Hoshanah Rabbah - The Day I Finally Understood Why We Cry, “Please Save Us!”
There is something hauntingly beautiful about Hoshanah Rabbah.
It is the seventh day of Sukkot—the day when the prayers seem to intensify, the willow branches become part of a dramatic ritual, and the ancient cry of “Hoshana!”—“Please save!” rises again and again.
For a long time, I thought I understood that cry.
I assumed it was simply a beautiful expression of Jewish longing for redemption.
But the older I became, the more I realized that “Hoshana” is not merely a religious phrase.
It is a confession.
It is what I say when I finally admit that I cannot save myself.
It is what I whisper when my carefully constructed plans collapse.
It is what I pray when I have run out of clever answers.
“Ana Adonai, hoshia na.”
“Please, Adonai, save now.”
Those words come from Psalm 118:25.
And suddenly Hoshanah Rabbah becomes intensely personal.
Because I can talk about salvation in theological language all day long. I can discuss redemption, covenant, prophecy, Messiah, restoration, and the coming Kingdom.
But there comes a moment when theology has to become a cry from my own heart.
“HaShem, I need You to save.”
Not someday.
Not merely in history.
Not merely in prophecy.
Now.
That is where Hoshanah Rabbah has begun speaking to me in a way I never expected.
When the Seventh Day of Sukkot Became Personal
When I think about Sukkot, I naturally think about joy.
I think about the sukkah.
I think about gathering.
I think about fruit, harvest, hospitality, family, worship, and the beautiful reminder that my life is temporary and that my true security comes from HaShem.
Sukkot is called Zman Simchateinu—the Season of Our Joy.
But then comes the seventh day.
Hoshanah Rabbah.
And suddenly the atmosphere takes on another dimension.
There is joy, but there is also urgency.
There is celebration, but there is supplication.
There is gratitude, but there is also a desperate awareness of our need.
I have learned that these things are not contradictions.
They belong together.
Real biblical joy does not require me to pretend that everything is fine.
I can rejoice in HaShem while admitting that I am hurting.
I can celebrate His faithfulness while crying over something I cannot fix.
I can believe in redemption while acknowledging how desperately I need redemption.
That may be one of the most beautiful lessons of Hoshanah Rabbah.
Joy does not mean I have no needs.
Sometimes joy means I know exactly where to take my needs.
What Does “Hoshanah Rabbah” Mean?
The Hebrew expression Hoshanah Rabbah can be understood as “the great hosanna” or “the great plea for salvation.”
The word hosha-na comes from the Hebrew language of Psalm 118:25:
“Please, Adonai, save now!”
—Psalm 118:25
The phrase combines an urgent plea for salvation with the language of praise and trust surrounding Psalm 118.
And that is important to me.
Because biblical faith is not detached optimism.
It is not pretending that suffering doesn't exist.
It is not telling myself, “Everything will work out,” without bringing my circumstances honestly before Elohim.
Instead, biblical faith teaches me to cry out to the One who can save.
“Please, Adonai, save now.”
That prayer can apply to so many places in my life.
I can pray it over my family.
I can pray it over my marriage.
I can pray it over my children.
I can pray it over my community.
I can pray it over my spiritual life.
I can pray it over wounds I have carried for years.
I can pray it over the places where I have become discouraged.
And perhaps most importantly, I can pray it over the parts of myself that I desperately want HaShem to transform.
Hoshanah Rabbah Is More Than a Holiday Tradition
When I first began looking more deeply into the significance of Hoshanah Rabbah, I realized something important.
Not every ritual associated with later Jewish observance is explicitly commanded in the Torah.
That distinction matters.
The Torah commands the observance of Sukkot and identifies the seventh day as a sacred day within the festival (Leviticus 23:33–36).
Leviticus 23:40 also commands taking “the fruit of a goodly tree, branches of palm trees, boughs of leafy trees, and willows of the brook” and rejoicing before Adonai.
