High Holidays

The High Holidays have come and almost gone, the last of the cycle being Simchat Torah this Thursday.  We've had a great new year.  On Rosh Hashanah morning the boys attended an incredible two hours of adult services, with wonderful manners.  I think they wanted to see me read - I was on the bimah for the second half.  A peaceful place, the bimah.  Dale had his hands full back there in the stands but you couldn't tell from where I was.

(The reason I was enjoying such a big honor is that a few months ago the rabbi invited me to "help out with new members."  I agreed to pitch in; new members are a good zone for me, especially since they are often families with young kids.  Later I found out that he had been inviting me to chair the membership committee.  Still later I found out that there is no membership committee, that I will have to create one.  Um. This process is moving slowly.  The honor of a High Holidays reading is thus more about reinforcing my sense of obligation than about acknowledging anything I've actually done.)

This year we have had the novel experience of celebrating with other families!  In the past we have been mostly been en famille, and the closest famille in Maryland involved a long and harrowing rush-hour drive from Takoma Park to the north burbs of Baltimore.  But put your kids in a Jewish preschool and what do you know, you make Jewish friends.  Rosh Hashanah evening we had two families over (how is that twelve people already?) and had a delicious vegetarian meal involving fresh-baked challah and a wild mushroom galette.  We adults relaxed and enjoyed themselves to the exact extent that we were able to ignore the constant wild shrieking from the six loudly happy children.

On Yom Kippur, I mused on how detail-oriented the confession of sins is.  The traditional recitation has 44 sins, including, for example "sins we have committed with eye movements":  Did you look places you should not have looked?  Did you roll your eyes at anyone?  Did you narrow your eyes at someone?  The general mood seems to be that there are a hundred thousand opportunities every day to do well or badly, and we are responsible for all of them.  This seems particularly poignant for parents.  My favorite one is "sins we have committed through confusion of the heart."  The rabbis taught that all mistakes stem from a confusion of the heart; this is why we tap our chests as we recite the mistakes.  This seems like a very compassionate outlook.

I fasted this year, and Dale ate less than usual.  The general agreement among our friends seems to be that at most one parent can realistically fast - it's just too much to deal with preschoolers on no food.  I did well until we got stuck in Husky traffic on the way to break-the-fast at a friend's house, with fresh warm challah on my lap.  Torture.  When we finally arrived and ate the challah, though, I was hugely cheered up by my friend (also fasting) who said, awestruck:  "This is heaven.  And not just because I'm starving!"  I do make a delicious challah if I do say so myself.  Nana would be proud.