Having grown up down South, I remember having a serious case of FOMO when I had to miss school for the High Holidays. Now, despite being in New York for nearly 20 years, I'm still amused when I get emails like this about Rosh Hashanah Tennis Clinic. (no FOMO for MY kids!) Only in New York...
My UJA story started during the High Holidays, many years ago — October 1973 to be exact. The Yom Kippur War had just broken out and my father was the president of our synagogue in Queens. I vividly recall him standing at the bimah and asking the congregation to give as generously as possible for Israel. I watched in amazement, as person after person stood up and called out their pledges, without exception. Only years later did I learn that my father was asking the congregation to support UJA’s efforts. Nor could I have imagined back then that I would one day become UJA’s CEO. In all these years, UJA-Federation’s role hasn’t changed. We’re still galvanizing the community around major events – locally and globally, in times of crisis and every day. As we launch our second century, I hope I’m able to model for my children, as my father did for me, the importance of community that comes together when and where it matters most.
I met my wife of 32 years at the Henry Kaufmann Campgrounds and both our sons worked at HKC for more than 5 summers. HKC will always have a special place in my heart!!
There's something so magical about Chanukah for me. Lighting candles together that we display for all to see, singing songs, exchanging presents, music, laughter, parties, and latkes, I find it such a joyous holiday. My family is very musical, and every year, my parents call me and we sing Chanuka songs over the phone together after lighting candles (we're adorable). One of my favorite things about living in a heavily populated Jewish community in NYC is walking down the streets and seeing all the lit menorahs on so many window sills. During the mainstream secular/Christian holidays, it sometimes feels like our Jewish holidays are forgotten, but walking around and seeing all the menorahs lit up at night, it feels like we are so many and all connected during that time - flames that show our Jewish pride, unity, and hope; flames that provide light in the darkness.
At the end of the 10 days, after the gates close on Yom Kippur, after singing and praying and pounding my chest, after atoning, and fasting for 27 hours — after the lights go up after havdalah and we sing Eliahu Hanavi, my husband and I dash to the exit to find a taxi to whisk us to my parents’ apartment where we burst in, still immersed in the prayers and delirium of the day, filled with love for everyone in the room, and eager to enjoy what I’m certain is the best meal of the year — bagels, lox, whitefish, carp, koogle, ruggelach, and champagne! Feeling at one with God and the universe, cleansed and ready to begin again, I’m relieved to have reached this moment, with all of us sealed in the Book of Life for a good year. This is my most favorite High Holiday memory.
Growing up on the Upper West Side in the 1960s, Rosh Hashanah was for me about being with my family, eating delicious meals, and going to Stephen Wise Free Synagogue where I thought the rabbi sounded like God. When I grew up, I found Congregation B’nai Jeshurun, where the music touched my soul and I learned how to pray from the bottom of my heart. Today, on Rosh Hashanah, you’ll find me celebrating with my husband and family, eating delicious meals, and feeling connected to the rich Jewish tradition — across time and space — and to the diversity that is Jewish New York.
I fondly recall eating my grandmother’s delicious food with her large silver spoons and forks, her table set with her majestic silver candlesticks, and her beautiful havdalah spice box that she brought with her from the old country and handed down to me.
My grandmother, Rose, came to New York on a boat with one of her five sisters when she was 15 years old. Arriving on the Lower East Side, she went to a hat factory and told them she knew how to sew, while, in fact, a tailor had come to her house in Poland every year to make clothes for all the children in preparation for the High Holidays. Perhaps that’s why my memory of Rosh Hashanah as a child is of buying a new coat and dress for the New Year, because it symbolized a fresh start.
My first NY Rosh Hashanah I was a freshman at Douglass College, far from home with the holidays coming. That first time away leaves a powerful impression (even decades later). How lucky I was to be in Little Neck, Queens, hosted by my close friend's family which embraced me like one of their own. It was there that I first experienced the intensity of an entire community walking to shul. Back then, such an experience happened, primarily, only in New York.
My favorite thing about Rosh Hashanah is that I love all the Persian ceremonial foods that my mom spends so much time making that I fill up before her actual feast begins!
When I first started attending High Holiday services, like most toddlers, I had to be dragged to synagogue kicking and screaming. My parents would dress me up, slap a yarmulke on my head, and I’d sit through the hours-long service thinking about where and when we were going to break the fast. As I got older, something changed – I started to listen. I realized that the songs had become familiar, the ritual had become comfortable. This was one of the first times I realized what it means to be part of the Jewish community. The prayers we say and the songs we sing aren’t just part of my personal history – they’re part of all of our history, and the history of the Jewish people. For me, attending services reminds me of my place in our community, and contextualizes my life as part of a greater story. It reminds me that, even in a synagogue full of people I’ve never talked to, there’s something we all share.
I grew up in Santa Monica, attending a reform synagogue from a young age. Every year on Yom Kippur, our congregation held services on the beach – there were songs, prayers, and towards the end of the service, we would toss crumbs of bread into the ocean to represent casting aside the past year’s regrets and resentments. The physical act of throwing away pent-up feelings always struck a chord for me, and helped me begin the new year fresh. After 10 days of reflection and atonement, it felt good to let go.
My grandfather, who grew up in Israel, was born on Rosh Hashanah. He always liked to say he has two birthdays: one for the solar calendar, and one for the Hebrew. I grew up hundreds of miles away from my extended family, but during my grandfather’s “birthday,” we always came to visit. He wasn’t very observant, but always made a fuss about this holiday in particular – even if it was just an excuse to get everybody together. Every year during this period of reflection, I think of him. His journey, his values, and how he used this time to bring together the people he loves.
My mother was born in Brooklyn, my father was born in Romania, my older brother, I and my younger brother were born in Brooklyn.
For Simchat Torah every year, tons of Jews here “shul hop” and I see people from all stages of my life – from youth group, grade school, camp, college, that random guy I met at a party, etc. People are dancing in the street and it’s such a joyful celebration (and interesting reunion)! There's nothing more special than witnessing a huge group of Jewish people, friends and strangers alike, singing, laughing, and celebrating, specifically on Simchat Torah (Rejoicing of/with the Torah).