Over time, Jewish tradition developed particular practices surrounding the seventh day of Sukkot, including the special Hoshanot prayers and the ceremonial use of willow branches.
For me, recognizing the distinction between biblical commandment and later tradition does not make Hoshanah Rabbah less meaningful.
It makes me more careful.
I don't need to pretend that every later custom originated as a direct commandment from Sinai.
Instead, I can ask a deeper question:
What biblical truth is this tradition helping me remember?
And when I ask that question, I discover something profound.
The answer is salvation.
Why the Willow Branches Speak So Powerfully
One of the most recognizable practices associated with Hoshanah Rabbah involves willow branches.
The willow is especially interesting because, unlike the other species associated with Sukkot, it is not known for fragrance or edible fruit.
It simply depends on water.
And that image has always fascinated me.
A branch beside water.
A human being beside the Source of life.
A soul that cannot manufacture its own spiritual water.
The prophet Isaiah gives me a beautiful picture:
“With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.”
—Isaiah 12:3
Water.
Salvation.
Joy.
Those three themes come together beautifully.
And when I read the words of Yeshua in the Gospel of John, I cannot help but hear an extraordinary echo.
During the festival, Yeshua stood and cried out:
“If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, out of his innermost being will flow rivers of living water.”
—John 7:37–38
I find those words breathtaking.
Yeshua did not speak them in a vacuum.
He spoke them in Jerusalem during the festival of Sukkot.
I cannot prove every detail of the later Hoshanah Rabbah ceremony from the Gospel account, and I do not want to force the text to say something it does not explicitly say.
But I cannot ignore the festival setting.
Sukkot.
Water.
Thirst.
Salvation.
Messianic expectation.
And Yeshua standing in the midst of it all and saying:
Come to Me.
The Cry Beneath the Cry
Sometimes I think I understand what I am asking HaShem to save me from.
But perhaps there is a deeper question.
What am I really asking Him to save me for?
I can ask God to save me from financial pressure.
From loneliness.
From fear.
From disappointment.
From conflict.
From uncertainty.
From grief.
From sickness.
From circumstances I desperately want changed.
And there is nothing wrong with bringing those things to Him.
But Hoshanah Rabbah challenges me to go deeper.
Perhaps salvation is not merely about making my circumstances comfortable.
Perhaps sometimes HaShem wants to save me through something before He saves me from it.
That realization has changed the way I pray.
I used to pray:
“HaShem, remove this.”
Now I sometimes find myself praying:
“HaShem, if You are not removing this yet, show me what You want to form in me through it.”
That is a harder prayer.
But it can also become a holier one.
“Hoshia Na”—Please Save Now
Psalm 118 is one of the great passages associated with the language of hoshana.
The psalm declares:
“Please, Adonai, save now! Please, Adonai, prosper us now!”
—Psalm 118:25
Then comes a declaration of blessing:
“Blessed is he who comes in the name of Adonai!”
—Psalm 118:26
When I read those words, I immediately think about Yeshua's entrance into Jerusalem.
The crowds cried:
“Hoshana to the Son of David! Blessed is He who comes in the name of Adonai!”
—Matthew 21:9
Mark records the cry:
“Hoshana! Blessed is He who comes in the name of Adonai!”
—Mark 11:9
Luke records the crowd saying:
“Blessed is the King who comes in the name of Adonai!”
—Luke 19:38
John also records:
“Hoshana! Blessed is He who comes in the name of Adonai, even the King of Israel!”
—John 12:13
That connection is impossible for me to overlook.
The language of Psalm 118 became part of the public recognition of Yeshua as He entered Jerusalem.
And that makes the word hoshana even more significant to me.
The cry is not simply:
“Help me.”
It is:
“Save me, Adonai.”
And the Gospels present Yeshua entering Jerusalem amid cries of salvation and kingship.
But What Kind of Salvation Was I Expecting?
This is where the story becomes uncomfortable.
