As I mentioned last week or so, I am a big fan of Back to School and consider it my New Year’s Day.
What cracks me up is that it has taken all of my years to realize that might be ingrained in my DNA.
Yes, today is the first Rosh Hashanah where I stopped to consider that September is the perfect New Year for a little Jewish girl such as myself.
Back when I was four years old, and the only baptized kid in Hebrew school, (story for another day) I rode in the back row of one of those giant station wagons, facing out the back. In lieu of a bus, this ancient woman drove myself and a few other tots to the little school where we took naps on mats, learned our ABCs, and celebrated the Jewish holidays. Aside from some jealousy of a certain red-haired girl who always had better snacks than I did, (why is it always a redhead? why?) I loved going to school.
And on Rosh Hashanah, we ate apples dipped in honey.
Heavenly.
As an adult, I can reconstruct the timeline and realize that this only happened once. The subsequent year, I spent Rosh Hashanah at a Baptist preschool, ignorant to the fact that I was missing out on one of many great Jewish traditions.
But today, and every year, my children will eat apples dipped in honey.
Happy New Year to you all!
wasted wit 