Leading up to the High Holidays of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, Jews all over the world begin the process of saying Selichot. Selichot comes from the word selicha — forgiveness — and are penitential prayers, dating back to the Mishnah and rooted in fast-day liturgies, recited in the days before Rosh Hashanah to beg for mercy, center on the Shelosh Esreh Middot (the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy), and seek God’s forgiveness in preparation for judgment. Traditionally, these prayers are recited at night or in the very early hours of the morning. The Mahzor Vitry describes Jews gathering “before the sun rises, and beg for mercy.” The unusual timing itself makes a statement: when others are asleep, Israel gathers to confront its sins and to ask God for compassion. As a mother with young children, slipping out at midnight is not part of my normal rhythm. Most of my friends with families don’t go to Selichot at all. But one evening, I had the chance to attend selichot at a women’s seminary in Judea, in a small place outside Alon Shvut, called Migdal Oz.
The drive wound through the mountains of the Gush. When we arrived, the hall was already full. Hundreds of women — students, teachers, neighbors — stood together with prayer books open. As the first lines of Selichot began, the sound of so many women’s voices filled the room. Not polished performance, but raw strength: voices rising and falling together, carrying ancient words into the night.
The center of Selichot is the passage first revealed to Moses after the Golden Calf — the Shelosh Esreh Middot, God’s thirteen attributes of mercy.
The Talmud teaches that these words are a covenant: whenever Israel recites them, they are never left unanswered. That night in Migdal Oz, the covenant did not feel like an abstract idea. It was present in the sound of hundreds of women declaring together that God is merciful, that He forgives, that we can begin again.
Walking back out into the mountain air after midnight, I carried that sound with me. Selichot are demanding — they pull us from comfort, they ask us to face ourselves honestly, they push us to trust in God’s mercy even when we feel undeserving. But in that gathering, the demand turned into strength. Together, we had spoken the words given to Moses, words that continue to shape Israel’s path toward renewal.
As the Days of Awe approach, this is what lingers: not sentiment, but conviction. We do not stand alone when we ask for forgiveness. We stand with generations before us, and with the voices of our people still rising today.