The people surrounding Yeshua had expectations.
Many were looking for redemption.
Many longed for restoration.
Many anticipated the coming Kingdom.
But HaShem's purposes were deeper than human expectations.
Yeshua did not arrive according to the script many people had written for Him.
And I have had to confront how often I do the same thing.
I tell HaShem what salvation should look like.
I create the timeline.
I design the outcome.
I decide which door He should open.
I determine who should apologize.
I decide what justice should look like.
Then I pray:
“Hoshia na!”
“Save me now!”
But secretly, I sometimes mean:
“Save me according to my preferred plan.”
Hoshanah Rabbah challenges that attitude.
It teaches me to cry out for salvation without attempting to become HaShem's consultant.
The Sukkah Taught Me Something About Security
There is another reason Hoshanah Rabbah feels so powerful to me.
It comes at the end of Sukkot.
And Sukkot has already spent an entire week teaching me something uncomfortable:
My temporary shelter is not my ultimate security.
A sukkah is intentionally fragile.
Its walls are not a fortress.
Its roof allows me to remain aware of the heavens.
It reminds me that I am dependent.
And dependence is difficult for people like me.
I like control.
I like predictable schedules.
I like knowing what happens next.
I like having enough money.
I like having backup plans.
I like knowing that everyone I love is safe.
But Sukkot asks me to sit beneath something temporary and remember:
I am not ultimately protected by what I can build.
I am protected by HaShem.
Psalm 121 says:
“I lift up my eyes to the mountains. From where does my help come? My help comes from Adonai, Maker of heaven and earth.”
—Psalm 121:1–2
That question has followed me through some difficult seasons.
Where does my help come from?
My savings?
My intelligence?
My connections?
My plans?
My strength?
My ability to control circumstances?
No.
Ultimately:
My help comes from Adonai.
The Willow and the Lesson of Dependence
The willow branch has become a powerful spiritual picture for me.
It reminds me that I was never designed to be self-sufficient.
I was designed for dependence upon Elohim.
Deuteronomy gives me a beautiful picture of the land depending upon heaven:
“The land that you are entering to possess is a land of hills and valleys; it drinks water from the rain of heaven.”
—Deuteronomy 11:11
Rain comes from above.
Life depends upon what we cannot manufacture.
And spiritually, I am the same.
I can organize my life.
I can study Scripture.
I can develop discipline.
I can become more knowledgeable.
I can learn Hebrew words.
I can attend services.
I can participate in Jewish traditions.
I can know the calendar.
But none of those things can replace dependence upon HaShem.
Knowledge is valuable.
Tradition is valuable.
Discipline is valuable.
But I still need living water.
What Does Hoshanah Rabbah Have to Do With Yeshua?
For me, the answer begins with the question Yeshua Himself asked:
What does it mean to come to Him thirsty?
John 7 presents Yeshua saying:
“If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink.”
—John 7:37
I love that He did not say:
“If anyone has everything figured out, come to Me.”
He did not say:
“If anyone has perfect faith, come to Me.”
He said:
If anyone is thirsty.
That includes me.
That includes the person who is spiritually exhausted.
The person who is questioning.
The person who has prayed the same prayer for years.
The person who believes but feels weak.
The person who knows Scripture but feels emotionally dry.
The person who is carrying grief.
The person who feels distant from HaShem.
The person who desperately wants renewal.
Come thirsty.
That may be one of the most liberating invitations in Scripture.
I Don't Have to Hide My Thirst
I have learned that spiritual dryness can become frightening.
Sometimes I wonder:
“Why don't I feel close to HaShem?”
“Why does prayer feel difficult?”
“Why am I exhausted?”
“Why don't I feel the joy I used to feel?”
“Has something gone wrong with my faith?”
But thirst itself can become an invitation.
Isaiah says:
“Ho! Everyone who thirsts, come for water.”
—Isaiah 55:1
That verse does not shame the thirsty person.
