| Yom Kippur 5783 – 2022’ I have the great honor and pleasure to be a guest at a wonderful community in my late father’s birth city, which, had he showed up now, I doubt he would recognize. As far as I know, this is the first time in 90 years that someone from my immediate family is celebrating any Jewish holiday in Berlin, and all that just makes my Yom Kippur even more meaningful. As I stroll through the city streets, between its canals and gorgeous parks, decorated with the trees changing their colors, I wonder and imagine, imagine and wonder what was it like to grow up here. There’s a part of me that always feels at home in Berlin. My first language was German, and sadly, as time went by, I’ve lost the family members I could speak it with; so much so that when I land in Berlin, the (Palestinian-Lebanese) taxi driver asks me, “where are you from? Because you have no accent!” and what I heard him asking was, his wondering how come I don’t have an accent in a language I don’t have mastery over… the congregation also speaks at least 3 languages and somehow it all works out. In Berlin, that’s still very beautiful to me, the People of Israel struggle over their past and their future, but are totally, totally – alive. | גם הקהל מדבר לפחות שלוש שפות ואיכשהו זה מסתדר. בברלין, שעדיין יפה בעיני מאד, עם ישראל נאבק על עברו ועתידו, אבל לגמרי .לגמרי – חי |
| And somehow another image come up, this one from a Yom Kippur 49 years ago. We are a group of children of different ages, sitting in the apartment building’s courtyard on the stone fence, chatting, wondering how to spend this evening without dinner. Some of us were in shul for Kol Nidrei, some of us are trying to fast. Every few moments we remember that we are not eating. And don’t drinking either. Then one girl happily suggests: ‘Oh, I have an idea’! And she ran home and brings everyone something that isn’t quite “food” and definitely isn’t “drink”, and gives us all candy… | ואיכשהו עולה בי עוד תמונה, וזו מיום כיפור מלפני 49 שנה. אנחנו קבוצת ילדים בגילאים שונים, יושבים בחצר הבית המשותף, על גדר האבן, מקשקשים, תוהים איך להעביר את הערב הזה, בלי ארוחת ערב. חלקנו היינו בבית כנסת לקול נדרי, חלקנו מנסה לצום. כל כמה רגעים אנחנו נזכרים שאנחנו לא אוכלים. וגם לא שותים. ואז ילדה אחת מציעה בשמחה: אה, אני יודעת מה! והיא רצה הביתה ומביאה לכולם משהו שהוא “לא אוכל” ו”לא שתיה”, ומחלקת לנו ממתקים… |
| The next day the air is torn by sirens. Pretty soon it becomes clear that a war has broken out. Jeeps roam the streets, transistors appear from under prayer-shawls, as people are pulled out of the synagogues, running home to join their military units, on the border of Syria and Egypt. In the days after, there is no school, and our parents want us to stay close to home. We busy ourselves at nearby intersections where we stand with brushes and buckets of dark blue paint, painting the headlights of the cars… and now I don’t know: who gave us paint? Who allowed us to paint their headlights? | |
| And another picture from another Yom Kippur yet, this one is in 1978. I’m on my first visit to the USA, staying with relatives in Queens, New York, who tell us they are very sorry: their synagogue has been firebombed right before the holiday. Why are they apologizing?? The beautiful building is sooty, and we are going with the congregation to sit in the basement, an alternative that was organized for services in the last minute. The rabbi comes up to give a sermon. He explains that “no more” and “we will be strong” and other such words, and I wait impatiently for the punchline, where he tells everyone to make aliya to Israel now if not sooner, because that’s how it starts and who knows what happens next… But he says that “we will rebuild the synagogue more beautifully than before” and “show them that we are here to stay”, and I learn the complexity of diaspora, the complexity of being who we are… | |
| At the end of Yom Kippur Ne’ila closing prayer, it occurs to me that perhaps its name, ne’ila, is not just about “locking” the gates, but from the word “na’ale”, sublime, indicating a very high prayer, and this is the only prayer that is the fifth prayer of a day (usually 3 prayers a day on weekdays, and on Shabbat and holidays – 4 but only on Yom Kippur there are 5 prayer sets), and then, when we go up in the last moments, and suddenly people we haven’t seen all year arrive, and everyone is carried away by the intensifying voice of the cantor and the whole crowd sings and answers and sways and even tears, some say that that’s when God whispers in our ear, ‘I don’t really lock the gates ever, and really, I invite you right now to come to my summer house next week; come with the whole family, we’ll sit, eat, be joyful together, talk and plan the coming year’…. because more important than where and how and what, what matters most is that we continue to meet. | בסוף תפילת נעילה, עולה על דעתי שאולי אין שמה “נעילה” מלשון סגירת השערים אלא מלשון “נעלה”, שהיא תפילה נעלה מאד, והיא התפילה היחידה שהיא החמישית באותו היום (בד”כ 3, ובשבת וחג – 4 אבל רק ביום כיפור יש 5 תפילות), ואז, כשאנחנו עולים ברגעים האחרונים, ופתאום אנשים שלא ראינו כל השנה, מגיעים, וכולם נישאים על קולו המתעצם של החזן וכל הקהל שר ועונה ומתנדנד ואפילו גם דומע, יש אומרים שאז הקב”ה לוחש לנו באוזן, ‘אני לא באמת נועל את השערים אף פעם, והאמת, אני מזמין אותך כבר עכשיו לבוא לבית הקיץ שלי בשבוע הבא. תבוא עם כל המשפחה, נשב, נאכל, נשמח ביחד, נדבר ונתכנן לנו את השנה הקרובה’…. כי פחות מאיפה ואיך ומה, רק חשוב, הכי חשוב, שנמשיך ונפגש. |
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