The Quietest Day of the Year - By Jonathan

Streets lay abandoned; vacant. The signals at every intersection sit as sleeping sentinels, void of all light. The morning light comes, but there is no construction, no honking of cars hurriedly trying to move, no sounds of cooking pans clanking or children screaming, all the sounds of life and activity in this densely populated city are muted. Even the birds seem to go silent in observance. In my entire life I have never experienced a peace like this in a city. It is 10 times more solemn than Christmas Day in the US. It is Yom Kippur in Jerusalem.

It begins at dusk, 15 minutes after the siren screams its warning from the walls of the ancient city. A 3000 year old tradition that originally was heralded by a shofar, a hollowed-out ram or gazelle horn that was blown to echo the coming of the holiday. In the intervening 15 minutes people begin to emerge from their homes in droves, dressed in a variety of religious observance, even as the last cars on the road hurry to quickly park in their homes for the next 24 hours. It is the twilight between chaos and peace.

Already the traffic lights have been turned off and all businesses have closed and locked up for the holiday, or “chag” in Hebrew. Kippot and Tallitot parade in droves. Mothers, fathers, children, babies, grandmothers, grandfathers, family friends, and strangers all flood the streets and begin their migration to the synagogues. The reform synagogues, the poorest of Israel as the government refuses to fund them like the more prestigious and officially recognized Orthodox synagogues, are often converted homes or stores. Walking in them you see the sloppy volunteer paint job, the inconsistent interior design made up of whatever donations of furniture or money the temple was lucky enough to attain.

In these meek buildings people gather to transition from their daily lives to their spiritual ones. Some come to pray to be entered in the Book of Life that closes in the next day. Others use it to atone for their sins with God. Yet others use it to reflect on how they can be a better person and a better Jew. There are many reasons for why people are standing here in this synagogue with me, but for all of them there is another reason. It is the day we all affirm ourselves in our Jewish identity and connect to our Jewish community. If there is only one day that you do this, it is today. It is a day to be conscious of who you are and what you want to be.

The most beautiful prayers of the Jewish people are sung this day. When the last song of the evening service has been sung, the city has transitioned and Jerusalem has closed its eyes in its own reflection of the day. People walk home in the middle of empty streets that just a few hours ago had been filled with cars rushing home. Quiet conversation filled with solemn tones drift on the breeze that knows not to hurry.

The day itself is surreal. According to Jewish tradition, Yom Kippur, like all Jewish holidays, begins at sunset and continues to the following sunset. The morning sun breaks open at midpoint during this holiday and is greeted with vacant streets. To see the busiest intersections vacant on a Sunday night is strange enough, but to see them vacant on a Monday afternoon appears apocalyptic. The feeling of approaching judgment is undeniable as you walk around a world that has stopped. It is a surreal world that in places seems to be completely still, like a frozen moment in time. Perhaps it is this moment that we have created to stop….. and think; to learn from our mistakes of the past year and to acknowledge a better way.

Indeed, in the absence of people God does seem to fill the void. As I walk down empty streets I find God peeking from between the cracks of time and space. On streets that I have walked a thousand times I find things I have never seen before. Vines decorated in brilliant purple bloom reach one hundred feet toward the sky along a building I’ve looked at a million times; were they always there? A pair of butterflies dance a ballet at a vacant street corner; where did they come from? A stray cat speaks to me as I walk by; why does he not run?

On this day when God is said to listen to us most closely, I ask of the Eternal, what are these things that I can only see now that there is no one to distract me? A ray of light shimmers across my path home, and I look up to God answering me.