It invites the thirsty person.
I find enormous comfort in that.
My thirst does not disqualify me from coming to HaShem.
My thirst is the reason I come.
Hoshanah Rabbah and the Coming Kingdom
There is another dimension of Sukkot that I cannot ignore.
The prophet Zechariah speaks of a future time when the nations will go up to Jerusalem to worship the King and celebrate Sukkot:
“Everyone who is left of all the nations that came against Jerusalem will go up from year to year to worship the King, Adonai-Tzva'ot, and to celebrate the Feast of Sukkot.”
—Zechariah 14:16
That passage moves my thoughts beyond my personal struggles.
Hoshanah Rabbah is not only about:
“HaShem, save me.”
It also points my heart toward:
“HaShem, bring Your redemption.”
I am waiting for restoration that is bigger than my individual life.
I am waiting for the fulfillment of divine promises.
I am longing for a world where righteousness is not mocked, where justice is not corrupted, where violence does not have the final word, and where the knowledge of HaShem fills the earth.
Isaiah gives me this magnificent promise:
“The earth will be full of the knowledge of Adonai, as the waters cover the sea.”
—Isaiah 11:9
That is the kind of salvation I want to remember.
Not merely personal rescue.
Cosmic restoration.
Covenant faithfulness.
The Kingdom of Elohim.
The restoration of what sin and rebellion have damaged.
The Day I Realized “Save Me” Is Bigger Than Me
Perhaps the greatest lesson Hoshanah Rabbah has taught me is that salvation cannot remain selfish.
If I only pray:
“Save me,”
eventually HaShem teaches me to pray:
“Save us.”
That small change matters.
Hoshana is not merely about my private spiritual experience.
It belongs to a people.
A covenant.
A story.
A promise.
A hope.
A future.
Psalm 130 says:
“Let Israel hope in Adonai; for with Adonai there is lovingkindness, and with Him is abundant redemption. He will redeem Israel from all his iniquities.”
—Psalm 130:7–8
That is the cry beneath the cry.
Redemption.
Not merely relief.
Not merely comfort.
Not merely prosperity.
Redemption.
What If HaShem Is Asking Me to Let Go?
This is perhaps the hardest part for me.
I can say:
“Hoshana!”
But am I willing to surrender?
I can ask HaShem to save me while still gripping the thing that is hurting me.
I can ask for peace while feeding resentment.
I can ask for healing while refusing forgiveness.
I can ask for direction while insisting on my own way.
I can ask for spiritual renewal while refusing to make room for change.
Hoshanah Rabbah therefore becomes a heart examination.
I have to ask:
What am I holding that HaShem is asking me to release?
What bitterness have I justified?
What fear have I allowed to become my master?
What habit have I excused?
What relationship have I placed above obedience?
What disappointment have I turned into an identity?
What unanswered prayer have I allowed to convince me that HaShem has forgotten me?
These questions are not comfortable.
But sometimes uncomfortable questions are holy invitations.
Yeshua and the Call to Remain in Him
Yeshua's teachings repeatedly bring me back to dependence.
In John 15, He describes Himself as the vine and His disciples as branches.
He says:
“Apart from Me you can do nothing.”
—John 15:5
I cannot read those words casually anymore.
They confront my independence.
They challenge the illusion that spiritual strength comes from myself.
A branch does not produce life by trying harder to be a branch.
It remains connected to the vine.
That is the picture I need.
I don't need to manufacture spiritual life.
I need to remain connected to its Source.
And that connects beautifully with the imagery of water throughout Scripture.
I am not the source.
HaShem is the source.
Yeshua's invitation is to come, drink, remain, and receive.
How I Practice Hoshanah Rabbah in My Own Life
I don't want Hoshanah Rabbah to remain an interesting historical subject.
I want it to change me.
So I have begun thinking about the day in practical ways.
1. I Bring My Real Needs Before HaShem
I don't sanitize my prayers.
