It’s only with Ne’ilah, once a year, that we access the fifth dimension, Yechidah, oneness

“Hear Yisrael, Hashem is our G-d, Hashem is One.” (Tefillas Ne’ilah, Yom Kippur)

The word Ne’ilah means closure, as it’s the time right before the closing of Heaven’s gates, our last opportunity to ask for what we need, to repent, to seal ourselves in the Book of Life.

Yet why is the prayer called Ne’ilah, closure, when it’s the final prayer before Heaven’s gates close? (Rabbi YY Jacobson, TheYeshiva.net)

As a girl, I spent the Yamim Noraim in Yeshivas Ner Yisrael, which culminated in the crescendo of Ne’ilah, with Rav Sheftel Neuberger’s powerful voice saying Shema Yisrael, and the roar of voices as we all joined. My body and soul would sprout wings; with each step of Hashem Hu HaElokim, I felt myself move higher and higher. It was a powerful way to begin the new year.

But when I became a mother, Yom Kippur and Ne’ilah became a different ball game. Instead of feeling elevated, I was exhausted and certainly not spiritual as I tried to keep the kids occupied during those last hours of the fast.

I’d say a quick Ne’ilah in my bedroom, hoping for some uninterrupted davening time, but instead of reaching upward, I sensed the gates had long been closed in my face. With each Hashem Hu HaElokim, I felt myself begging yet slipping farther and farther away from Him. Even while knowing this situation was my tafkid right then as a mother, I still felt dejected.

The Lubavitcher Rebbe, in 1963, shared a new insight into Ne’ilah. During Ne’ilah, the gates of Heaven are closed already, but — with you inside. During Ne’ilah, you’re alone with Hashem.

Yom Kippur is the wedding day between Hashem and His bride. Thus, we dress in white, like a bride. And like a chuppah culminates with the yichud room, Yom Kippur, too, culminates with Ne’ilah, time to be secluded with Hashem. No matter who you are, or what your circumstances, Hashem invites you alone for an intimate moment with Him.

During Covid, there was a small minyan in the cheder right across the street from me. Imagine my excitement when I realized that standing in my garden, although I couldn’t hear the chazzan, I could hear the kahal, and I reveled in the opportunity to follow the tefillos while the kids played outdoors.

That Yom Kippur I was looking forward to Ne’ilah. I would hear the roar of voices in Shema Yisrael, I’d feel the power of Hashem Hu HaElokim, and I’d once again experience the sensation of soaring higher than the mundane.

There I was, standing with my machzor in the dwindling light, anticipation and yearning in my heart, leaning forward to catch every word the kahal would say.

Every day we have three prayers — Maariv, Shacharis, and Minchah. These correspond to the three dimensions of our soul: Nefesh, Ruach, Neshamah (biological life, emotional life, cognitive self). On Shabbos, we add the fourth dimension, Chayah (transcendental aspirations), with the tefillah of Mussaf. But it’s only with Ne’ilah, once a year, that we access the fifth dimension, Yechidah, oneness — your core undefined essence, a mirror of Divine infinity and harmony.

Yechidah is the most intimate, vulnerable part of the human soul, unshielded by the defenses of other levels. We reach it at Ne’ilah, at the precise moment when we declare Hashem’s Oneness with Shema Israel.

Suddenly, piercing shrieks rent the air. Someone had accidentally slammed the patio door on Shloime’s fingers. In a flash, I was torn from the spiritual into the moment. Shloime needed help. But 20 minutes later, as I sat cuddling him on my lap, the disappointment was blade-sharp. Didn’t Hashem want me to be close to Him?

Closing my eyes, I wrapped Shloime tighter and concentrating tightly, I cast my thoughts upward.

I pictured myself standing in front of those seven stages of Heaven. One at a time, each stage seemed to be slipping away from me.

But no; I shifted the picture, visualizing the scene. I was climbing, one faltering step at a time, reaching deeply into myself. With no option to use the tefillos as accompanying help, I was struggling upward alone. But then I focused. I didn’t have to go at it alone. There was a Hand from Above pulling me higher. Whether in shul or on the couch, at that moment, it was only me and Hashem. The skies have no limits with that Helping Hand.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 914)