Memories of Rosh Hashanahs of Years Past
This morning, as I got into my shower, I realized that Rosh Hashanah is almost upon us. I no longer invite everyone for the Rosh Hashanah. I have not the energy to do so, but it would almost be time to start preparing, if I were to invite.
In days gone by, I looked forward to all the holidays. My sense of excitement heightened as the holidays drew closer. The first thing I did was prepare my apple jam. I made whole apples into jam. I peeled and cored the apples, making sure their stems remained intact. I would cook them until golden in a heavy syrup laced with pods of cardamoms and rose water. In the syrup would float leaves of the orange tree, which added another layer to the heady taste. Their aroma wafted out of the windows, traveling through the garden and onto the street. I can picture Peter and Kelly coming in from work and heading straight into the kitchen. “What smells do good?” they would ask.
Many years have passed since then, I cannot recall how many, thirty, twenty-five, twenty? I do not know, for the years seem to all run into each other nowadays. I had lots of energy then. I would start by writing the list of the people we would have. The list could vary between twenty to fifty guests. According to the amount of people invited, I would then plan my menu. There were always the usual people that we shared holidays with, my cousins and their children. As the years went by, they multiplied. There now were in-laws and grandchildren. Then there were our adopted borrowed children. These were the kids of our friends. Their families did not live in New York, thus they were our adopted borrowed children. It was understood that once they returned to their homes, we no longer had any claims on them. As long as they were here, we kept an eye on them and regarded them as one of our own. Next, there were the people who had no one to celebrate with. We consciously looked for them and shared our celebration with them. Sometimes they were people with no families or people who were away from their towns or countries. Some of them eventually became good friends.
Many, many years ago my ex and I were strangers in a town we had just moved to. A lovely warm-hearted family graciously welcomed us into their home and shared their table and their holiday with us. That left such a deep warm impression on me that I never forgot it. I was a newlywed then. When we became settled and had our own home and family, I adopted that as the tradition of our family. That was over fifty years ago. Till the last time we celebrated at home, I adhered to that tradition. We always looked out for people who had nowhere to go to during the holidays. It can be very lonely and sad to be alone during such times. While you are celebrating, there may be a lonely soul or two who are sitting in their lonely room with nowhere to go. That is why we shared our table with strangers.
I love the holidays, all of them. It is a time to gather everyone together to share the joy! It is a time to thank the Almighty for all the blessings He bestowed upon us.
However, being the person I am, things can become a bit chaotic. Of course, I had to find all the symbolic foods needed to be blessed for the Rosh Hashanah table. I bought the tongue weeks in advance, for as the High Holy Days drew closer, the prices of everything nearly doubled. Ten days before the holidays, Peter, and I searched for dates on the vine. I would first send him to one of my favourite shops in Forest Hills for them. It was on the way back from his office. He would try to tell the shopkeeper what I needed but it seemed that he always ended up giving the phone to the shopkeeper for me to explain. If I was lucky, the shopkeeper would have what I wanted. Otherwise, Peter would drive me into Brooklyn, to one of the stores on Atlantic Avenue. I loved that store! When I first came to this country there were no Middle Eastern stores near us. Brooklyn was where they were. In Brooklyn, there is an old established community of Arabs. I discovered this shop that I like and still frequent on occasion when I first arrived, forty years ago. They are not the fanciest of stores, but they are very friendly and quite accommodating. They have all kinds of wonderful things I could not find anywhere else. The shopkeeper is a Syrian who greets me profusely. ‘’Ahlan! Ahlan beeki, ya ekhti!’’ ‘’Welcome! Welcome, my sister’’ he says in Arabic, as I enter his shop. He has a larger variety of goods than the Persian shopkeeper in Forest Hills or the Armenian shopkeeper in Bayside. They are all my friends. I have been frequenting their stores since I came here. Whenever I enter their stores it is very cordial. We first greet each other and ask about each other’s families and how everyone is. Very warm and very old-worldly.
Shopping for an Iraqi Jew in New York was quite challenging and a bit frustrating then, just like a treasure hunt. Looking for pomegranates was a very arduous task which made me feel I wanted to pull my hair out at times. Even up to two years ago, I found it difficult to find pomegranates so early in the season. There were no pomegranates to be found for love or money. I needed them for the blessings. Finally, I had to buy them for $12.50 each from an unscrupulous kosher supermarket! A day or two later, a friend told me she bought hers for $3.50 each. I got so upset at this supermarket’s greed that I never stepped foot in there again!
