Judaism has two major holidays; Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Rosh Hashanah is the start of the new year on the Jewish calendar and we eat apples dipped in honey to symbolize bringing in the sweetness. Yom Kippur is the day of repentance, the day our names will (hopefully) be written in the Book of Life for the following year. On this day Jewish people fast, no food or water, from sundown one day to sundown the next day. This Yom Kippur, I was at ground zero: Jerusalem

We got to Jerusalem four hours before sundown. The clock was ticking. We changed into our white clothes and scarfed up our body weight in falafel, hummus, pita, cucumbers, and tomatoes. Then, we walked in the mostly empty streets to the Synagogue. My madrich (counselor) told me to put my Apple watch away as it might offend the ultra-orthodox men walking in the street. I didn’t bother bringing my phone; I knew it wouldn’t be allowed. Israelis don’t drive, text, cook, clean, or even turn on or off alarms on holidays. Because there are no cars, many Israelis take the unique opportunity to ride their bikes on the freeway. I just thought about how this would never happen in America.

We got to synagogue and we sat in the overflow seats. Why wouldn’t this synagogue have enough normal seats for all its congregants I wondered. As we learned about the history of Yom Kippur in our Israeli studies class the day before, we learned about how war was declared on Israel on Yom Kippur by the Jordanians, Syrians, and Egyptians just 50 short years ago. The army was mobilized within a matter of hours because, well, they knew where to find everyone; in Synagogue. Every Israeli, no matter how secular or religious they fall on the spectrum, is in Synagogue on Yom Kippur. It is socially mandatory. I thought about the contrast to Boise in that respect. Every year I miss class on Yom Kippur to go to the Synagogue and my absence mostly goes unnoticed. What if the school system didn’t even bother to have school on Yom Kippur because they already knew no one would show up? 

I woke up the next morning hangry and went to more services. It was all in Hebrew and I couldn’t understand any of it. I thought about how if maybe I could understand the words and prayers I was saying, would it mean more to me, or if I even cared to pray at all? I self-identify as a social Jew. Love the community, but I’m not so keen on the spiritual aspect of it all. 

We walked to the Western Wall, the center of Judaism an hour and a half before sundown. We watched as the men’s side shouted prayers at the wall and each other while the women silently cried into their siddurim (prayer books). Were they crying out of desperation to be inscribed in next year’s Book of Life? Or, were they crying because of the injustice and discrepancy in the equality of religion? 

In the mixed men and women section hundreds of the teenagers formed a large circle wrapping their arms around their neighbors, strangers, friends, and foes. All dressed in white we sang the lock to the prayer that seals the deal for Yom Kippur, Ne’ila. I was solely living off adrenaline at this point. Then, before the shofar (ram’s horn) was blown to end the fast, everyone’s favorite summer camp song was played, and the hundreds of people in the circle rushed to the middle and formed the scariest but most fun mosh pit of all time. Then, everyone freezes as they hear the sound of the shofar and suddenly it’s a mad dash to the fenced-off table that all the food and drink lays on. The people inside the fence are surrounded by famished Jews yelling at them: “MAYIM MAYIM” (water, water). I grabbed a crappy pastry and a bottle of orange juice which tasted gourmet, at least at the moment. 

Although these traditions and this holiday aren’t recognized by the majority in Boise, these experiences, as crazy as they were, will forever be engraved in how I think about the holiday. Before it was an excuse to get out of school, but now it’s a complex global phenomenon that will only exist in its purest form in Jerusalem.