My Yom Kippur experience

September 22, 2007

It is just a few moments after sundown that ends Yom Kippur and Shabbat. I was invited to a pre-fast dinner at someone’s apartment in Tel Aviv with about 12 people in their 20’s and 30’s. The place was typical for Tel Aviv: A two-room flat with bare white walls and a kitchenette in the room. Apartments here are typically simple with white walls, white tile floors with no carpets, low-to the ground furniture, and a cold feel. There does not seem to be the rush for possessions that we have in the States. The “He has it so I want it” attitude doesn’t pervade here. After dinner we played cards for a couple of hours. I walked home from the dinner and walked past one of the busiest intersections next to a major shopping mall. In the street, in the middle of the intersection, was a white-clad religious group of one hundred or so people sitting in the intersection, singing songs and hymns. There was not a car on the street. In fact, there are no cars on the streets from Sundown on Yom Kippur until the following sundown. These are dream pedestrian times. Bustling noisy roads and nearly gridlocked intersections are void of anything with a motor. This goes for highways, too. Families stroll in the middle of the streets for blocks, oblivious to traffic signals. On Friday evening, children on bikes and rollerblades drift by in the streets among the pedestrians who don’t go on the sidewalks simply because they don’t have to.

The first thing I noticed this morning on the way to Synagogue was the sheket (quiet). In a city with honking cars and taxis, roaring buses, and whining motor-scooters, it was surreally and eerily peaceful. The sky was bright blue and cloudless. The loudest sound was the wind rustling the leaves of the few trees lining the streets. There are so many Synagogues in Israel. I had no idea where to go. I ended up going with my friend Benji, who lived in Atlanta before moving here, to a Temple that was, in my opinion, Reform. They claim no affiliation but the accompanying piano and cello leaned me in that direction. The place was only 1/3 full. All attending received an Aliya (call to come up and participate in the service) at some point. They picked me, the tall gringo, to hold the Torah and carry it around the room while people touched it with their prayer pamphlets and then kissed them.

I wanted to attend a later service at one of the numerous tiny Orthodox shuls in my historic Neve Tsedek neighborhood. I procrastinated too much but approached one in time to hear the shofar blasting signaling the end of Yom Kippur. I looked up to see two stars and the moon to mean the new week had begun and Yom Kippur had ended. Wives and children of the men awaited them in the street as the service ended and sang along as they recognized the prayers. Neve Tsedek was only raised from the desert around 1885 but it has a Mediterranean village feel to me. The community, dressed in white with the large families and strollers, seemed welcoming as they said, “Shavuah tov” and “Shanah tovah” to me as I passed. I made no plans to attend a break-fast with anyone so I did it at home with pita, hummus, and labone cheese. It was a one of the lonely times but that comes with going alone to a new country. It also keeps my gratitude up when people are kind enough to invite me into their homes.

The year is 5768 in the Jewish calendar. May it be a year of peace, abundance, and compassion for us all.