I tell Him what hurts.
I tell Him what frightens me.
I tell Him where I am confused.
I tell Him what I don't understand.
Psalm 62 says:
“Trust in Him at all times, you people; pour out your heart before Him. Elohim is a refuge for us.”
—Psalm 62:8
Pour out your heart.
Not your polished religious vocabulary.
Your heart.
That means I can pray honestly.
2. I Pray “Hoshia Na” Over My Family
I can take the language of Psalm 118 and personalize it.
“Adonai, please save.”
“Adonai, please protect.”
“Adonai, please restore.”
“Adonai, please guide.”
“Adonai, please bring repentance.”
“Adonai, please reveal Your truth.”
“Adonai, please bring shalom.”
I can pray without pretending to know exactly how He must answer.
3. I Pray for Israel and the Nations
Sukkot reminds me that HaShem's purposes extend beyond my personal world.
Zechariah 14 gives me a vision involving the nations and the worship of the King.
Isaiah 2 gives another extraordinary picture:
“Many peoples will go and say, ‘Come, let's go up to the mountain of Adonai, to the House of the God of Jacob, that He may teach us His ways, and that we may walk in His paths.’”
—Isaiah 2:3
That gives me something enormous to pray toward.
Not merely:
“Make my life easier.”
But:
“HaShem, let Your ways be known.”
4. I Ask for Living Water
There are seasons when my soul feels dry.
During those seasons, I don't need to pretend.
I return to the invitation of Yeshua:
“If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink.”
—John 7:37
I sit quietly.
I open Scripture.
I pray.
I listen.
I confess.
I worship.
I wait.
Sometimes renewal comes dramatically.
Sometimes it comes quietly.
Sometimes I don't feel anything immediately.
But I keep coming.
Because faithfulness does not depend upon emotional intensity.
5. I Let the Willow Remind Me That I Am Dependent
When I think of the willow, I remember water.
When I remember water, I remember life.
When I remember life, I remember its Source.
And when I remember my dependence, I become less afraid of admitting:
“I need You.”
There is no shame in that sentence.
There is humility in it.
There is wisdom in it.
There is freedom in it.
6. I Examine What I Mean by “Salvation”
This is perhaps the most important practice.
I ask myself:
What am I actually asking HaShem to save me from?
Is it discomfort?
Or sin?
Is it inconvenience?
Or rebellion?
Is it embarrassment?
Or pride?
Is it disappointment?
Or unbelief?
Is it a difficult circumstance?
Or the person I am becoming because of that circumstance?
Sometimes I discover that my prayer needs to change.
Instead of:
“HaShem, change everything around me,”
I begin praying:
“HaShem, change me.”
7. I Remember That Redemption Has a Future
I refuse to let today's chaos become my theology.
The world is not the final chapter.
Fear is not the final chapter.
Suffering is not the final chapter.
Sin is not the final chapter.
Death is not the final chapter.
HaShem has promised restoration.
The prophets repeatedly point toward a future in which His reign, righteousness, and knowledge fill the earth.
And I wait.
Not passively.
I wait faithfully.
I live faithfully.
I pray faithfully.
I obey faithfully.
I hope faithfully.
What Hoshanah Rabbah Has Taught Me About Fear
Fear says:
“Everything depends on you.”
Hoshanah Rabbah says:
Cry out to HaShem.
Fear says:
“You must control the outcome.”
Faith says:
Trust the One who controls what you cannot.
Fear says:
“If you don't understand, you cannot trust.”
Faith says:
“I don't understand everything, but I know whom I am calling upon.”
Psalm 56 says:
“When I am afraid, I will put my trust in You.”
—Psalm 56:4
Notice something I love about that verse.
It doesn't say:
“If I am never afraid.”
It says:
“When I am afraid.”
Fear may come.
But fear does not have to become my master.
I can take my fear to HaShem.