As the days drew closer to Rosh Hashanah, I needed to find loobia. Loobia are the beans sometimes called snakebeans. They are quite long, sometimes they are two feet long! During this holiday, they signify a long and healthy life. Someone told me the Chinese sold them. In those days there were no Chinese supermarkets on every other corner, as there are now. The choices were Chinatown Manhattan or Chinatown Flushing. Dear old Peter, my ever-patient wonderful husband that he was, drove me into Flushing. As we crawled up the very busy Main Street, we spied a crowded supermarket with an empty parking spot in front of it. Peter stayed in the car while I entered. The place was mobbed and the shoppers were quite aggressive. They pushed and pummeled each other mercilessly. I do not like crowds. Any other time I would have walked right out, but I needed the loobia for the blessings on the Rosh Hashanah table desperately. After entering into the mêlée, I plowed my way through the mob of people to where the loobias were. I finally emerged triumphant with a big bag of them and the biggest smile on my face. I opened the car door, got in and said, “I got them!” all the time looking at my loobia, in delight. No answer. Peter wasn’t starting the car. Again I said, “I got them!’’ Still, Peter did not start the car. Impatiently, I turned around and looked at him. It was not Peter! It was a little Chinese man with a stunned countenance looking at me in alarm.
‘’Oh! You’re not my husband,’’ I said as I quickly exited the car. Peter was in the car behind the one I had got in. He gave me a tiny wave from behind the steering wheel as I got out of the Chinaman’s car. Tears of laughter were running down his face. “I was wondering how long it would take you to realize you were in the wrong car,” he chuckled, as I got in. ’’Only you, Stella! You probably gave that poor man a minor heart attack!”
“I probably did,” I replied contentedly, not caring.
Poor Peter, all this holiday frenzy was getting to him. I was in a constant state of motion and planning and semi-hysterics. I drove him and Kelly half crazy. I drove the poor cleaning lady even crazier! They all wished that the holidays would hurry up and be over so I would go back to being my normal self again. I must have been very trying. The house had to be immaculate. Not a spot anywhere! Don’t touch the countertops! No outside shoes inside the house! No excuses. I mean it! Do not use the guest towels! Better yet, only use the upstairs bathrooms. Wipe the sink clean after you wash your hands. They rolled their eyes and grumbled but never defied me. It would have had no effect whatsoever!
In the meantime I had been pretty busy the whole month prior. I prepped everything. I made and froze trays of baklava, to bake the day before the event. I stuffed vegetable dolmas and arranged them in a big pot and froze them to be cooked early in the morning before anyone else was up. I formed over a hundred and fifty kubbahs and froze them as well. I prepared my tongue in a sweet and sour sauce cooked with currants, cloves, allspice, nutmeg and other aromatic spices, just like Peter liked it. That dish went into the freezer as well. I was equipped for entertaining. At that point in time, I had one huge freezer and two refrigerators. One refrigerator died since then. So now I have less space, but I no longer entertain, so it makes no difference. At any rate, I prepped and froze, prepped and froze. I was down at sunrise cooking everything the day of the dinner. I had a list that I checked as I went along. When Peter came down at seven o’clock in the morning, he would suggest we go to Lulu’s for a cup of coffee and for me to relax a little. I would give him a scornful look. “Go to Lulu’s! How can I? No time!’’ He and Kelly would go, shaking their heads and comforting each other that the holidays were almost over.
At last, everything was ready. My table was set. The gleaming silver wine cup my maternal grandmother had given me when I was born was positioned by Peter’s place setting along with the prayer book that my great Aunt Hannah gave me when I was twelve. All was ready. The challah was in the silver challah plate, wrapped in the napkins I had embroidered. The whole apples floated in a liquid gold syrup in a crystal bowl. The loobia was piled high on a large platter. The bowl of honey rested by the challah. The pomegranates sparkled like precious rubies in their dish. I glanced about me critically. I nodded to myself in satisfaction. My table looked beautiful. I was done. I could now go upstairs, shower, and dress. I would come down looking calm and serene. Peter would comment, “How do you do that? How do you convert yourself from the uptight, half-crazed woman to this serene lady who looks as if she has done nothing all day?” I really don’t know. I suppose that is what wives do.
If the weather was good that year, we would set up a long table in the garden. We would hang little lanterns in the tree branches. Everyone would help bring the food out. It made it so special to celebrate under the open skies and the trees as our canopy.
If the weather was iffy, we would eat in the dining room. The house and garden or both would be filled with the sound of laughter. After the dinner, the guests would wander into groups, enjoying themselves. They would be reluctant to go home. It is then that we would know that our Rosh Hashanah dinner was a success.
As I look back to those times, I cannot help but smile. Those days were happy ones. We had family and friends about us. We had our strangers also, who did not stay strangers for long. We developed deep friendships with them and sweet memories. I may no longer have the strength to have everyone over for the holidays, but others have assumed the reins. And so it goes, from one generation to another generation… such is the way of life.
Shana Tova to you, my dear friends and family. May you have a sweet year filled with health, love, and joy. May laughter echo throughout your home always. May love surround you. May your good deeds be as numerous as the seeds of the pomegranate. May your lives be as long as the loobia and as sweet as my apple jam. A healthy year, a joyous year, a blessed year to you all. Amen. Shana Tova.