Hineni He’ani Mi’mas vs Ich Bin Du  

During this period of the High Holy Days in the Hebrew calendar, often referred to in English as the Days of Awe as well, there are a number of prayers that are heard multiple times.

One of the most haunting is the Hineni prayer recited by the cantor who leads the musaf, or additional service added to the liturgy on Shabbat and holidays. It is recited three times, on both days of Rosh Hashanah (Hebrew New Year) and on Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement) as well.

Written in the first-person singular, the prayer is a one-on-one dialogue where the cantor acknowledges his own unworthiness and lack of good deeds, humbly asking God to accept his prayers on behalf of the entire congregation.

Most of what we recite  the synagogue on the High Holidays utilizes the first person plural: We praise you. God, save us because we have sinned. We pray as a community and we express ourselves collectively.

But the Hineni prayer stands apart from the myriad pages of praise and supplication recited on the High Holidays in that it is worded in the first person singular. Curiously, the congregation seems to be but spectators to this moment of the liturgy. The cantor engages in a one-on-one dialogue with God, asking for his prayers to be received favorably, despite any personal shortcomings.

Traditionally there has been majesty associated with this moment in time as the cantor approaches God, who is addressed as King earlier in the service, as one would normally approach a royal.

When I was growing up in the US the cantor would begin his plea from the rear of the synagogue. Dressed in the white vestments appropriate to the new beginnings that Rosh Hashanah signifies, he would make his way down the aisle slowly, as if he truly was approaching a king. As he walked, he chanted the words of the prayer of supplication modulating his tone as the specific words and phrases warranted.

Depending on the skill of the cantor, oftentimes people in the congregation would be brought to tears as they internalized the meaning of the prayer and the awe in which the cantor approached the reading stand.  It often was, to say the least, both  mystical and magical moment in time.

And then I moved to Israel where everything operates at warp speed and people seem to have less patience or interest in the pomp and circumstance that I experienced in my youth.

Here, rather than the awe-inspiring personal plea chanted as the cantor approached the presence of God the king, in every synagogue that I have attended these past 43 years the cantor simply stands up, walks to the reading stand and begins the Hineni prayer. The impression I always have at that moment is best expressed by the Yiddish expression, “ich bin du” which translates to “I’m here” with the added but unsaid body language that says “let’s get going.” When the cantor gets to the reading stand, he simply begins the Hineni, much of which is even said in an undertone. No majesty there at all.

In many ways it mirrors the society in which we live. We generally have little time for pomp and circumstance. The attitude seems to be, I’m here, let’s get started and do what we came do to. No buildup, no anticipation, no majesty just “ich bin du” so let’s do it.

Frankly, I think we have lost something in this shift from majesty to utilitarianism.  It is somewhat sad that even in religious life shortcuts are preferred, oftentimes “getting done” is more important, than “getting to done.”

If there is a lesson in this long period of holidays that will stretch into early October, it is that this period was specifically designed to have us take a step back, slow down from our daily insane pace, and relish the majesty of the moment.

I recall that the motto of the Cunard Shipping Line used to be “getting there is half the fun.” Indeed, and replacing the majesty of Hineni with the proletarian “ich bin du” reduces the seriousness of the cantor’s approach to God the king. A return to majesty would be a welcome modulation to our otherwise too fast paced lives.