Earliest High Holy Day Memories

The High Holy Days bring back long-ago, bittersweet memories for me, of childhood lost, days past, and friends and family now gone. Some of my earliest memories of this time are of the old Temple. I’d gaze up at the domed ceiling, over to the stained glass windows, and down at my little, white-gloved hands, willing the services to pass more quickly. The electric fans slowly moved the air in heat waves you could almost see. It was odd to be excused from school, so we could be with our families at Temple. That in itself, that interruption of routine, lent an air of unreality. Rarely we’d accompany my aunt and uncle to services at the Conservative Synagogue where things seemed different and strange. Their prayer book read from right to left (just as ours does now — funny how things can change).

The High Holy Days bring back long-ago, bittersweet memories for me, of childhood lost, days past, and friends and family now gone. Some of my earliest memories of this time are of the old Temple. I’d gaze up at the domed ceiling, over to the stained glass windows, and down at my little, white-gloved hands, willing the services to pass more quickly. The electric fans slowly moved the air in heat waves you could almost see. It was odd to be excused from school, so we could be with our families at Temple. That in itself, that interruption of routine, lent an air of unreality. Rarely we’d accompany my aunt and uncle to services at the Conservative Synagogue where things seemed different and strange. Their prayer book read from right to left (just as ours does now — funny how things can change).

The funniest memory I have is of our Rabbi blowing the shofar (ram’s horn)  for all of us during Sunday School.  A huge moth that had been living there blasted dizzily out. No one else seems to remember this. But I swear I’m not making it up.

Some of my strongest memories of this time were of food. Naturally. After the Erev Rosh Hashona service, I remember cubes of Challah to be dipped in honey— tasty wishes for a sweet year. Holiday memories at home centered around tables beautifully set, laden with food surrounded by family and friends. I was almost always the only child present. Everyone seemed so old. They were probably younger than I am now.

There’s one other early memory that —pardon the pun—sticks with me. There was a traditional candy made for the holidays that my uncle loved from his childhood. The recipe came with my grandmother from Russia in the 1800s. This was tegleich. Each year, my mother made it her brother, but we all ate it (or tried to). It wasn’t my favorite. For me, back then, candy meant Hershey bars. Tegleich is made from three main ingredients; pecans, honey, and flour. Like matza balls, the little clumps of honey-coated dough and pecans yielded unpredictable outcomes. (It’s as if even our holiday food reminds us that life can be uncertain). Rarely did the tegleigh turn out soft and chewy. Most often, it was sticky enough to pull fillings from teeth. I always considered it a strange delicacy.

I’ve thought lately of making tegleich again, for old time’s sake. I did this once when my children were small. They didn’t like it. I’ve resisted preparing it again. With age, I’ve come to understand that there are many “strange delicacies” in life, not all edible. As my uncle had his favorites, I now have mine. I’ve also come to believe that some things are best kept preserved in one’s heart, as sweet (if sticky) memories.