The Merciful One Who answers the poor, may He answer us (Selichos)
As we recite the Selichos each morning, one question looms large. What is the most powerful section of all? Which paragraph carries the greatest weight before the Kisei HaKavod (Hashem’s Throne of Glory)?
Undoubtedly, the most potent is the Yud Gimmel Middos Shel Rachamim, the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy. These words were taught to Moshe Rabbeinu by Hashem himself, with Hashem declaring: “Whenever the Jewish people say these words before Me, I will forgive them” (Rosh Hashanah 17b).
The second most powerful section is, in my opinion, “Mi She’ana—He Who answered...” This refrain is rooted in a Mishnah (Ta’anis 15a). It is ancient, authoritative and timeless. Each morning, we recite: “He who answered Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov, may He answer us.”
But let us pause for a moment.
Do we really believe that we belong in the same breath as these giants? Avraham Avinu, who stood alone against the world; Yitzchak, who offered himself upon the Mizbeach; Moshe Rabbeinu, the man who spoke face to face with Hashem; Shmuel HaNavi, Aharon HaKohen, Dovid HaMelech, Shlomo HaMelech. These are the spiritual architects of our faith. And we ask Hashem: “You answered them; answer us.” Who are we to make such a request?
And then comes the final crescendo: “He who answered all the righteous, the pious, the pure, and the upright, may He answer us.” One must ask: do you really consider yourself a tzaddik? A chassid? A tamim? A yashar? Is that where you place yourself? It sounds absurd, if not arrogant.
So what are we doing?
If we notice, in the very next section of Selichos, everything changes. Without warning, we switch languages. We move from Hebrew into Aramaic: “Rachmana de’anei le’aniyei aneinu—The Merciful One who answers the poor, answer us.”
Why the sudden switch?
The Gemara (Berachos 3a; Sotah 33a; as explained by Tosafos), teaches that the angels do not understand Aramaic. When we want to speak to Hakadosh Baruch Hu in the most intimate, direct, and private way, bypassing even the angels, we speak in Aramaic. That is why Kaddish, the rawest cry of the orphan, is in Aramaic. It is a language of the soul, a language without interference.
This shift is deliberate. We say to the Ribono Shel Olam: we only mentioned the names of the Avos, the Neviim, and the tzaddikim to invoke the zechus Avos (merit of our Forefathers). But we know who we are. We are not delusional and we are not arrogant. All we have to offer is the cry of a broken pauper.
Dovid Hamelech writes, “Tefillah l’ani ki ya’atof v’lifnei Hashem yishpoch sicho—A prayer for a poor man when he enwraps himself and pours out his speech before Hashem” (Tehillim 102:1). The Zohar HaKadosh makes a stunning observation. Of all the 150 chapters of Tehillim, only three are labeled Tefillah, a personal prayer: Tefillah L’Moshe, the prayer of Moshe, rooted in Torah; Tefillah L’Dovid, the prayer of Dovid, the master of tefillah and song; Tefillah L’Ani, the cry of the pauper. And, says the Zohar, the greatest of them all is Tefillah L’Ani. Why? Because nothing pierces the heavens like a broken heart. As another Pasuk in Tehillim (34:18) makes clear: “Hashem is close to the broken-hearted, and He saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
After reading the magnificent list of holy giants, we say to the Ribono Shel Olam: we know we don’t belong on that list. We are simply poor. We are spiritually impoverished, broken and frail. But we are Your children, and we cry out to You.
So we say: “Rachmana de’anei le’aniyei aneinu... Merciful One who answers the poor, answer us.”
That is all we have. That is all we can offer. And we believe it is enough.
So when you say Mi She’ana, remember what it means and remember where it begins and ends. It ends not with pride, but with a plea. It ends with Aramaic, because it is too raw, too personal, too honest for any angel to carry.
It is just you and Hashem. A child whispering to their Father, “Please, Abba... answer me.”
