Shana Tova

I am up at 1:30 in the morning waiting for a quiche to cool. That about sums up the absurdity of preparing for the Jewish holidays.

Over the next month I will potentially cook 14 formal meals. Homebaked challahs, soups, salads, fish, turkey, roast, kugels, quiches, vegetable dishes, pies and cakes. I won't cook like that for all 14 meals. I'll have plenty of leftovers, and I'm dividing most things into two smaller pans, freezing stuff in advance. Preparing for the Jewish holidays requires tremendous planning, organization, and a kitchen staff of 8 wouldn't hurt, but unfortunately, that didn't quite materialize this year. I'm on my own.

Let me put this into perspective: 14 Thanksgivings in one month. With three little kids.

I went shopping three times today with the baby. She doesn't like the shopping cart very much. She spent the entire time trying to Houdini her way out of that wire-mesh-covered with a plastic-flap excuse for a seat, so I got to shop one-handed, while wrestling her down with the other hand. She screamed the entire time. People looked at me like I was a horrible mother. I'm quite certain someone actually reached for a cell phone considering whether or not to call Children's Protective Services.

I got the kids to bed and began cooking. Today I finished my round festive challahs, baked a couple of carrot puddings, a couple of Shmuely fishes (an attempt at making gefilte fish more sophisticated), a couple of leek and mushroom quiches, and fruit kugels. The pinnacle of my culinary masterpieces was the turkey with stuffing. I called my mom and got her recipe, and I followed it to the letter. If I may, without sounding arrogant, boast a bit, it is gorgeous. And it better be, for all the work I put into that damn bird!

And I'm a vegetarian.

* * *

It's the Day After.

We survived our first Rosh Hashana in Chicago. I hosted three meals at our home and we ate out for one meal. Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year, is a time of introspection. It's a time to balance your spiritual accounts and to reflect on the sins committed and to seek forgiveness and repentance. For the most part, I did all that, between baking pies and washing dishes.

The kind of praying one does on Rosh Hashana requires real discipline. In order to truly focus your thoughts on G-d, self, and community you have to be able to block out the enormous pile of dishes stacked up on every flat surface in the kitchen and ignore your little boy who is marching into the sanctuary dragging his baby sister behind him looking for his mommy while the cantor is emotionally listing off all of the horrible sins we have all committed this past year. Certainly you cannot be thinking about the roast you are terrified of serving to your guests on the chance that it didn't cook enough. And, for goodness sakes, deep prayer cannot be interrupted by the thought that your children are probably wandering the halls of the synagogue completely unsupervised while you are selfishly taking time to whine to G-d about not being there enough for them.

But, somehow I managed. I served the last piece of apple cake and berry compote, put my kids to bed, and went to bed feeling fairly absolved of my sins.

It didn't last.

G-d likes to test our faith and our resolve. Avraham Avinu, our holy ancestor was said to have faced ten tests of his faith, most famously with the binding of his only son Isaac. G-d has given me three beautiful, sweet, smart tests of my own, and I fail them on a daily basis.

This morning, my son took twenty minutes to get out of bed, another 15 to get dressed, and a full half an hour to complain about the lunch I made him. I locked myself out of my apartment with the girls still upstairs alone, and after a neighbor let me in, I got the girls strapped into their car seats, and off to nursery school. Seconds later, I had to run back to the apartment to get the backpack my daughter had left behind. In the span of one and a half hours, the first one and a half waking hours with my squeaky clean new soul, I failed utterly and miserably in my resolve to be more patient and calm with my children.

I'll try again on Yom Kippur.

* * *

I spent a lot of time on Rosh Hashana thinking about home. San Antonio, that is. I reflected on the friends and the community I left. I felt so homesick again. Being in a strange community and a strange synagogue was hard. The tunes that cantor sang were beautiful and familiar, but different, and never seemed to reach the soaring emotional heights my cantor back home achieved. The shofar blew strong and true; but back home, the man my kids called "Uncle David" blew a shofar so powerful and resonant you felt it in your "kishkes", as my dad would say, and you could really believe that the sound could bring down the walls of Jericho.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful for the new community that has taken us in. The services and the people here are lovely. I am appreciative of the warm welcome we have received. We especially enjoyed a delicious lunch with an open-hearted family who asked us to spend part of the festivities at their home. But as L. Frank Baum taught us almost a century ago, there's no place like home.

So, to my friends back home I wish to extend kudos for creating a holy atmosphere of prayer and repentance back home. Kudos for organizing places for children to learn, socialize and grow safely, so moms can put their hearts and souls into prayer without worrying about their kids wandering off unsupervised. Great job bringing in a cantor and ba'al tekiah to help souls soar to the highest heights.

Keep those homefires burning.

And to all family and friends, old and new, have a sweet, happy, healthy, prosperous year full of blessings and peace!