As a rav, I have been blessed with many wonderful chasadim from He Who blesses all. There is one talent, however, Hashem has not gifted me with, and that is a melodic and cantorial voice.

For that reason, the only time I ever take the amud — aside from when I have yahrtzeit — is for Ne’ilah on Yom Kippur.

When I first became a rav, over 22 years ago, I was told, “The Rav should do Ne’ilah. There is no one who knows the pain of the kehillah more than you.” So for the past 22 years, I have — to the best of my ability — been the sheliach tzibbur for the finale of the holiest day of the year.

Over the years, some of the baalei tefillah in the shul have given me pointers, and I listen to recordings of Ne’ilah, but, nevertheless, a Helfgot I will never be.

I don’t know how it started, but for almost ten years now, one of my sons has always davened right next to me during Ne’ilah. They don’t help me sing, as no one in our family is musically inclined. Yet just seeing them standing next to me gives me that extra push to carry me through the entire demanding tefillah.

I can recall my son Tuvia, now married for years, standing next to me. And for many years, my two youngest sons, Shaya and Aryeh, flanked me on either side and would be my support as I davened with all my heart.

Yet life moves on, and Shaya married and moved to Clifton, and Aryeh, who just married in the summer, lives outside Passaic.

Therefore, as I approached the amud this year, I felt somewhat lonely and bereft. Who would give me the final push to the finish line? I would have to suffice with the memories of former years and imagine my sons standing next to me as I intently davened Ne’ilah.

As the time for the tefillah arrived, I approached the pulpit to speak one final time and attempt to give the kehillah the needed momentum to take them over the hump and give it their all to tip the scales in our favor, as the gates of Heaven were about to close.

As for me, I would have to visualize the years gone by when my sons were at my side, when their presence was what I needed to inspire me to reach heights thought unattainable just minutes ago. The memories of those years would have to suffice, in lieu of the physical presence of my sons.

I slowly walked to the amud and begin Ashrei. I had just reached the verse, “Retzon yireiav yaaseh — the will of those who are in awe of Him He shall fulfill,” when out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of him.

There he was, in his kittel and tallis.

My son Shaya had made the mile trek on Yom Kippur from his house in Clifton for one reason, and one reason only: to stand next to me during Ne’ilah.

The sight of him and his presence reenergized me more than any mussar schmooze or energy drink could have done.

As Ne’ilah concluded and I took my three steps back, I grabbed my son in appreciation as he and I and another 20 to 30 mispallelim joined hands as we danced to be next year in Yerushalayim.

It never ceases to amaze me how the smallest gestures in life can make all the difference in the world.  

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 737)