November bulletin article - by Michal
Dear Temple Israel members: I have a confession to make. I’m not as devout as you think I am. Every year at the High Holidays when I lived in Long Beach I went to services, first at the First Congregational Church, and then at the Carpenter Center… and I mostly went to see you. Services were long, fasting was difficult, and even if I wasn’t feeling particularly spiritual that year, I went to see old friends, show off my new dress, and reconnect with my community. Yes, I am a spiritual person, but I have always found the sacredness of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur through the holidays’ communal nature, as well as through the themes of individual repentance.
I’ll admit, I was worried this year, for my tightly-knit community was half a world away. Yet, being in Jerusalem during the High Holidays alleviated all my fears. It was an experience unlike any other. The day was introspective and social, religious and spiritual, and full of warmth, even in the midst of people I barely knew. Let me share with you a few things that make Yom Kippur in Jerusalem unique:
- The streets are silent. Cars, trucks, and every moving vehicle except for police cars and ambulances lie parked in driveways. The neighborhood is eerily calm, and when one walks to shul, one walks in stillness in the middle of a six-lane street. In Jerusalem, almost everyone is in services, but in Tel Aviv, a more secular city, Yom Kippur is the day in which children ride their bicycles in the street, and shriek with joy as they’re finally allowed to ride as fast as they want.
- Everyone wears white. Men, women, grandparents, little children, everyone is in almost completely white outfits, whether it be tunics, pants, suits, skirts, or dresses. If someone does wear clothing in another color, there is usually a white scarf or jacket thrown across the top in apology.
- The atmosphere is somber, but not stifling. This is the holiest time of the Jewish year, and people turn inward, reflecting on their lives and what they wish to change. Yet, this is also a time for family, for reconnection, when the entire city is united as one. When someone passes you on the street, you are not greeted with the hearty “Shana tovah!” of Rosh Hashanah or the “Chag Sameach!” of Sukkot, but with a quiet nod and a smile. Conversations in the street are in low tones, and no one is in a hurry.
- The services themselves differ wildly depending on the synagogue one attends, but the feeling of serenity pervades all. I went to an Israeli Reform temple for Kol Nidrei, for example, where everything was spoken in Hebrew. The prayerbook had no English, but I was able to follow along through the melodies. Praying the Avinu Malkeinu with hundreds of Israelis, all dressed in white, was incredible: as our voices rose in song, I felt that each and every single person was there with me in my heart. It was an individual moment that was at the same time communal, each of us striving towards the qualities of purity and righteousness, and asking for forgiveness alone, and yet together.
Yet, above all, what was most amazing about the High Holidays was the lack of self-consciousness. Yom Kippur was not a time for reunions, or an occasion to enthrall one another with what we were wearing, but was honestly a space for self-reflection, and a time for holiness. Though I am unsure when I will next be able to spend the holiday season here, I hope to take that message of sacredness with me wherever I go – and one day, to pass it along to my future congregation.
I’ll admit, I was worried this year, for my tightly-knit community was half a world away. Yet, being in Jerusalem during the High Holidays alleviated all my fears. It was an experience unlike any other. The day was introspective and social, religious and spiritual, and full of warmth, even in the midst of people I barely knew. Let me share with you a few things that make Yom Kippur in Jerusalem unique:
- The streets are silent. Cars, trucks, and every moving vehicle except for police cars and ambulances lie parked in driveways. The neighborhood is eerily calm, and when one walks to shul, one walks in stillness in the middle of a six-lane street. In Jerusalem, almost everyone is in services, but in Tel Aviv, a more secular city, Yom Kippur is the day in which children ride their bicycles in the street, and shriek with joy as they’re finally allowed to ride as fast as they want.
- Everyone wears white. Men, women, grandparents, little children, everyone is in almost completely white outfits, whether it be tunics, pants, suits, skirts, or dresses. If someone does wear clothing in another color, there is usually a white scarf or jacket thrown across the top in apology.
- The atmosphere is somber, but not stifling. This is the holiest time of the Jewish year, and people turn inward, reflecting on their lives and what they wish to change. Yet, this is also a time for family, for reconnection, when the entire city is united as one. When someone passes you on the street, you are not greeted with the hearty “Shana tovah!” of Rosh Hashanah or the “Chag Sameach!” of Sukkot, but with a quiet nod and a smile. Conversations in the street are in low tones, and no one is in a hurry.
- The services themselves differ wildly depending on the synagogue one attends, but the feeling of serenity pervades all. I went to an Israeli Reform temple for Kol Nidrei, for example, where everything was spoken in Hebrew. The prayerbook had no English, but I was able to follow along through the melodies. Praying the Avinu Malkeinu with hundreds of Israelis, all dressed in white, was incredible: as our voices rose in song, I felt that each and every single person was there with me in my heart. It was an individual moment that was at the same time communal, each of us striving towards the qualities of purity and righteousness, and asking for forgiveness alone, and yet together.
Yet, above all, what was most amazing about the High Holidays was the lack of self-consciousness. Yom Kippur was not a time for reunions, or an occasion to enthrall one another with what we were wearing, but was honestly a space for self-reflection, and a time for holiness. Though I am unsure when I will next be able to spend the holiday season here, I hope to take that message of sacredness with me wherever I go – and one day, to pass it along to my future congregation.
posted by Michal at 3:27 PM
3 Comments:
It sounds like an amazing communal experience. I do believe that large groups gathered together for a common purpose can engender an immense emotional and psychic power.
I've often tried to convey to Michal what a retreat experience was like in the seminary but she never seemed to get passed the, "you can't talk?!?" part. I think an explanation is no longer needed. Perhaps now she understands why I occasionally miss it and why Gregorian chant will always have a special significance for me.
Becca, I completely agree. I was overwhelmed by it. And Antonio, you're so right - you may forever say "I told you so."
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