פְּתַח לָנוּ שַׁעַר
בְּעֵת נְעִילַת שַׁעַר
כִּי פָנָה יוֹם
Open the gate for us
at the time the gate is closing,
for the day is fading.
– Yom Kippur liturgy
Toward the end of Yom Kippur, as the day’s prayers draw to a close, we come to a climactic moment just before the gates of heaven seal shut. With bodies weary from fasting, hearts heavy with supplication, and souls tender with sorrow, we complete the final prayer, Neilah, with a simple, profound plea: Please God, forgive us, have mercy on us, show us compassion.
The days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are known as the Ten Days of Repentance—10 days between the act of inscription in the Book of Life and its final sealing. They are days of inner reflection, seeking to do good, and increasing acts of kindness and charity that may, we pray, tip the scales of judgment in our favor and grant us a good year.
Since yesterday, when the world watched President Trump’s White House press conference announcing a peace plan to bring an immediate end to the war and the return of all 48 hostages, it has felt as though we have been holding our breath. For 725 days, we have carried an unbearable weight, afraid to release it, desperately hoping the next breath—the full, longed-for one that will finally ease the tension, the pressure, the crushing worry—might finally, finally be near.
During these two unbearable years, we have stood on the verge of agreement several times, yet this time feels different. This time, we may truly be approaching the end of a nightmare that burst uninvited into our lives, brought upon us a horrific disaster, dragged 251 of our own into captivity in the darkness of Gaza, and plunged an entire nation into a devastating war that has claimed far too many precious lives.
The coming hours and days will be agonizing. The families of the hostages will move between hope and fear, grasping the delicately spun thread of hope, holding it tight with trembling hands and not letting it unravel, praying it will reach deep into the tunnels of Gaza, straight to the hearts of their beloved ones, with one final, urgent plea: Hold on, because this time, truly, you are coming home.
For whom will this be a belated return? Which of the hostages have endured nearly two years of indescribable physical and mental torture, and who could not withstand it and will return to their homeland for eternal rest? Which families will be blessed with embracing their loved ones—gaunt, bruised, exhausted, but miraculously alive—and who will stand before coffins wrapped in the Israeli flag, hearts breaking as they ask forgiveness for failing to bring them home in time? The scenes will tear at our hearts, and an entire nation will whisper with them through tears, “Forgive us,” because they are all our people, and we all fell short in the sacred mission to bring them home sooner.
The end of the war will bring home our sons serving in Gaza, soldiers who have spent more time on Gazan soil these past two years than at home with their families, fathers who have embraced their comrades in arms more than their beloved spouses and children. The end of the war, if all terms of the agreement are fulfilled, will ensure—with international guarantees—safety and quiet for the communities surrounding Gaza, whose members are rebuilding their homes and their lives in the presence of profound loss and absence.
The end of the war may also bring the end of Netanyahu’s government, a path toward elections, and finally the establishment of a state commission of inquiry to investigate the events of October 7.
It will herald the beginning of recovery and rehabilitation for us in Israel and for our neighbors, the innocent children of Gaza, whose bitter fate was sealed with their birth into a cruel tyranny that exploits its own people in campaigns of killing and terror.
So much hope is woven into these few words: “end of war.” Until then, we continue to yearn, to pray, to hope.
May the prayers of Yom Kippur, spoken in words and letters in every language, sung in melodies both ancient and new, and uttered in voices as diverse as those who whisper them, rise together in one sweeping, determined ascent toward the gates of heaven before they close. May the chorus of our shared longing reach the Eternal One in heaven, Rock of Israel and its Redeemer, that the Holy One may answer our supplications and grant us peace—true peace, with all the blessings it carries on its wings.
May the One who creates peace on high, bring peace to us and to all Israel.
And let us say: Amen.
G’mar chatima tova. May you be sealed for good.
Together, united, we will overcome.
Leah Garber is a senior vice president of JCC Association of North America and director of its Center for Israel Engagement in Jerusalem.
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