What Hoshanah Rabbah Has Taught Me About Waiting
One of the hardest prayers is:
“Please save now.”
Especially when “now” turns into tomorrow.
And tomorrow turns into next month.
And next month turns into years.
I've learned that waiting can test everything I claim to believe.
But Scripture repeatedly teaches me to wait for HaShem.
Psalm 27 says:
“Wait for Adonai; be strong, let your heart take courage; yes, wait for Adonai.”
—Psalm 27:14
Waiting is not necessarily inactivity.
Waiting can be worship.
Waiting can be obedience.
Waiting can be preparation.
Waiting can be the place where my character is formed.
Waiting can teach me that HaShem is not merely valuable because of what He gives me.
He is worthy because He is Elohim.
The Difference Between “I Want Rescue” and “I Want Redemption”
I have discovered that those two prayers are not always identical.
Rescue asks:
“How can I get out of this?”
Redemption asks:
“How can HaShem's purposes be accomplished through this?”
Rescue wants the pain removed.
Redemption wants the pain transformed.
Rescue wants the storm to stop.
Redemption wants me to discover who HaShem is in the middle of the storm.
Rescue wants an immediate answer.
Redemption trusts the faithfulness of Elohim even while waiting.
Of course, I still pray for rescue.
I still cry:
“Hoshia na!”
But I am learning to add:
“Your will, Your purposes, Your Kingdom.”
Hoshanah Rabbah Is an Invitation to Return
There is something profoundly Jewish about the rhythm of repentance and return.
The biblical language of teshuvah calls me back.
Back to HaShem.
Back to covenant faithfulness.
Back to obedience.
Back to humility.
Back to truth.
Back to mercy.
The prophet Joel gives me this beautiful invitation:
“Return to Adonai your God, for He is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger, abundant in lovingkindness.”
—Joel 2:13
That is not the voice of a God waiting to destroy someone who comes home.
It is the voice of a compassionate Elohim calling His people back.
And that changes how I understand salvation.
Sometimes the greatest miracle is not merely that my circumstances change.
Sometimes the miracle is that my heart comes home.
The Questions I Can No Longer Avoid
Hoshanah Rabbah has become a spiritual mirror for me.
When I look into it, I have to ask:
Am I truly trusting HaShem, or am I simply asking Him to bless my plans?
When I say “save me,” what am I really asking Him to save me from?
Am I thirsty for Elohim Himself, or merely for what I want Him to give me?
Have I confused comfort with blessing?
Have I allowed fear to become louder than Scripture?
What am I still trying to control?
What do I need to surrender?
Where do I need to practice teshuvah?
Is there someone I need to forgive?
Is there an area where I know the right thing to do but keep delaying obedience?
Am I praying only for myself, or am I carrying others before HaShem?
Do I still believe that redemption is coming even when I cannot see evidence of it?
Can I say “Hoshia na” and then trust HaShem with how He answers?
Those questions can be uncomfortable.
But perhaps that is exactly why I need them.
My Hoshanah Rabbah Prayer
When I think about the seventh day of Sukkot now, I don't merely see a ritual on a calendar.
I see an invitation.
I see a fragile sukkah.
I see branches.
I hear ancient words.
I hear Psalm 118.
I hear the prophets.
I hear the cry of Jerusalem.
I hear the words of Yeshua:
“If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink.”
And I hear my own heart answering:
“I am thirsty.”
So I come.
Key Takeaways: What Hoshanah Rabbah Means to Me
- Hoshanah Rabbah reminds me to cry out to HaShem for salvation.
- “Hoshia na” means that I don't have to pretend I can save myself.
- Sukkot reminds me that my earthly security is temporary, while HaShem remains faithful.
- The imagery of water reminds me that spiritual life comes from the Source, not from my own strength.
- Isaiah's promise of drawing water from the wells of salvation points my heart toward divine redemption.
- Yeshua's invitation in John 7 speaks directly to the thirsty soul: “Come to Me and drink.”
