Jews around the world pause today to observe the beginning of Yom Kippur, a two-day holiday called the “Sabbath of Sabbaths” with prayers and fasting that focus on atonement of sins committed during the year just ended.
From New York City and its 1.7 million Jewish adherents to the smallest communities in the South, where populations at times are fewer than 10 members, it’s much the same. On Yom Kippur, sumptuous meals are prepared for sustenance during a fasting period lasting 25 hours.
“This is our annual spiritual wakeup call,” said Rabbi Elliot Stevens, Temple Beth Or Synagogue. “We are moved to not just repent, but hopefully, move our lives toward more positive directions.”
A religion steeped in tradition, Judaism can be practical as well as mind-boggling depending on viewpoints by parishioners who rely on rabbis to sort it all out for them.
Joy Blondheim, president of Agudath Israel Etz Ahayem, said she has looked forward to Yom Kippur for as long as she can remember because of what it means to her religion.
“Personally, I see it as a cathartic experience and know that other members of our congregation feel the same way I do, especially when fasting is involved,” she said Monday night.
According to Jewish tradition, God inscribes names into a “Book of Life” on Rosh Hashanah, which is the New Year, and waits until Yom Kippur to “seal” the verdict as to who lives and who dies. Just call it the Jewish version of who’s been naughty and who’s been nice prior to Christmas.
Yom Kippur is a holiday that strikes deep into the hearts of Jews, many of whom rarely appear in temples and synagogues most of the year but commit themselves to attend services on the High Holy Days because of an ingrained feeling of responsibility toward their families and ancestry.
Apologies are an important requirement during Yom Kippur and should be done in person to those who might have been offended by thoughtless comments or actions.
“If you have wronged someone else, tradition requires an apology to be extended in a sincere way. In exchange for it, forgiveness must also be granted by the offended person,” Stevens said.
Raised in an Orthodox Jewish family in Lancaster, Pennysylvania, I knew the basics of my religion, so a year before I was to have my bar mitzvah at the age of 13, I decided to get a jump on fasting to see just how hard it might be.
Could I do it, could I last the fast at the age of 12? That was the question I asked myself, knowing that I’d have to endure 25 hours without food or water — the last part the most difficult.
Mine was a traditional Jewish family with grandparents straight out of central casting for “Fiddler on the Roof” and I didn’t want to disappoint anybody within my “mishpocheh,” a Yiddish word for family.
Memories tend to dissipate with age, especially over parts of seven decades. In my synagogue, the rabbi’s sermons were in Yiddish, an “old country” language understood only by my “Zadie” Solsky and other grandfathers sitting near us on the first row of the synagogue.
Long story as short as possible, I managed to survive my first of 63 fasts dating back to 1952, learning not to gobble down everything in sight as we all sat down to enjoy our post-fast feast.
It’s known as “break the fast,” as in “breakfast,” and food carefully placed on tables at homes or in houses of worship doesn’t last very long after the blessings are given.
My enlistment in the Marine Corps extended through the High Holy Day period at Parris Island, South Carolina, and I was included in a handful of Jewish recruits allowed to go off-base to attend services at the little town of Beaufort.
Wine was served as part of the holiday ritual and we weren’t reluctant to imbibe as often as possible before it was time to stagger out and head back to base and our upside down frying pans known as Quonset huts.
Fellow recruits watched enviously as we stumbled to our bunks and pretty much zonked out until it was time for 5 a.m. jogs around the base the next morning.
We could have signed up a lot of harried Christian recruits as possible converts that night.
