Yom Kippur

Today was one that I will remember for a long time. Yom Kippur is indescribably different in Israel than it is in the States, but I am still compelled to write down my observations, both to share with those who read my blog and for my own records. I chose not to go to services Friday night and opted to spend the evening reflecting about the past year, allowing myself to think about the things I have worked hard to block out- failed relationships, my fears about my post collegiate future, the death of my grandmother. It was emotional and necessary. My time in Israel has been exhausting and I've often ignored intense emotions or thoughts that I felt I just did not have the strength to tackle. This Yom Kippur was much more introspective than most in the past.

My two Israeli roommates turned out apartment into a bit of a hostel, with 8 of their friends sleeping in our living room. I thought it was crowded when it was just the 7 of us! Many of the Israelis chose not to fast, and nothing makes a fast harder than watching people eat food right in front of you. They all seemed very perplexed by our (the Americans in the program) decision to fast. We began discussing the differences between America and Israel during the High Holidays. Jews in the States have to actively engage in the holidays, through observing traditions, going to services, ect. It was always important for me to fast because it was my way of recognizing the importance of Yom Kippur while the rest of the world continued to go on as normal. Here in Israel, the world came to a screeching halt for the past 24 hours. There was no denying the importance of this day, even to the most secular.

After a day of reflection, I decided to go to the Saturday evening services, not because I especially wanted to, but because I felt a sense of obligation to observe in the traditional way. I had been told that the city shuts down, no cars on the roads, everyone dressed in white and riding their bikes. Even though I had expected to see that, I don't think anyone could have described, or that I could have understood without experiencing it myself, the peaceful silence that swallowed the city. During my hour long walk from south to central Tel Aviv I saw one car (a police car) on the road. Children and adults alike rode through the streets; several people had put couches on the roads and lounged around in the middle of intersections; the stoplights were all turned off. I suppose the city wasn't completely silent. Children were yelling and playing, families talking, dogs barking, but there was an unusual sense of calm in the air. There is something startling about a city of 400,000 people from all different backgrounds slowing down to acknowledge the importance of Yom Kippur and respect the people in the city who choose to observe it.

I continue to search for a way to describe it, something comparable in the States, but I cannot think of an occasion where everyone would stay off the roads and spend the day engaged in quiet reflection. With all the talk of Colorado's first snow, I think that maybe it's a bit like that. The sense of peace and calm that comes with sitting in the mountains, listening to the snow fall, blanketing the ground and drawing us into a quiet place of contemplation. My Yom Kippur was not snowy, and in fact, quite balmy. But, despite being in a hot, hot city, I felt a sense of tranquility usually reserved for snowy days in my Colorado Rockies. I know that tomorrow will be back to business as usual here and I'll go back to loathing so much about Tel Aviv, but just as I remember my first time at the Kotel as being the moment I fell in love with Jerusalem, I do believe that my love affair with Tel Aviv began today. Here's to an incredible 4 months, אהבה שלי.