For me and countless others in Israel, this year’s High Holidays took on new meaning.

This year, we were forced to change the location of our Rosh Hashanah and Kippur services, since our regular sanctuary does not have access to a bomb shelter.

For Rosh Hashanah, one of our community members opened his home to us for three consecutive days of prayer. On the second day, the sirens went off and we dashed to the shelter. We were at a part of the prayers when you aren’t supposed to take even a step, but of course we had to.

For Yom Kippur, a school lent us their shelter, and we prayed there so we didn't have to run. But when the sirens sounded, the kids who were playing in the yard sped inside.

I couldn’t help but think of the Sixth Rebbe, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schneerson, of righteous memory, who described Yom Kippur of 1939 in his memoirs. In Warsaw, while the Nazis bombed the city, he and all kinds of Jews—Chassidic, traditional, secular, etc.—gathered in a bomb-proof basement to pray, the walls shaking around them.

But in addition to changing our location this year, I found my kavanah—intention—different, too.

Avinu Malkeinu

Every year, when I read Avinu Malkeinu (“Our Father, Our King”), I mainly focus on the line that beseeches, “ … inscribe us in the book of good life.” This year, however, “nullify the intentions of our enemies” and “thwart the plans of our adversaries” took on new meaning. In the past, I’d zipped through those lines without much kavanah; I had no adversaries that I was particularly concerned about.

The same goes for the lines, “ … do it for the sake of those who were slaughtered for your Oneness,” “ … for those who passed through the fire,” and “ … avenge the spilled blood of your servants.” I used to have to force myself to think back in history, but this year the images and videos from October 7 were right there in my mind.

Unetaneh Tokef

Tradition associates this prayer with Rabbi Amnon of Mainz, who refused the demands of the bishop who was pressuring him to convert. The bishop tortured him by amputating his limbs. In his dying breath, Rabbi Amnon said this prayer:

On Rosh Hashanah they are inscribed, and on the fast day of Yom Kippur they are sealed: How many shall pass away and how many shall be born; who shall live and who shall die; who shall live out his allotted time and who shall depart before his time; who [shall perish] by water and who by fire; who by the sword and who by a wild beast; who by hunger and who by thirst; who by earthquake and who by pestilence; who by strangulation and who by lapidation; who shall be at rest and who shall wander; who shall be tranquil and who shall be harassed; who shall enjoy well-being and who shall suffer tribulation; who shall be poor and who shall be rich; who shall be humbled and who shall be exalted.

This year, instead of trying to conjure up visions of Rabbi Amnon’s horror, I thought of all those who were mutilated and burned on October 7th. Of those who have been wandering since, unable to return home, staying in temporary lodgings. Of the kidnapped, some of whom we now know were left to die of hunger and thirst, and those who are still there experiencing untold horrors.

Asara Harugei Malchut – The Ten Martyrs

Another prayer that has always moved me is that of the Ten Martyrs killed by the Roman government. Ten sages of the Talmud were falsely accused by the tyrant emperor, who enjoyed seeing them publicly tortured and killed. The images of this liturgy are strong: “The blood of Rabbi Shimon spilled like a bull.” Or when the tyrant’s daughter lusted after Rabbi Ishmael and asked for his life, but the tyrant did not accept. Instead, the skin of the rabbi’s face was flayed and preserved for her.

This prayer culminates with asking G‑d: “Look from heaven upon the shed blood of the righteous sages. Let their lifeblood be seen in your heavens and remove the stains of guilt.”

The images of bloodshed are still fresh here, too. One does not have to go back 2,000 years to think of Jews being tortured and slaughtered.

For the first time in my life, the Machzor had another layer of kavanah. The tears were close, the pain tangible. There was no need to use my imagination.

Everything we have experienced and are experiencing is painful, but it is not the first time that it has happened. Throughout our long history, we have been persecuted and massacred. But we are assured that none of this suffering and death is in vain. It all has a purpose.

For now, however, we can only exclaim: G‑d, enough is enough! It is time for the Final Redemption.