Yom Kippur in Yerushalayim!

Hello everyone and Shana Tova! The past week has been completely overwhelming. I had a full four days of classes and volunteering- planning meetings, completing lengthy homework assignments and already studying for quizzes! For Yom Kippur, two of my friends and I journeyed to Jerusalem (approximately two hours on two different buses). After checking in to our hotel, we ate WAY too much pre- Kol Nidre and then walked to the American synagogue.

What's interesting about the American synagogue is that it's actually called Moreshet Yisrael ("moreshet" means "settlements," and is therefore interpreted as "Israel Settlements" for people who had originally come from Western countries to Israel and needed a synagogue). The building where the synagogue now sits was originally a church, and several decades ago, was transformed into a synagogue by a group of rabbis. Before services on Friday night, we met a woman (she looked about 95 years old) whose husband was one of the rabbis who founded the synagogue. She told us that she comes to shul because it reminds her of him. There was a unanimous "awww" from the three of us. Then there was the usher, Jane. I was told by Arlene, one of the synagogue office managers, who had helped me secure tickets for Yom Kippur services days before, to find Jane the usher and give her the money for our tickets. I had pictured Jane as a middle-aged woman who would have been able to walk up and down the aisles of the sanctuary with ease. But no. I think Jane and Teddy Herzl were pen pals. She is one of the most adorable, lively women I have ever had the chance to meet, hobbling around the synagogue, greeting everyone, and telling me in particular (during mincha services this afternoon, no less) that she would give me a "nosh," if she could ("Sorry, honey, still no snacks for a little while!" So cute).

We made it through Kol Nidre and then began wandering through Jerusalem. The craziest part of spending Yom Kippur in Jerusalem is that the entire city shuts down. The only cars on the street are the MADA vehicles (Magen David Adom, the EMTs of Israel) and pedestrians (my friends and I included) walk through the middle of the roads. At one point, we decided to lay down on Hesod Street (one of the major roads of Jerusalem) and watched the traffic lights blink yellow and the stars come out. We even saw Jupiter! At no other time (and probably no other place in the world) could three teenage girls safely lie down in the middle of a normally busy street, silly from sleep depravation and needing a distraction from quick on-set thirst. We later found Gilad Shalit's family who keep a tent on one of Jerusalem's side streets, surrounded by posters and flags from innumerable countries signed by supporters. His family sits under an enlarged picture of him, with what looks like a scoreboard, but the numbers displayed do not denote the score of a soccer game, but his days in captivity. Thus far, it has been over four years.

After falling asleep quite early, we woke up, threw on new white shirts and plain skirts (everyone wears white on Yom Kippur, especially in Jerusalem, to symbolize a clean slate for the upcoming year) to walk to the Kotel. On Yom Kippur, no one showers or washes, puts on makeup or perfume, or indulges in luxuries like leather goods and technology. We left our cell phones and cameras in the hotel room, skipped usual makeup and beauty routines, and began walking. It was about a thirty minute walk from the hotel to the Wall, through the Old City and the shouk (which was open, despite the holiday). Our trip through the market made me think - we passed fellow Kotel-goers, decked out in white and carrying tallit (prayer shawls), Greek Orthodox in long black robes, who walked in groups toward the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, store owners screaming at one another in rapid Arabic - Jerusalem is home for so many religions, for so many practices and traditions. If what I experienced in the shouk, however brief, could be real all the time, peacefully coexisting isn't impossible. Just loud.

When we finally arrived at the Wall, I was shocked to see how empty the women's side was. For those of you who are familiar with the Kotel, it is divided rather unevenly, favoring the men by granting them nearly twice the space women have. However, on the day of Yom Kippur, when one would expect it to be exceedingly crowded, we found it quiet. My roommate and I walked directly up the to the Wall, no pushing or "slicha"-ing ("slicha" means "excuse me" in Hebrew) required. After spending some time at the Kotel, we "(literally) ran into some friends who stayed at a youth hostel (on the roof of it, to be totally honest) in the Old City. We climbed the nearly endless, winding stairs to where they had spent the night, and could see all of Jerusalem, into the desert and beyond the city, from the hostel's roof.

Eventually, we began walking back toward the hotel and the American synagogue; I attended evening and Neilah services, we heard the shofar blast (at approximately 6:35, but who was counting?) and broke the fast with way too much babkah and tuna fish at the hotel. On the bus ride back to Bat Yam, I found myself thinking about the rabbi's sermon the night before. Rabbi Frank had discussed the decisions we make as Jews. He mentioned a Jewish football coach (who is a friend of his, apparently) who, some years, must decide between coaching a game and attending Kol Nidre. The choice itself does not make him more or less Jewish, or even a good or bad Jew, but sticking to the decision and living with its consequences are the true measures of character in this situation. Deciding to fast is a great first step, but maintaining the fast and what it represents is what makes Yom Kippur a truly Jewish experience. In one of my new classes, Business Ethics and Judaism (the irony does not escape me) my teacher told us about his first encounter with true poverty. He was approached by a man in the street who wanted one of the sandwiches my teacher had been holding. After sparing a sandwich, my teacher watched as the beggar broke the sandwich in half, pocketing the piece he would save for his next meal. That is yachatz (breaking bread - this is why we break the middle matzah on Passover, to remind ourselves of true poverty and hardship, not just for the Afikomen). Making the decision to give this man a sandwich was one thing, but then having to understand his situation by watching him break the food in half and save it for God only knows when is something else entirely. Deciding to help someone is wonderful, but deciding to understand them and their perils, and acting on those convictions? That takes much more.

I decided to spend a year in Israel, but actually coming here and having the experiences I am fortunate enough to have required so much more. I realized, on this rather long bus ride to Bat Yam, that making decisions is a somewhat passive activity - it is acting on these decisions, acting to make them real and of course, getting the most out of what we do.

This year, I have decided to make an impact on the Bat Yam community. I have decided to learn Hebrew. I have decided to make new friends, to travel around Israel, to live in Africa for a month, to feel comfortable in new cultures and new situations. Deciding all of these things was easy. Doing them, living them, and appreciating them? That all sounds much more difficult.

More when I've had some sleep!

Layla tov,
Elana