Perhaps as conclusions from the Yom Kippur War, this year's strongholds were on high alert when the first chairs were placed in Dizengoff Square in the morning, ahead of the Kol Nidre prayer. The intelligence coordinators quickly pumped out clear warnings on the neighborhood radio networks: "They are planning an attack, a full stabilization is needed tonight."
Anyone who thought that the court's decision to regulate prayer procedures in the square would end the debate probably did not remember what a hot and tense climate we live in. Tel Aviv is now a frightened and suspicious city, convinced that it is the last one left at the forefront in order to maintain a democratic, liberal and preferably secular state. Therefore, as far as she is concerned, anyone wearing a kippah is suspected of being a collaborator – stop the password, or we shoot.
The disturbance to Kol Nidre at Kikar HaMedina in Tel Aviv: "Take down the partition shame"
The other night it was oppressive, and mostly very disturbing. There was no trace of bringing hearts together or of a deliberate ceasefire to calm the situation. On the one hand, dressed in a white costume, stood members of the "Jewish Head" association, the organizers of the prayer project, headed by Chairman Yisrael Zeira, who sees their activities as a Jewish-religious mission deep in the secular casbah. Religion, for him, is not a dirty word, but a source of pride.
On the other side, in uniform and full belt, stood the fighters of the strongholds of the first Hebrew city. So anyone who fantasized that on the holy day we would ask for forgiveness and hug behind the pages of the cycle should have seen the intensity of the hatred. It was animosity over steroids, or as someone there said, "There are two peoples here who pray differently."
There were reinforced police forces in the square. A woman who tried to get on stage was pushed away. I noticed a skullcap-wearing boy crying, unable to contain the magnitude of the commotion. A few minutes later, it was over, when Zeira and his entourage walked off the stage, pale and bareheaded, on their way to complete the prayer service in the nearby synagogue.
Near the fountain, I met an elderly religious, and asked if he really thought the evening would end differently. He smiled and said, "I'm happy," and before he continued, someone who listened to us threw to him without thinking twice: "You're happy because you're zero." The elderly religious man was able to complete his words: "I am happy because just as G-d knew how to separate us, so He will make sure to unite us." Blessed be the believer.
The neighborhood networks soon told of the great victory in the battle for the square. The enemy did not cross the Canal, no losses were recorded for our forces, and no one was captivated by Torah. I went home mostly sad, because it wasn't the smell of a new year that hovered in the air - but more of an atmosphere of an end, that's it, an end.
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