Another “once upon a time in Jerusalem”and this time,
Yom Kippur in Jerusalem
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The special atmosphere of Yom Kippur began building long before the holiday itself, starting with Selichot in the early weeks of Elul, leading up to Rosh Hashanah.
In the dark hours before dawn, groups of people would walk quietly through the streets, heading to the synagogues to say Selichot.
In the older neighborhoods, the synagogue Gabai would walk from house to house, gently tapping on windows and shutters, calling out in a melodic voice:
“Selichot… Selichot…”
Bleary-eyed worshippers would gather in the synagogues, with a steaming glass of tea from the samovar in hand, joining in heartfelt Jerusalem-style melodies, the most beautiful melodies.
From the windows of the synagogues came the sounds of ancient Mizmorim:
“Ya Shema Evyonecha,” “Adon HaSelichot”, and then the unofficial vocal competition of the night – who could hold their breath the longest during the Anenu prayer.
Whoever could stretch out the line “B’zchut Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai…” the longest, earned the honor of finishing the verse while the congregation responded with joy.
On the eve of Yom Kippur, a unique quiet blanketed Jerusalem. A holliness filled the streets.
A tourist or even a space alien landing in the city that afternoon before the pre-fast meal would instantly sense something was different. You could tell it was a sacred day just by the color of the sky, the calm in the air, and the stillness that wrapped around everything.
In every apartment building, the unofficial neighborhood “tzaddik” would stick a matchstick into the stairwell’s light switch, keeping the light on for the entire fast.
Generations of electricians made a living replacing the broken stairwell timers that burned out during the holiday.
After the final meal, everyone made their way back to the synagogues for the Kol Nidre service.
And then, as if guided by a silent magical flute, the city began to move. People flowed out into the streets, toward neighborhood gathering spots.
In our neighborhood of Beit HaKerem, it was Dania Square.
Thousands of people, all dressed in white, filled the square after the prayers.
It was where you’d meet everyone, the people you’d missed all year, and the ones you’d rather not see at all.
The roads, usually busy and noisy, were empty of cars, transformed for one night into a giant playground.
Children climbed on the local sculpture, a boat-like shape with raised dots symbolizing water drops, turning it into a slide, tearing their white holiday clothes to their parents’ dismay.
People came even from far-off neighborhoods west of the city, Bayit Vegan, Kiryat Yovel, Kiryat Moshe, and beyond.
Even the “bad boys” (‘Arsim’) who all year long lived on the edge of the law and sometimes on the wrong side of it, they too wore crisp white clothes and simple canvas shoes, with great care.
(A style which, over the years, evolved into the “white kippah look” you now see in courtroom extensions… but it all started here.)
As the night wore on, groups of young people began forming and heading out, on foot, to the Western Wall.
Anyone who knows Jerusalem knows it’s a long journey on foot, a few solid miles at least.
At the Kotel, the whole city came together, young people from every neighborhood, from Gilo and all the wat to Ramat Eshkol and Ramot.
In the middle of the night, in the early hours of the morning, the human rivers flowed back to their homes.
And then, after the final blast of the shofar at the end of the fast, every family returned to their own traditions and flavors:
The Sephardim broke the fast with fresh bread dipped in olive oil and za’atar, and a special drink made only once a year from dried melon seeds soaked in water and sugar, strained through a cloth. To this day, it’s the ultimate post-fast taste.
The Moroccans served harira soup and a celebratory shot of mahia (fig liquor).
Others brought out their holiday cholent (which had been simmering in the oven all Yom Kippur), or tomato soup with thick noodles, or other once-a-year dishes.
And the Ashkenazi Jews, bless their hearts… stuck to their usual flavorless food 😉.
That was our Yom Kippur in Jerusalem
A day filled with holiness, with canvas shoes and bicycles, chickens for kaparot, and ‘Arsim’ dressing up in white.
Magical days, long gone.
Wishing a peaceful Shabbat from Jerusalem — to those near and far.
May our kidnapped brothers and sister return home soon, along with our brave IDF soldiers, and may peace come upon Israel. ❤️
