8 September 2025
Am I alone when I say I have never fasted for Yom Kippur?
It struck me suddenly that, in my 26 years of living and taking pride in Jewish traditions – of which many revolve around consuming food, being with family, singing songs, and reciting prayers – I had never participated in perhaps one of the most important traditions: fasting on Yom Kippur.
In my very secular Jewish family, to be practising mostly meant cherry-picking the rituals and traditions that fit your lifestyle best. This led to a spectrum of outcomes within our family’s legacy; from an Orthodox aunt dedicating her life to religion, and helping others convert (if they have the stamina for it, Jewish conversion is hardly a baptism) – to an uncle putting his children in a democratic, very unreligious elementary school, and ordering a Surf & Turf when Shabbat is celebrated at the Tel Aviv promenade for a change of scenery once in a while.
Whilst my parents and grandparents, as well as the table next to us, started to protest in haughty disapproval, I, as a 15-year-old wiseacre at the time, couldn’t help but think how it was a bit weird that we were having Shabbat at a restaurant, no Kiddush, no kippot, no breaking bread, but somehow my uncle was the one who was supposed to have been crossing some line.
And here we are, 10 years later, still struggling with blurred lines. At this point, I have accepted that there are many ways to be Jewish. Finding your own way, however, that’s the challenge. I don’t know exactly what triggered it, but somewhere along these last two years, I’ve been sensing a bit of a hole where my Jewish identity used to be. Perhaps the reason for this hole is one that many of us feel: not being able to express ourselves as who we are to the outside world, the way others so freely can.
There’s a constant negotiation — between pride and privacy, between wanting to show up authentically and wanting to stay safe. And maybe that’s why fasting on Yom Kippur suddenly feels important to me. It’s not about proving to others that I’m Jewish enough, but about proving it to myself. About filling that hole with something rooted, ancient, and — if I let it — meaningful.
Let’s dive a little bit into the topic, shall we: fasting on Yom Kippur. Where does it come from, why do we do it, and what can we learn or gain from it?
Yom Kippur — the Day of Atonement — is considered the holiest day of the Jewish year. In the Torah, we’re told to “afflict our souls” on this day, which generations of rabbis understood to mean refraining from food and drink (alongside other comforts, like bathing or wearing leather shoes). But the goal was never just about hunger. The idea is that by quieting the body, we make space for the soul.
We fast to set ourselves apart from the everyday. Without meals to plan or coffee breaks to look forward to, time itself feels different. The day becomes about prayer, reflection, and repair — both with God and with other people. It’s a yearly reset button: not just a chance to say “sorry,” but to really consider how we want to move forward.
And what can we gain? On the simplest level, fasting makes us vulnerable. It reminds us of our limits, of how fragile we actually are. But that humility can also bring clarity. When the stomach growls, it’s a physical reminder to look inward. When the day ends and the fast is broken, the food tastes richer, and life itself feels like a gift again.
The pitiful thing is, I am really, really, really dreading my first fast. It might sound childish, or even a bit incomprehensible for those who have been doing it for years, but I don’t think I’ve ever gone more than 8 hours without food—that is, unless my mother forgot to feed me as a child once or twice, and I don’t recall it anymore for the very obvious reason of it happening in my childhood.
I get hangry (hungry-angry) quite fast, and to a large extent I mentally link my productivity to the state of my intestines.
When I tell my non-Jewish friends about my struggle, they either recall a time they went on a juice cleanse to lose a couple of kilos, or they tell me to “listen to my body” and not put it under unnecessary pressure. And I get it — that’s the framework they know. But for me, Yom Kippur isn’t about chasing health goals or ignoring warning signs. It’s not about treating my body harshly, it’s about stepping away from it for a moment. The fast isn’t punishment, it’s perspective. By saying no to food and drink for just one day, I get to remember how much space they usually occupy in my life, and maybe open up a little room for reflection.
It’s funny how it is only the second week of September, and thís is what I chose to write about. You see, I was planning to write it the week before Yom Kippur. But the topic has been occupying my mind..
I’m curious to hear how you’re all approaching the fast this year — whether you plan to join, or not. Maybe it’s easier when we do it together. When we can check in on each other, share thoughts, and maybe even discover that the experience feels deeper when it’s shared.
Definitions
Yom Kippur (יוֹם כִּפּוּר)
The “Day of Atonement,” considered the holiest day in the Jewish year. A day of fasting, prayer, and reflection, traditionally lasting 25 hours.
Teshuvah (תשובה)
Literally “return” or “repentance.” The process of self-examination, seeking forgiveness, and turning back toward one’s best self and toward God.
Fasting
On Yom Kippur, this means refraining from food and drink (and traditionally also from bathing, wearing leather shoes, using perfume, and marital relations). The fast is meant to shift focus from the body to the soul.
Ne’ilah (נְעִילָה)
The closing prayer service of Yom Kippur, just before the fast ends. Its name means “closing,” as in the closing of the gates of heaven.
About the writer
Hi, I’m Ruth. Once a week, I sit down to write a column about being Jewish, modern, young, and eager to learn. Some weeks, I might invite someone for a talk. Other weeks, I might dive into research, introspection, or just find some other way to write something meaningful for people like me — trying to enjoy being Jewish, modern, young, and eager to learn.
Hope to see you here often!
