Yom Kippur – Memories from my Childhood

Posted by Shira Cohen-Regev on October 2, 2008 under Jewish Holidays | Be the First to Comment

יוֹם כִּפּוּר – זִכְרוֹנוֹת יַלְדוּת

The Synagogue – בֵּית הַכְּנֶסֶת

When I grew up, my next-door neighbor was the Central Synagogue of Mount Carmel (בֵּית הַכְּנֶסֶת הַמֶּרְכָּזִי בְּהַר הַכַּרְמֶל). It gave a special atmosphere of holiness and respect, especially during Shabat and the Holidays. Although I grew up in a secular home, my mother used to bless the Shabat candles, and kiss each one of us after that with a Shabat Shalom (שַׁבַּת שָׁלוֹם) blessing. Afterwards, she would take the outdoor stairs down to bless her parents who lived on the floor below. On her way down, she would stop for a minute and look at the praying people at Shul. It was twilight time, the light was soft, and I would look at her from the window – always wondering what she was thinking about while glancing at the synagogue. I have never asked her.

Yom Kippur Eve עֶרֶב יוֹם כִּפּוּר

Yom Kippur eve was a very special time. After eating our before-the-fast meal (אֲרוּחָה מַפְסֶקֶת, ‘aruxa mafseket), my mother used to put the lid on the stove, cover it with an embroidered doily and proclaimed that this was the only time of the year that the kitchen was not in use. After the meal, there was a short interval in which we could hear the silence. The lack of cars (no cars are allowed next to synagogues during Yom Kippur in Israel, and actually almost no one drives on Yom Kippur in respect of this Holy Day), and the people walking silently to shul, wearing white clothing and rubber shoes contributed to this silence.
A few minutes later, the street became busy – busy with people walking to shul, blessing each other with “Shana Tova” (שָׁנָה טוֹבָה, Have a good year), “Tsom kal” (צוֹם קַל, Have an easy fast), and “gmar xatima tova” (גְּמַר חֲתִימָה טוֹבָה, May you be inscribed in the book of life); busy with people gathering inside the praying hall and outside, on the street; busy with children playing outside, enjoying the car-free streets to ride their bike safely and play around the synagogue.

And then, the sound of the Kol Nidrey prayer (כָּל נִדְרֵי) would come from the synagogue, officially opening the Yom Kippur prayers. “Kol nidrey” means in Aramaic “all vows” and in this prayer, we ask G-d to annul all personal vows between us and G-d.

As we lived just next to the Synagogue, friends used to come and visit. My mother, who was known for her outstanding hospitality manners, would serve nothing at that time and even the conversations seemed different at those Yom Kippur eves.

The sounds of the prayers would mix with the sounds of the playing children. Yom Kippur is known among the children of Israel as the bike holiday – all the kids make sure that their bicycles (אוֹפַנַּיִם, ofanayim) are fixed before that time, bike shops enjoy their best business of the year, as children meet together to ride all over town. Although bicycling has nothing to do with the meaning of Yom Kippur, every child associates the holiday with this two-wheel non-motorized vehicle.

Yom Kippur Day

On the day of Yom Kippur, I used to wake up from the sound of the people walking to the synagogue. The morning used to pass uneventful due to lack of official breakfast or other morning routines. My grandmother and later on my mother would go to the “Yizkor” prayer (יִזְכֹּר, remembrance). This prayer is recited by those that have lost either one or both of their parents. (There is a custom that those who do not recite the Yizkor prayers leave the synagogue until the completion of Yizkor; the symbolic reason for this is to respect the life of one’s living parents).

The rest of the day was devoted to grown-ups’ rest and children’s play. I also remember some walks I took with my mother to the Haifa Panorama talking about life, the year that had passed and the year to come. Towards the end of Yom Kippur, the men of the house went to Tfilat Ne’ila (תְּפִלַּת נְעִילָה, closing prayer) and the women of the house were beginning to prepare the breaking-the-fast meal. My grandmother used to bake (ahead of time) the best and highest yeast cake (עוּגַת שְׁמָרִים, ‘ugat shmarim) and my mother would prepare the best coffee and the best hot cocoa of the year.

When the sound of the “’avinu malkenu” (אָבִינוּ מַלְכֵּנוּ, Our Father – Our King) was heard from the synagogue, we used to sing it at home as well. There is something about this Piyut and especially its end, that always bring tears into my eyes, even now when I am writing these lines hearing “’Avinu Malkenu” on the background. It is beyond the music and beyond the words – it brings some kind of holy excitement to my soul and to many other souls in our world.

I remember hearing the Shofar blowing that concluded Yom Kippur from Shul, watching the sky and imagining how the sound of the Shofar reached the gates of heaven and how the books were being sealed there. A stream of people leaving the Synagogue and a strong smell of coffee broke my wonderings. Some friends who appreciated our proximity to the Synagogue (and hence, the short time left to break the fast) would join us to break the fast enjoying the best cake and best hot cocoa of the year.
I don’t live on the same place any longer, my grandmother is not here to bake the same cake, my mother is not here to prepare the best coffee of the year, but I try to create this atmosphere of holiness and new beginning to my children and to the generations to come.