Before Yom Kippur, we received a message from Pardes explaining the holiday. (They are very conscientious about educating us, and they make no assumptions about our level of knowledge — which is fair enough, since we run the gamut from Hebrew speakers with considerable Gemara experience, many of whom have made aliyah and lived here for some years, all the way over to the young man who asked me the other day, “What’s a simcha?” [Simcha, for my readers who do not know, is any joyous Jewish celebration — from the word sameach, meaning happy] ) . After giving us the times for beginning and the end of the fast, they shared the following “fun fact”: Israel is the only modern country where the entire country including the airport fully shuts down one day per year. I would say tthe one thing that struck me the most on Yom Kippur was this blissful silence — the cessation of all labor. No planes going over, no vehicles except for the occasional ambulance (apparently, people take their fasting more seriously than they should, and so visits to the hospital increase markedly on Yom Kippur). Oh, and some people — mostly small children — on scooters, bikes, and roller skates. In Israel, Yom Kippur is also known as chag ha’ofanayim (the bike holiday) because, with the streets utterly empty of motorized traffic, non-religious people have a lovely time riding their people-powered vehicles.
I went to the Great Synagogue for Kol Nidre. It’s a huge building, modern, very imposing but not at all beautiful, in a style that one visitor refered to as “Soviet architecture” (you can see more here: http://www.jerusalemgreatsynagogue.com/ ) I sat at the very back of the steeply raked ladies balcony. There wasn’t an empty seat in the house, and indeed, many were standing. I think this was what I liked most about the service — the feeling of so many Jews gathered in anticipation of the holiest moment of the year. The singing of the Chazzan, Tzvi Weiss, was on the showy side, but lacking, in my opinion, both real beauty and real feeling. His one high point was Sh’ma koleinu — Hear our voice — which did seem to express genuine emotion. The choir was also disappointing — the arrangements seemed very dated, and the singers weren’t as well in tune as an ensemble of this nature must be (they don’t use any tuning devices, not even a pitch pipe, much less an organ, but this is truly no excuse). In between the Kol Nidre and the Maariv service we were treated to an half hour davar in Hebrew and a blatant ask for money in English. I decided to return to Yeshurun the next day ,where I had been for Rosh HaShanah.
When I came out of the Great Synagogue, it and several other shuls on King George Street had just let out, and the street, empty of cars, was filled with people, many in white, milling around, talking excitedly. It was quite different from the way we in Brattleboro file silently out of shul after Erev Yom Kippur services, but it was a wonderful sight. I floated back down the hill to my apartment, passing others coming out of the uncountable shuls of Jerusalem in the joyous, exalted spirit of the beginning of the fast.
I allowed myself to arrive at Yeshurun next morning about half an hour after services had begun — knowing they would last many hours. Apart from being under the freezing blast from the air conditioner, I had a good seat despite not having reserved it. I really like the cantor there, Chazzan Asher Hainovitz. He was assisted, as on Rosh HaShanah, by another chazzan who led the Shacharit part of the service, who was competent if not extraordinary. (You can read about Chazzan Hainovitz here: https://yeshurun.org.il/en/about-en/) Chazzan Hainovitz sings beautifully — he has a warm baritone, and his chazzanut comes from his heart. As the services wore on, he perhaps lost some of his vocal strength and declaimed rather than sang some of the service, but I found it all beautiful and moving, and was several times in tears. Yizkor is short in an Orthodox service (and Musaf, including the Avodah, is long). Nonetheless, I thought of all my lost people — my parents, my aunt Betsy, my husband Bob, and my dear friends Rupa and Sandy, as I said my Yizkor prayers.
During Avodah, many people, including in the women’s section, sank down between the seats during the times of prostration. Chazzan Hainovitz used a different nusach (tune) than the one I was taught for Avodah, but it was beautiful and the ritual held its power for me. In Nechama’s 20 Great Sugiyot class we had talked about the Avodah. She said (and this I believe is common) that she finds that part of the service uninspiring. She shared with us a new song by Ishay Ribo, and contemporary Israeli religious pop artist, which she (and the rest of the class) found deeply inspiring. (Here it is: https://www.myisraelimusic.com/blurring-the-lines-between-religious-and-secular-new-song-by-ishay-ribo/) The song is ok, but in general I find this kind of Israeli music to be not unlike Christian pop music but in Hebrew — as music, it doesn’t touch me very deeply. I had to put in a word for the power of the Avodah – -the extraordinary poetry (worth reading in translation — look for an Orthodox or Conservative machzor) and the ritual theater which brings alive the experience of being in the Temple with the Kohen Gadol. After Yom Kippur, Nechama told me she had paid more attention to this part of the service based on my words, and she got what I was talking about — so that made me happy!
I skipped Mincha — too tired, with my fast — and took a nap! Then I walked to a closer-by synagogue, Yedidya, for Ne’ilah. This was a total disappointment — the person leading had no recognizable nusach and not much voice, either — but I heard the final blast of the shofar, and then made my way to a classmate’s apartment for a cheerful breakfast with many Pardes students.
And did I atone? Did I achieve teshuvah? Was I changed? I don’t know — but it did feel, in some way, as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I went to the Sukkot Yom Iyyun — day of study — the next day at Pardes feeling more ready for whatever comes next. What came next that day was partly joyful: study together, and eating together, and then retrieving my mattress topper — and partly deeply discouraging: the new of the synagogue attack in Halle, where a Pardes alum, a rabbi, had taken his rabbi wife and some of his students to help beef up services in a tiny shul.
But now is Sukkot, Zman simchateinu, the season of joy. We will sit in our sukkot experiencing our fragility and our dependence on the Divine, rejoicing even in the face of the sorrows and terrors our world brings. I wish you all Chag Sukkot Sameach from Tzfat, the city of kabbalah, where I will be celebrating with family. Look for an update in a couple of days.
Nine months in Israel 