01-03 October 2006

Saturday night, after Shabbat ended, I ventured out with friends to witness one of the more bizarre rituals in Judaism – Kapparot. Before Yom Kippur, there's a custom to take a chicken and symbolically pass one's sins onto the chicken while circling it around one's head, after which the chicken is slaughtered for food. We decided to venture into Mea She'arim, an ultra-orthodox neighborhood in north-central Jerusalem, so you can imagine the multiple culture clashes going on. As we approach we begin to separate (I was with three females), as it's usually not appropriate for mixed couples to walk together in this neighborhood. Soon we get to our destination, plastic crates stacked atop one another, all containing white hens. The handlers, teenagers wearing kippot, and one wearing a shirt advertising a dance music record label, sold the chickens (25 NIS, or around $6) to buyers who would intone several blessings while passing the chicken around their head and the heads of their family. One guy in the corner had several crates and was actually swinging the chicken by the legs, finishing with one and bringing out another one. In the middle of all of this is the butcher, sharpening his knife and then holding it between his lips in between slaughters. His plastic apron was dripping with blood, and his table had six metal funnels running to the ground, collecting the blood from this chickens he quickly slices across the neck and then allows to flop around.
Besides the gore and what seems like an obvious question ("Do these people coming to perform the ritual, who by and large don't work for a living, have the money for dry cleaning if the chicken craps on their satin robes and/or shtreimels (fur-trimmed hats)?" I couldn't stop thinking about how the ritual we were watching was perhaps the closest one could approach Biblical Judaism in the absence of the Temple. When the Temple existed, a pilgrim would purchase his offering (sin or thanksgiving) at the gates and offer it up upon entering. What's the difference between this and that, save for location? As I started seeing this seemingly bizarre transaction going on before me in those terms, I was in awe and wanting to leave as if seeing something I'm not supposed to (like being blinded by something divine). As grotesque as this scene was, ladies and gentlemen, think about it the next time you pray for the Messiah to arrive, or jokingly sing along to that Chabad Lubavitch "Mashiach" (Messiah): this chicken-swinging and slaughtering scene is our destiny when the Third Temple is built.

First off, there are the services. I tried out two places, both of which I've been to for Shabbat. Having serious moral problems about buying a seat for services, I decided to show up and try my luck – both times it worked successfully, either finding a non-reserved seat or being assigned one whose original purchaser decided not to use.
The first synagogue I went to with a friend from DC Sunday night. I don't mind not knowing every prayer and hymn sung, I can follow along just fine in the book; the rabbi liked to mumble his Hebrew and the congregation, not knowing where they were either simply hummed along to the familiar melodies, making the experience more frustrating than necessary. The second was a place I knew I liked – there the Hebrew was crisp, clear and modern; the melodies were familiar from back home; and everyone sang along, men and women (men and women sit separately but participate just about equally in the services).
Yom Kippur is known as the Shabbat of all Shabbats (the Mother of all Shabbats, if you will) and this title became clear for the first time to me this year. Just like I wrote about Rosh Hashanah, YK is a very different experience here in Israel. For example, in the midst of the melodramatic liturgy, the prayer leader would burst into tunes normally heard on Shabbat, encouraging everyone to transcend their hunger and existential queries in order to celebrate. If you think Jews can't put on an uplifting service, you're going to the wrong synagogue. The spiritual intensity was palpable, the prayer leader in the late morning had an incredible voice, and only during the afternoon did the prayers drag, mainly because everyone was exhausted by then.
What was even more worthwhile about the day was the complete lack of cars on the road. I'm not talking a significant decrease in road travel – I mean no automobiles whatsoever. In Jerusalem it's apparently against the law to drive on Yom Kippur, with police cars passing every once in a while to enforce it. Not only does this create the visual of people walking in the middle of the street, with kids on bicycles everywhere, but it fulfills one of my many dreams: a world without cars. Sounds once muffled by the incessant honking of drivers came back into range and a level of tranquility descended on the city that the pious, secular, and Luddite could value.

Tuesday I spent what seemed like hours at Hebrew U. working out my schedule. I got the results of my Arabic placement exam, and they weren't what I expected: they put me in Year 1, much to my dismay. The advisor showed me my test, which admittedly had mistakes on it – I didn't vowel the verbs on the first page, despite there being no instructions to do as so. Like many things in this country, I was supposed to infer that on my own. Like duh!
After explaining this to the advisor, along with the fact that I had taken three years of Arabic in the States, he still put me in Year 1, though said that if it's too easy to talk with the professor as there's an outside opportunity to switch levels. Not only is it a matter of needing the next highest level academically – Year 2 only meets two times a week, with Year 1 meeting three times a week. If I'm getting a job, this shortens the amount of time I can devote to both. You can bet I'll be working hard to move on up a level.
I registered for Arabic and my other courses with little problems, at least I hope – the print-out the registrar gave me did not include the courses I already picked via Internet, and by the time I got back to the office it was closed. Hope they all show up online! I then tracked over to the Student Accounts, where I handed in my voucher for tuition from the government, only to be told there's extra fees not covered by the voucher. Of course there is, I think to myself. I get my bill and slump back to the bus stop.