is our final opportunity to seek forgiveness and renewal.

Mah Nomar—"What can we say?"—calls us to pause and turn inward. It asks us to acknowledge our human frailty in the face of God’s boundless wisdom and mercy. In this sacred moment, we recognize that no words can fully express the depths of our longing, our hopes, or our repentance.

And yet, we offer what we have—our prayers, our intentions, and our sincere commitment to be better in the year to come. As the day fades, we reflect on our journey through Yom Kippur, grateful for this moment of stillness, for the closeness we feel to God, trusting that even when our words fall short, our hearts are heard.