During a visit to Paris that fell on Yom Kippur, my friend Ilan once found himself unable to pay a for a taxi ride. He'd arrived at his destination, discovered that his wallet was empty and asked the driver to wait just one minute while he withdrew some money from a nearby automatic teller machine. That's when he learned that the debit cards issued by Israeli banks do not work on the holiest day of the year.

He was not amused.

Each year, I find myself having to explain to friends living abroad, or foreigners in Israel, what it means when a whole country simply shuts down from dusk one day until after dark the following day. And it's difficult for them to understand, because the Western world is so oriented toward a non-stop, 24-hour style of living.

But what if I need to call my driver to take me somewhere? asked the European journalist. You can't, I told him. Make sure that you are where you want to be on Yom Kippur, because you'll only be able to travel as far as your legs can take you. The airport is closed, the roads are closed to all non-emergency motorized vehicles, every single place of business is closed and there are no television or radio broadcasts.* Everything simply stops.

Yesterday morning I woke up very early just so that I could go outside and listen to the silence. It was still too early for the synagogue goers, and the kids on their bicycles weren't out yet either - just a few dog walkers and some old men reading their newspapers. I could hear the birds chirping and the leaves rustling in the breeze, and the peace was sublime.

Last year I wrote this post that describes my feelings about Tel Aviv on Yom Kippur.

This year, during one of the last television news broadcasts before Yom Kippur, the rabbi of a yeshiva in Petah Tikva was interviewed about the holy day as it is observed in Israel. The interviewer asked the rabbi what he thought of secular Israelis who spent the day watching movies on DVD at home, or riding their bicycles on the traffic-free roads, instead of praying, fasting and repenting for their sins at the synagogue. The rabbi smiled gently and told the interviewer that it didn't really matter how one observed the day of repentance in Israel. No-one, he said, could be immune to the special atmosphere of peace and spirituality on that day.

And I thought, that's my kind of rabbi.

*This is of course not true of the Arab towns and villages, or of East Jerusalem.