What do you remember from your childhood High Holidays (“Holy Days”?) experiences? My memories are vivid: sometimes happy — sometimes funny — sometimes…well, I’ll let you decide…
My mother always had her Shanah Tovah cards, ready to mail (on the last day of the existing year). As we walked to the synagogue, she would be carrying all of them, and at the foot of our residential street — which dead-ended at the major one on which our shul was located — was a mailbox, where she would drop them in. Her practice: always last-minute good wishes. Why? I have no idea. Why did I never ask her about this? I have no idea…
Our rabbi had twin sons in his family. Many years later, one of them — now a long-grown rabbi like his father and brother — came to Dallas, where one morning I introduced him with a bit of “history” before he made a presentation to a group at the JCC. Afterward, he and his wife took me out to lunch (at one of our area’s kosher restaurants, of course). I told them how my late sister, who had a wicked sense of humor, would always deliver this “greeting” before Sunday school: “Good morning, Rabbi. How are you, and the Rebbitzen, and all the little rabbits?” He never even responded; and that day, with me, neither did his son…
Two of my father’s sisters had moved with their husbands to houses on the street where we had long lived, after their own children were grown and gone. My dad was never a shul-goer; he always said he’d had his knuckles cracked once too often in Hebrew school. His sisters and their families were not shul-goers either; I have no idea why. But every year, after Kol Nidre, as my mother and I walked home, we would pass their houses (next door to each other) and they would greet us with this offer: “How about coming in for a cup of coffee and some cake?” Fasting was not a word in their vocabulary, but year after year, they never stopped trying. Something perverse about that, I decided, long after I was grown up myself…
My Boubby the Philosopher always used to say about the children of immigrants to America (and of course she was one): “The first generation goes away, but the second comes back.” She was totally correct about my own family: My mother retained only minimal connections to worship, but she was a devout Sisterhood member; I joined the long-gone (and should be sorely missed!) “Panel of American Women,” which included small groups (Catholic, Protestant, Jewish, Black, White, etc.) to share their personal life experiences as program presentations for various groups. I always started my speech by first quoting her, then saying “She was right about me!”
Synagogue affiliation was the first thing on my mind after my move to Dallas, which was more than 40 years ago! My husband and I did the traditional “shul-shopping,” attending services at several places over several weekends. He didn’t care as much as I did, but was happy to honor my choice, which has remained the same to this day, long after his passing. And of course I appreciate the reminder I receive every year announcing the date on which I should light the yahrzeit candle in his blessed memory. Also, every year at this time, I am like the old, two-headed Roman god Janus, looking backward and forward at the same time: remembering what was, and wondering what is to come, which I’m doing right now! May the new year be blessed for all of us…
Harriet P. Gross can be reached at
harrietgross1@gmail.com.