For Believers, a Day of Atonement. For Others, a Giant Playground.

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/05/world/middleeast/israel-yom-kippur.html

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ALONG HIGHWAY 1, Israel — Highway 1, the main thoroughfare between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, is usually snarled with traffic on weekday evenings. Enav Levy, a veterinary nurse, tries to avoid the 6 p.m. rush hour on the road, normally one of the busiest in the Middle East, and certainly would not cycle on it.

But at 6 p.m. on Tuesday, Ms. Levy, 38, was quite happy to brave the highway. Riding a folding bicycle, she joined the road just west of Jerusalem, and felt a growing sense of liberation.

Gone was the din of car horns and revving engines, replaced with the chirp of cicadas and the sound of the roadside flags fluttering in the evening breeze. With a few sporadic exceptions, the cars had vanished.

“You’re in the middle of civilization — but without that civilization,” Ms. Levy said in an interview. She added, with a laugh, “It’s like the end of the world.”

This was Israel from just after 5:40 p.m. on Tuesday, when observant Jews began an annual fast of just over 25 hours that ended on Wednesday just before 7 p.m. The roads were emptier than on any other day in the year. Radio stations and television channels were silent. Public transportation was suspended. Except in some Arab areas, shops and restaurants were almost all shut.

For Jewish believers, it was the holiest day of their year — an annual day of atonement, or Yom Kippur in Hebrew, for their sins against God. On Tuesday evening, millions of Israelis switched off their phones, ate their last pre-fast meals and headed to synagogues for the opening prayers of the fast.

On Wednesday, many went again to synagogue, often for more than eight hours of prayer, confession and repentance. More than half of Israeli Jews attend synagogue on Yom Kippur for at least part of the ceremonies, according to polling in 2019 by the Israel Democracy Institute.

But the day would not be so silent without the participation of the less religiously inclined. On other major Jewish holy days, secular Jews still drive their cars in Israel, and many do not pray. On Yom Kippur, by social convention, almost all Israeli Jews keep their cars parked. Tens of thousands attend special services, organized by Tzohar, a rabbinical association, for those who do not usually attend synagogue.

“It’s almost something that’s part of the DNA of Israel,” said Rabbi David Stav, the chairman of Tzohar.

Even for secular citizens, the day is a chance for contemplation — in part because it is also the anniversary of the Arab-Israeli war of 1973, also known as the Yom Kippur War, when Israeli society was left stunned by an unexpected Arab attack.

As a result, the day offers cause for “reflection on what our life is like as a sovereign country which is fighting for its freedom,” said Rabbi Sivan Malkin Maas, who leads the Israeli wing of a small movement of secular Jews. “At what price? Are we doing it in the right way?”

For Jews who live in highly religious neighborhoods, the roads feel no different to how they do on the Sabbath, when residents also stop driving. “The concept of a non-vehicular weekend is something that we do every week,” said Tali Farkash, a journalist and academic from Elad, a city in central Israel that was built for highly observant Jews.

But for secular Israeli Jews, Yom Kippur is a rare chance to experience their country as a silent, carless playground, and to establish their own secular customs in the process.

For more than a decade, Ms. Levy has cycled the 40 miles to Tel Aviv from her in-laws’ home just outside Jerusalem, along with Asaf Rockman, 39, her partner, and whichever friends feel like joining them. Mr. Rockman travels on roller-skates — an exhilarating if terrifying experience when plunging down the mountains outside Jerusalem toward the coastal plain outside Tel Aviv.

“It’s our tradition,” Ms. Levy said. “Every year, at this time of year, it’s what I do.”

Other bikers and skaters take slightly different approaches.

Tom Itzhaki, a hotel manager, usually tries much longer feats of endurance — this year, he completed a 190-mile journey through three cities in central Israel. Nir Ellinson, a coffee roaster, welcomed a more leisurely group of cyclists to his rural home. After a gentler ride from a nearby city, they shared a picnic of herring and cheese and read a short story together about Yom Kippur by S.Y. Agnon, an acclaimed Israeli novelist.

A group of skaters from Tel Aviv, the Tel Aviv Rollers, took the bus to Jerusalem on Tuesday afternoon, rolling back home on the empty roads once the fast began at sunset. To help them reduce speed on the mountain descent, two carried a large flag that they opened when speeding downhill, using it like a sail to brake.

“Real ecstasy,” said Alik Mintz, 66, a leader of the group, who usually makes the trip but stayed at home this year. “Nobody else in the world has this.”

For Palestinian citizens of Israel, who form about a fifth of the population, the day draws a spectrum of emotions, ranging from mild enjoyment to indifference and deep frustration. In Arab-majority cities, life continues almost as normal. But in mixed ones, Arab businesses must often shut.

Some Palestinians appreciate the break. In an Arab part of Jerusalem last year, young Palestinians were filmed holding running races with Israeli policemen on an otherwise empty street.

But to many, the day feels restrictive. Several road junctions in Jerusalem were blocked on Wednesday, making it harder for Palestinian residents to move around. Checkpoints between Israel and the occupied West Bank were closed to workers from the West Bank, depriving them of a day’s income. And in the territory itself, the conflict continued: A gun battle broke out between militants and the Israel Army near Nablus after soldiers came to arrest a Palestinian fighter.

Jack Abdallah, a Palestinian from East Jerusalem, enjoyed the day off when he was a driver for a cultural institution. But now he runs his own restaurant in the city, and the day has become a headache, he said. On Wednesday, the checkpoint closure meant one employee could not enter the city, while the road closures and transportation suspensions meant others had to walk several miles to work.

“Before, it was one of the best days for me,” said Mr. Abdallah, 43. “We used to barbecue all night and sleep all day.”

Now, he added, “It makes our life very difficult.”

In Tel Aviv, Ms. Levy and Mr. Rockman had stayed overnight in a holiday apartment, and were recovering from the rigors of the four-hour ride. A friend’s flat tire had delayed their group outside the city, until a passing stranger gave them a spare inner tube.

They went to the beach, where they mentally cast their misdeeds of the past year into the sea, a secular take on a religious tradition. Then they braced, somewhat wistfully, for the return of the traffic.

“Suddenly, boom!” Mr. Rockman said, anticipating the gridlock to come. “The past 24 hours was just a dream.”

Myra Noveck, Gabby Sobelman and Hiba Yazbek contributed reporting from Jerusalem.