- Psalm 118 connects the cry for salvation with the declaration, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of Adonai.”
- Hoshanah Rabbah can move my prayer from “save me” toward “save us.”
- Biblical salvation is bigger than personal comfort; it includes redemption, restoration, righteousness, and the coming reign of Elohim.
- Waiting for HaShem is not wasted time. It can become an act of faithfulness.
- Teshuvah means I remain willing to return when HaShem reveals something in my heart that needs to change.
- My thirst does not disqualify me from coming to HaShem—it is precisely why I need to come.
- The hope of redemption gives me courage to remain faithful even when I cannot yet see the outcome.
The Final Thing I Want to Remember
If I could sit beside you during Sukkot, beneath the fragile covering of a sukkah, with the evening air settling around us, there is something I would want to tell you.
You don't have to have everything figured out.
You don't have to pretend you're stronger than you are.
You don't have to hide your questions from HaShem.
You don't have to disguise your tears.
You don't have to manufacture certainty.
You can come thirsty.
You can come weary.
You can come hopeful.
You can come broken.
You can come believing.
You can come with trembling faith.
And you can cry:
“Ana Adonai, hoshia na.”
“Please, Adonai, save now.”
I have learned that sometimes the most powerful prayer I can pray is not a sophisticated theological statement.
It is simply:
“HaShem, I need You.”
And perhaps that is where real spiritual life begins.
Not with pretending I am sufficient.
But with discovering that I was never meant to be.
I was made to receive.
I was made to trust.
I was made to worship.
I was made to depend upon Elohim.
And I was made to hope.
Hope for redemption.
Hope for restoration.
Hope for the Kingdom.
Hope for the day when the prophetic promises of Scripture are no longer things I read about, but realities I see with my own eyes.
Until then, I keep praying.
I keep waiting.
I keep returning.
I keep drinking from the living water.
And when my strength fails, I return again to the ancient cry:
Hoshia na.
Please save now.
Because I have finally begun to understand something:
The cry for salvation is not a declaration of hopelessness.
It is an act of hope.
I cry out because I believe Someone is listening.
I ask because I believe HaShem is faithful.
I wait because I believe His promises are true.
And I hope because redemption has not been forgotten.
A Closing Prayer for Hoshanah Rabbah
Avinu Malkeinu,
On this sacred season of Sukkot, I come before You with humility.
I confess that I often try to be stronger than I really am.
I try to control what belongs in Your hands.
I try to understand what I cannot yet see.
I try to solve what only You can redeem.
So today I return.
I return to You.
Hoshia na.
Please save.
Save my heart from fear.
Save me from pride.
Save me from bitterness.
Save me from spiritual dryness.
Save me from the things that pull me away from You.
Give me a heart that loves Your Torah, seeks Your ways, practices mercy, pursues righteousness, and walks humbly before You.
Where I am thirsty, give me living water.
Where I am weary, renew my strength.
Where I am afraid, teach me trust.
Where I am wounded, bring healing according to Your wisdom.
Where I have sinned, lead me into genuine teshuvah.
Where I have become distracted, turn my eyes back toward You.
And where I have lost hope, remind me that Your promises have not failed.
Teach me to pray not only “save me,” but “save us.”
Let Your righteousness be known.
Let Your mercy be seen.
Let Your truth go forth.
Let the nations know Your ways.
And let me remain faithful while I wait for the fullness of Your redemption.
I thank You for the hope I have in Your faithfulness.
I thank You for the invitation of Yeshua to come when I am thirsty.
I thank You that I do not have to manufacture the water my soul needs.
I only need to come.
So I come.
Thirsty.
Hopeful.
Humble.
Waiting.
And trusting.
Ana Adonai, hoshia na.
Please, Adonai, save now.
May Your Kingdom come.
May Your purposes be fulfilled.
And may my life become a testimony that Your faithfulness is greater than my fear.
B'Shem Yeshua. Amen.
