Prague Journal

Saturday, September 25, 2004.

Only the pious were in attendance at Synagogue Beth Shalom by 7:30 a.m. on Yom Kippur morning. We arrived shortly after 8am – through very quiet streets – to join the group of 18-20 men, 6 or 7 of whom were huddled around the bimah, and 6 women upstairs in the balcony. By 9am the men numbered about 30, and the women 15. All prayers were in Hebrew (of course!) with unfamiliar melodies sung only by the men on the bimah. Rick, with yarmulke and prayer shawl, is getting accustomed to attending orthodox services in historic synagogues among international congregants.
We left the synagogue around 9:30 a.m. for a stroll to the Acropolis which had been the most important religious center of Athens for many centuries, dating back to the 5th century BCE. Already the ruins of the Temple of Athena Nike, the Erectheion (whose famous Caryatids adorned the cover of Rick’s 8th grade Latin text), and the Parthenon had already drawn hoards of tourists, many of them Paralympic athletes in wheelchairs and blind athletes with guides, carefully negotiating the rough stone walkways and stairs. Despite 24 years between visits, the columns of the Parthenon were every bit as big and impressive to me now as before. There has been a lot of restoration since then, but the view of the city from the top of the acropolis is still awe-inspiring and spiritual. The Acropolis museum – nine rooms of pottery and figurines, sculptures, friezes, and artifacts dating from 600 BCE to 330 BCE – was packed, with tour guides giving explanations in different languages in every room.
We walked back to the hotel and read, wrote, slept and meditated the afternoon away. By the time we returned to the synagogue for the Neila service, there was standing room only – over 200 men and 150 women, with another 50 or so outside the front door. At 7:52 p.m., according to the posted schedule, the rabbi blew the shofar and a party atmosphere overtook the crowd. There were lots of hugs and kisses (both cheeks in typical European custom) and lots of conversation. I ran into a woman from Chicago (her accent unmistakable), accompanied by her father and her 9-year-old son, who had moved to Greece 18 years ago. She had no desire to return to the US; happy to be connected to her roots and in a place where, she claimed, Jews were accepted openly and people shared a sense of community. She told the same story I had heard before of how everyone had pitched in to make sure the Olympic venues were ready on time, to the point of round-the-clock shifts of people, boyscouts included, erecting signs and planting trees. She was one of many who described the Greeks as people who rally to get things done at the last minute.
When we got back to our hotel, Barb was waiting for us and chatting with Christos, who by now knew her well from all the phone messages over the last few days. We had arranged for Barb to spend the night with us so that we three could go on a tour that left from our hotel on Sunday morning. Dinner was an outdoor table at one of Christos’s recommended restaurants. We all ate heartily – Rick and I hungry from our fast and Barb hungry from her workout routines and competition schedule, and finished with ice cream at our favorite bakery/confectionary on Omonia Square.

posted by JWinn @ 8:39 PM