The Holidays

When one tries to schedule something in Israel this time of year, the response is often, "After the holidays." That basically means, "Call me in November."

First comes Rosh HaShanah, the Jewish New Year. Last week schools and most businesses were closed for three days -- the day before (I guess you need the whole day to get ready), and then the two days of the holiday.

(Why do many Jewish holidays last two days? It has to do with the difficulty in biblical times of informing everybody exactly which day was the official New Moon. At least that's the explanation given here: http://www.jewfaq.org/holiday0.htm#Extra)

Then, there is the period between Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur -- the "Days of Awe," a time of introspection when, according to tradition, God inscribes the Book of Life for the coming year. Technically there are a few regular business days in there, but who can concentrate?

For Yom Kippur, there are another two days off -- the day before and the day of. Five days later comes Succot -- two more days off. Then five days later Simchat Torah. Another two days off.

This year all these holidays fall on weekdays, so we also have Shabbat every week.

So in October it's hard to build momentum for productive activities. (Not that we engage in any, but other people do.) You string together a couple of regular days, and wham! another holiday. We've met a few families who skip the month altogether and travel abroad.

Party at the Gan (Kindergarten)

The holiday season got off to a festive start at Erin and Thomas's kindergarten, which held a party for kids and parents on the Friday before Rosh HaShanah. The kids performed a couple of songs, which were even more unintelligible than the usual kindergarten fare (at least for me and Ellen) because there were 34 five-year-olds singing in Hebrew. Erin really got into it, putting on a big smile, singing the song and doing the choreography with gusto. Thomas, less so.

What was more unusual about this party was that a group of parents put on a short play for the kids. I was recruited by our neighbor Lynn to join the cast. At the organizational meeting I disovered they needed someone to play a princess, someone who could really make the kids laugh -- maybe someone with facial hair who speaks Hebrew with a funny accent, someone transient in the neighborhood with little to lose by making a fool of himself....

















Rosh HaShanah at Kibbutz Urim

A few days later we left to spend the Rosh HaShanah holiday at Kibbutz Urim, where I lived for a year before college. Urim is near Be'ersheva, about an hour and forty-five minutes drive from where we live. This area is considered "the south" of the country, although Eilat, the southernmost point of Israel, is still a few hours' drive further down.

I found the following link which not only has a good overview of the history of kibbutzim in general, but also an aerial photo of Urim: http://www.communa.org.il/kibbutz.htm

We were guests of my "kibbutz family" Marc and D'vorah Marcus, and D'vorah's parents Carmi and Aaron Pollack. It is a tradition on many kibbutzim that newcomers are assigned a family to help integrate them into kibbutz life. When I arrived in September 1979 I was lucky to have been "adopted" by Marc and D'vorah, and by extension, the entire Pollack family. We have kept in touch over the years and have seen each other periodically during trips in Israel and New York.

Carmi (originally from Milwaukee) and Aaron (originally from Toronto) were among the early members of Urim, arriving in the early 1950s, and they raised their four children there. D'vorah is the eldest. She married Marc, who first came to Urim as a volunteer in 1970s, and they had their first child shortly before they "adopted" me in 1979. Today they have three grown children, the youngest in his first year of the army. My friend Nomi, whom we've previously written about on this blog, is D'vorah's younger sister. Nomi no longer lives at Urim but she joined us there for Rosh HaShanah with her three children Inbar, Adi and Liron. (Nomi's husband Dani was doing army reserve service and couldn't join us). We all stayed in an apartment on the kibbutz that Marc and D'vorah had set up for our visit.

The observance of Jewish holidays on kibbutzim is generally secular, emphasizing the holidays' historical and cultural aspects -- similar to the way Americans celebrate Thanksgiving. At dinner there was a short ceremony -- someone lit candles and recited the traditional bracha (prayer), and then one of the kibbutz officials presented awards for achievements during the preceding year. After dinner there was a karaoke party outside the dining hall.

Field of Dreams


D'vorah and Marc had planned a great schedule for the following day. Agriculture is still one of Urim's main activities -- I don't remember how many acres it cultivates, but it's a lot -- and D'vorah is the head of the corn crop. After breakfast D'vorah drove us out to Urim's corn fields by tractor and we picked corn for a barbecue later that day.

On the way back we took a brief tour of the work areas of the kibbutz, which grows potatoes, corn, wheat and many other crops. It also operates a cow barn with 250 cows, a textile factory, a chicken farm, a gas station, a grocery store and a pub.

Afterwards we enjoyed a great barbecue lunch at D'vorah and Marc's house, and Marc and Ben began planning for the next day's kite flying competition, an annual Rosh HaShanah tradition at Urim. They picked a design, built it from bamboo, string, glue and paper, and the Ben decorated it. Whatever they did worked well, because their kite won first prize at the competition the next day! The photo shows Ben and Marc, with Ben holding the winning kite. In spite of a heroic effort Marc was unable to get the other kite off the ground.

Yom Kippur

Yom Kippur in Israel is amazing. As sundown approaches the country completely shuts down in a way that is hard to believe unless you see it for yourself. There are NO cars driving on the streets anywhere. Even the major highways are completely empty. The silence is startling, and makes you realize how much ambient noise there is on any other day.

The photograph below was taken on Yom Kippur afternoon from an overpass over one of the busiest highways in Israel, the main coastal Highway 2 as it passes by our town. Imagine I-95 in Connecticut -- that's what this stretch of road usually looks like.

The streets are full of children on bicycles, skateboards and rollerblades. The novelty of riding in the streets without having to worry about cars is irresistible.

Even many secular Jews attend synagogue on this day, although it's much less formal than in the US. In Israel there are many small (usually Orthodox) synagogues sprinkled throughout most towns and neighborhoods, and on the High Holidays it's perfectly acceptable for worshippers, Orthodox or not, to just wander in and out. Of course there's no guarantee of a seat.

("Belonging" to a synagogue is uncommon among non-Orthodox. The whole Orthodox / non-Orthodox schism here is a fascinating, and troubling, topic that deserves its own post.)

We heard Kol Nidre, the opening prayer on Erev Yom Kippur, at a small synagogue that we visited with some new friends in Herzliya Pituach. There were all kinds of people there -- young, old, dressed-up, dressed-down, some wearing talitim (prayer shawls), some not. The service was very intimate, with a father-son cantor team singing the traditional Ashkenazi melodies. But because it was an Orthodox synagogue Ellen had to sit upstairs, separate from the men. So we didn't last too long there.

The following evening, as Yom Kippur drew to a close, we walked over to another synagogue right around the corner from our house. Many people began arriving and lingering in the yard outside. From the way they were dressed I could see they never intended to actually enter the synagogue; they were just drawn to be nearby. We lingered with them, moving closer to the doors as we heard the service nearing the end. Suddenly the shofar sounded -- the Book of Life was sealed. Then, to my surprise, the congregation broke into "HaTikvah," the Israeli national anthem -- a startling juxtaposition of religious and national symbols, a real Israel moment.