Family Gatherings

It sneaks up on me every year—suddenly it’s August, and even though I’m still in summer mode, part of my brain starts turning toward the fall. More specifically, toward Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. I’ve been sitting through High Holy Day services for more years than I care to count (who doesn’t love a good Avinu Malkeinu?), but it’s not the prayers or the sermons that come to mind first. It’s the meals.

Some of my warmest memories are of Erev Rosh Hashanah dinner. It was the ultimate family night—everyone was home, dressed a little nicer than usual, and the table was always set with love (and maybe a little chaos). The brisket was usually good (okay, sometimes better than others), and most years we managed to forget the broccoli in the microwave. Without fail. I’m not even sure we really missed it.

And then there was the Break-Fast after Yom Kippur, which in many ways felt like its own kind of celebration. My parents would sometimes host, and it became a bit of a tradition for their friends to bring something to add to the spread. My mom laid out the bagels and lox, and everyone else filled in the rest.

I still remember Mr. Landsberg’s smoked bluefish salad—an acquired taste, maybe, but one that definitely made an impression. The Contenties always brought blintzes. And Mrs. Zweroff—she had a gift. Whatever dessert she made was always gone by the time I went back for seconds. There were others, of course. I’m sure of it. But memory is a funny thing, and I guess I’m old enough now that some of the details are fuzzier than others.

What’s clear, though, is how much those gatherings meant. The food, yes—but more than that, it was the people, the warmth, and the feeling of being together. That’s what I carry with me every year when the holidays roll around again.

Wishing you all a sweet, meaningful, and memory-filled start to 5786.