When I was a kid, I loved my mom’s sweet kugel, and the smell of roasting brisket. I liked to sit on the piano bench at the kids’ table with Mindy, although sometimes she would end up under the table with Laddy, pretending to be a dog or a gerbil. I loved the snug feeling of being surrounded by my aunts, uncles and cousins.
After dinner, we would make treasures. Aunt Julie’s basement was our laboratory, and cousin Scott was head scientist. We would make green, red and yellow rubber lizards, bats and bugs. I loved peeling them out of their cooling metal molds and squishing them between my fingers. At home, they would live in a saltwater taffy barrel from Atlantic City.
These memories, along with Sweetheart sitting in the red plush chair, Uncle Sheik watching Bullwinkle on the sun porch, and playing the nuts game after dinner by the living room step, are what I loved about Rosh Hashanah. To me, the Jewish holidays were about being with my family.
I dreaded going to services. I didn’t know how to contain the boredom. Holiday services felt like they lasted for weeks. I remember Donna and I trying on each others jewelry in the back of the sanctuary to pass the time, and I remember turning the prayer book pages one at a time, from beginning to end, ever so slowly, to try and move the clock along. Services felt like long, hard, boring homework.
That young me would be shocked to learn that I am the cantorial singer at High Holiday services now. She would be amazed that I finally learned how to read Hebrew. She wouldn’t believe that I find the music haunting and beautiful, and that the holiday melodies transport me to a place inside myself that feels more like treasure than those old basement Creepy Crawlers.
It feels good to go back and visit the old days. All of my aunts and uncles are gone now, along with some of my cousins and my dad. I will always carry them with me, and I will feel them here as I turn the pages of the prayer book, and as I taste the cinnamon and raisins in my mom’s sweet kugel.
I wish you all a sweet and meaningful new year. May it be filled with laughter, loved ones and unexpected treasure.
After dinner, we would make treasures. Aunt Julie’s basement was our laboratory, and cousin Scott was head scientist. We would make green, red and yellow rubber lizards, bats and bugs. I loved peeling them out of their cooling metal molds and squishing them between my fingers. At home, they would live in a saltwater taffy barrel from Atlantic City.
These memories, along with Sweetheart sitting in the red plush chair, Uncle Sheik watching Bullwinkle on the sun porch, and playing the nuts game after dinner by the living room step, are what I loved about Rosh Hashanah. To me, the Jewish holidays were about being with my family.
I dreaded going to services. I didn’t know how to contain the boredom. Holiday services felt like they lasted for weeks. I remember Donna and I trying on each others jewelry in the back of the sanctuary to pass the time, and I remember turning the prayer book pages one at a time, from beginning to end, ever so slowly, to try and move the clock along. Services felt like long, hard, boring homework.
That young me would be shocked to learn that I am the cantorial singer at High Holiday services now. She would be amazed that I finally learned how to read Hebrew. She wouldn’t believe that I find the music haunting and beautiful, and that the holiday melodies transport me to a place inside myself that feels more like treasure than those old basement Creepy Crawlers.
It feels good to go back and visit the old days. All of my aunts and uncles are gone now, along with some of my cousins and my dad. I will always carry them with me, and I will feel them here as I turn the pages of the prayer book, and as I taste the cinnamon and raisins in my mom’s sweet kugel.
I wish you all a sweet and meaningful new year. May it be filled with laughter, loved ones and unexpected treasure.