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December 18, 2014 / 26 Kislev, 5775
 
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Tishrei Memories

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Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur have come and gone. It is time to return my beloved Machzor to the bookshelf. Gifted to me by my beloved parents, of blessed memory, for my bat mitzvah, it is one of my most precious possessions.

When I daven from it, I stroke its silky pages. Its front and back book covers are long gone. The years melt away and I am a young girl again, clad in my new Yom Tov outfit and shiny black patent leather shoes. Soon I will skip home for Mommy’s yummy Yom Tov pot roast and mashed potatoes.

Sometime later in the afternoon, we will march hand in hand to the Hudson Bay for Tashlich, convinced, as Mommy assured us, that we would be much lighter after having thrown breadcrumbs into the water, symbolizing our aveirot.

Before we know it, Sukkot is on its way. We will join the other children at our rav’s sukkah to decorate it. How we got the paper chains to stretch from one end of the sukkah to the other is beyond me since I don’t recall a ladder helping the little ones reach the ceiling.

In those days, before the advent of global warming, Sukkot actually signaled the beginning of the cold, crisp weather.

The highlight was Simchat Torah – as my joy knew no bounds. As a teen having attended YU Seminars, I could not wait to showcase some of my new dance steps and wonder why everyone else seemed to be apathetic fuddy-duddies!

The years passed. I married and moved to Hartford, Connecticut, where sukkah-hopping kept us visiting one another from morning until evening. Following several years there we lived a military life. We were the chaplain and rebbetzin on a UK Air Force base. Our sukkah was lovingly built by the non-Jewish spouse of one of our congregants.

Returning to the present, as my children marry and set up their own homes and traditions, I hope that they will carry some fond memories of their own childhoods in Crown Heights. There, neighbors, especially in the building where we have lived for many years, have the opportunity to spend some quality time together for at least one precious week until, in the words of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, zt”l, “V’Yaakov halach ledarko.” We depart, taking all the strength from our spiritual work during Tishrei to hold us in good stead for the coming year.

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“Daddy,” I exclaimed, “Is this how you daven?” Daddy’s response was a hearty laugh. I felt so proud of myself.

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I vowed that when I would grow up, I would speak Yiddish to my kinderlach and I would move to “a place called Crown Heights.”

He exhorted all of us to continue to reach out to one another each and every day because that is what our tafkid (life’s goal) should be. And because that is what Hashem requires of us.

Parents possess divine inspiration (ruach haKodesh) when naming their children. In instances wherein a child is named after a departed loved one, we take great care in our choice – in the belief that the best character traits of the person we are honoring will be reflected in our precious progeny’s actions.

My home is furnished simply. One notes the customary family photos and bric-a-brac that makes a house a home, but certain items are my priceless treasures.

The zaidie sat at the head of the dining room table. I was a small child and unaware that my friend Esther’s grandfather was the revered rosh yeshiva at Yeshiva University, Rav Moshe Aaron Poleyeff, zt”l.

It took a few months, but I finally summoned up what little koach I had to go to the Lubavitcher Rebbe, zt”l, for “Sunday Dollars.” I wanted to take my new baby to the Rebbe. Although he was about three months old at the time, I had not been strong enough until now to attempt a trip to 770 Eastern Parkway.

With so much to do before our recent trip, I was walking on a cloud.

It must have been evident to one and all, since my feet barely touched the ground.

Who would have believed that I would arrive at this special time – so grateful am I to HaKadosh Baruch Hu?

Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/judaism/jewish-columns/lessons-in-emunah/tishrei-memories/2012/10/11/

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