Yom Kippur among ultra-Orthodox Jews in Jerusalem (Israel – My Life’s Adventure)

Only when Norina left the airport and saw no buses or trains running, it became clear to her that she just moved to Jerusalem the day before the highest Jewish holiday, on September 23, 2023. On Yom Kippur itself and due to a one-off encounter, she suddenly found herself unplanned and unprepared in the synagogue of Jerusalem’s ultra-Orthodox community, without really knowing what was happening to her.

There I was on my first full day in Israel, exactly where I shouldn’t have been. That’s what I was told beforehand. And if I did end up there, it would definitely not be in a short summer dress like the one I was wearing. At least it covered my shoulders. I certainly hadn’t planned to go to Me’a She’arim. And I would have been even less likely to visit the synagogue during the main prayer time. But that’s exactly where I was on Yom Kippur, the day of atonement and forgiveness according to the Jewish calendar.

Diving into a different universe

As I followed my new Jewish acquaintance, I could already guess my destination. And then I crossed the border with her, beyond which tourists were expressly not welcome. Another world opened up. First I noticed the massive amounts of garbage and dirt. Then the run-down surroundings.

And finally the numerous children dressed in the same clothes on the street. All the boys and men wore temple curls, long black pants and white shirts. All the girls and women wore at least knee-length dresses with no neckline, their hair either tied up or under a headscarf. I also saw girls dressed in black, veiled from head to toe.

Waiting for the rabbi

We were eyed critically, but my companion studiously ignored this. She said she knew most of the people here and they knew her, but she didn’t seek any contact and avoided their glances. We stopped on a street corner and sat down on the curb. Now we had to wait, longer than I expected. We waited for the old rabbi, whom my companion adored. She had come here especially for him. It was hard for her to believe that I had never heard his name before, even though she knew that I was Christian and German.

For her, this rabbi was her savior. He was a simple, humble man who took care of the poor and “abnormal”, as she put it. For her, you could only live in the truth if you “believed in God, in yourself and in your rabbi”. I won’t mention her name because she only told it to me in the last half hour of our time together and unfortunately I couldn’t remember it. She didn’t ask my name. We didn’t exchange numbers either. The acquaintance was only meant to last for that afternoon.

Like two colorful birds

I don’t even know what would have happened if I had taken my smartphone out of my pocket there. It is not permitted to use electronic devices such as cell phones on religious holidays or during Shabbat. Additionally, they need to correspond to their own specific kosher rules. As we sat there on the curb and I had already put my white scarf around my shoulders, a woman came up to us, looked at me and spoke to me in Hebrew. At my helpless shrug, she boldly grabbed the scarf and put it over my knees while pointing to the men on the other side of the street who didn’t shed any glance in our direction.

Surrounded by people dressed in black, white and gray, I stood out like a colorful bird. Fortunately, my companion was even more colorful and attracted more attention. Some children, especially girls, stared at us openly. They were dressed far too warmly for the temperatures and mostly wore Crocs or slippers rather than proper shoes. A year later on the same day, I learned that normal shoes, especially leather ones, were not allowed to be worn on Yom Kippur, but on other days they are.

Walking to the synagogue in a crowded procession

The waiting crowd continued to grow and rapidly gathered around the rabbi, who finally appeared, like a pop star. In a procession, we walked the short distance to the synagogue, if I can even call the structure that. It was a huge steel frame like those found on building sites or temporary constructions, except that it had been there for some time or was rebuilt year after year for this very occasion.

The “walls” consisted of white or printed plastic tarpaulins that were intended to imitate the interior of a synagogue. The men all went through the main entrance into the large hall. We women had to climb improvised stairs to a gallery. The residents of Me’a She’arim definitely have no fear of contact. The crowd was so dense that you sometimes had to force your way through the gaps to get to your own – paid – place.

Noisy prayer

The hall, which we looked at through darkened Plexiglas panes – probably so that the men couldn’t see the women from below, as my friend suspected – was packed. Several hundred Jews took part in the prayer downstairs and upstairs, leaning back and forth, sitting down, standing up again, reading the texts from the prayer book in front of them while mumbling or joining in a kind of chant.

For me as an outsider who didn’t speak a single word in Hebrew, no clear form was recognizable. But the people knew when they were singing along and when the lead singer was just reciting. Even then, it was never quiet in the building. People were talking everywhere, there was no reverent silence, but there was always a great confusion of voices and noises. Little boys used their entire lung volume and tried to be the loudest voice during common sections.

Yeshu or Jesus?

My companion stood on a chair most of the time so that she could see the “Rav” better. She sang her very own, unread prayers in a beautiful, bright voice. Afterwards, we talked about what it would be like when Yeshu finally returned – as Jesus is rather derogatorily called by some Jews. She was eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Messiah. He would bring order and justice.

She was taught that Yeshu had been rejected by his rabbi due to impatience and had subsequently turned his back on the Jews. If he had waited even two minutes longer, he could have saved the world by now. But as it was, we all had to wait this long time for his return. She was deeply surprised to hear that Jesus was a Jew through and through and that he remained a Jew throughout his life and surrounded himself predominantly with Jews. She asked me several times why Christians should hate Jews if Jesus was Jewish. I didn’t have a good answer to that.

Words are deadlier than weapons

For her, there was no question that we prayed to the same God. Our initial encounter was at the Damascus Gate when she asked me for water. Through my conversation with my previous companion, she had found out that I was German. One of her grandmothers had spent six years in Auschwitz and the other may have been a Nazi. She asked me whether my grandparents had killed Jews and whether people in Germany knew about the Second World War.

She immediately told me parts of her family history and, over the course of the afternoon, a lot about her own life. Her recurring, emphatic statement was that weapons are nowhere near as dangerous and cannot cause as much damage as words. Weapons extinguish lives. Words kill people so that they stay alive and pass on death to those around them. She was fighting for her very existence at the time, as everything that had previously made up her life had been taken from her. The only reason why she had not yet gone mad was because of her daily prayers, in which she brought everything that was bothering her to God so that she would not also start killing people with her words.

Invitation with consequences

From the point when I told her that Jesus means everything to me, that he lives in me and that I can feel him, she really wanted to take me to this prayer. At first I thought that she simply wanted to go to a place where we could pray peacefully and personally. I was delighted at this invitation and gladly accepted. After all, it was only a ten-minute walk there. And then I found myself in the midst of a unique opportunity to be led by a devout Jewish woman into one of Jerusalem’s most famous ultra-Orthodox neighborhoods. I wasn’t entirely comfortable, but I didn’t want to miss out on this opportunity. In addition, the exchange with my new acquaintance was incredibly interesting. She also looked after me very well and didn’t leave me standing alone even when the rabbi entered the street.

I had to find my own way out of the neighborhood after dark. But it wasn’t that difficult and I had already become a bit more confident. What an unexpected afternoon and evening!