We ate apples dipped in honey. Actually, because I am a food snob and an elitist, we ate local organic apples bought at the farmers market dipped in honey from a hive in my friend's back yard. And because I like a little flourish, we also poured the honey over some fresh sheep's milk ricotta and sprinkled it all with lavender salt. Yum.
We went to a synagogue in Berkeley and sat in the back. I didn't know any of the songs or prayers, but tried my best to blend. Other people back there seemed to be in our boat, too. Toward the end of the service they sounded the shofar- the smallest one I've ever seen- a shofarito, actually. It's higher pitch sounded like a woman yelping in pain, and the idea that the short blasts of the shofar mimic the human cry finally resonated with me.
My sister-in-law and her fiance, and a good friend who's car fortuitously broke down a mile away, came over to dinner that night and we ate delicious things that I cooked and the amazing challah that they baked.
(An impressive freshman effort, don't you think?)
The day flew by. With services, lunch, errands, appointments, a car breaking down and the subsequently necessary round of drinks, cooking dinner and celebrating, there were so many little moments but they've all smooshed together in my memory, tangled up like the vines in my backyard.
I suppose that's appropriate, though, since Rosh Hashanah, as a commemoration, has a lot going on. It's a new year, it's the celebration of the creation of humanity and our relationship with God, it's a celebration of God's Kingship, it's the beginning of ten days of repentance leading up to Yom Kippur. That's a lot to hold in your head all at once.
So I focused my attention on the apples. Apples dipped in honey represent the wish for a sweet New Year, but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a perfect choice for the beginning of the days of repentance.
Rosh Hashanah is also a birthday in a sense- it is the birthday of humanity, and to that end, the anniversary of our relationship with God. These are events are golden and sweet, our conception and birth in the mind of God, the beginning of our intimate and timeless covenant with God. They are the honey of the year.
But the apple! For me it was a reminder of the days ahead. No sooner than we met our God did we prove how unreliable a people we would turn out to be. I thought about this while munching leftovers the next morning. That honey-soaked apple ushered me straight into repentance, as I saw the goodness of God wrapped around a symbol of our own willfulness.
And that's the heart of it, isn't it? We repent from all those times that our own desires and will overshadowed the needs and kindness of those around us, the times they even overshadowed God.
As I've been eating apples this week, I keep thinking of those transgression, building a list of repentance, wincing as I remember each cruel thing that I have done. In the silences I keep hearing the sharp broken cry of the shofar, the sound of a woman beginning to cry.
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