Yom Kippur

I went to the shuk on Wednesday morning, fully expecting it to be busy but not anticipating the near-panic that apparently seizes the city of Jerusalem in the hours before Yom Kippur. I escaped with my much-needed groceries and headed home to make quiche for our before-fast dinner.

Max and I trekked, quiche in hand, to the German Colony where we joined about half of the Dorot Fellows for a pre-fast feast. Isra, who hosted the event, also had us read a very unique “vidui” (like a recounting and apology of sins) published by Rabbis for Human Rights. It recognized many larger problems we have in society, that are often overlooked because it’s much easier to take responsibility for individual actions over community ones. Definitely a nice addition to the day. After dinner, several of us headed to Kol HaNeshama – one of the few reform synagogues in Jerusalem – for Kol Nidre. It was a very lovely service and very reminiscent of my days at Temple Beth Emet.

After Kol Nidre and the tradition after-service milling around, Kate and I decided to take the long walk home down King George St. to our respective homes. It’s hard to fully explain the grandeur of the City of Jerusalem on Yom Kippur. The entire city shuts down. Every traffic light in the city blinks yellow. There are no television or radio stations streaming out the windows. And there isn’t a car on the street. Everywhere, people are walking in the middle of road and children and riding their bicycles in the middle of intersections usually crowded with cars. Imagine what it would look like if one evening, there were hundreds of people sitting in the middle of Pines Blvd. or 15-501 or Friendly Ave. or any major road. Kate and I parted ways and I walked the rest of the way home, with only the sound of the wind in my ears.

The decision to fast has been an increasingly difficult one. Why do I fast? Because I’m afraid I won’t be “inscribed in the Book of Life”? Because fasting is supposed to help me “repent and atone for my sins?” Because it’s part of the Jewish tradition? Because of Jewish guilt? Because everyone does it? Because for some reason Yom Kippur is put above all other Jewish rituals and mitzvoth? Because if I don’t fast, what does it mean to be Jewish?

That is, of course, the question of this year and probably my life … what does it mean to be Jewish?