Rucha Laya

It was late in September as the sun's rays cast long shadows upon the ground. The air was crisp, cool and dry as it swirled about in an azure blue sky whose brilliant color far surpassed that on an artist's pallet. This glorious combination was indicative of Yom Tov and the arrival of our Jewish New year. Mother Nature was at her best to let us know that this special holiday was indeed, the most important of all holidays.
As we ushered out the old year to welcome in the new one families and friends greeted each other at temple services. Most of the children stayed outside the shul, talking or playing with friends, while others, whose parents were quite strict, insisted they pray inside the synagogue beside them.
Since this was such a special holiday, I was frantic to look my very best. It was not only Yom Tov, it was the yearly fashion show. Every one would notice and admire all the latest finery worn by the women as they passed through the aisles in the temple approaching their appointed seats.
Always being aware of my own appearance ( I was to go on to become a fashion illustrator and designer ), I knew that my new navy blue princess style coat was in perfect tune with the times. I accented the look with a powder blue Breton hat whose wide turned up brim was trimmed with a navy blue band. White gloves that clutched a red leather purse made me look like a fashion plate. I was perfect! With extraordinary confidence I approached the temple and joined the fashion show.
Bubby, my dear grandmother, was in shul all morning praying for us and patiently waiting for me to come. I found an empty seat near Bubby and stared at the stained glass windows while the chanting of prayers echoed throughout the large sanctuary. This dreamlike experience, for a brief time transported me to another dimension where love , peace, and tranquility invaded my body. I was transfixed and completely absorbed in the beauty not of the women's fashions, but of the place that my Jewishness had brought me to.
At 1 p.m.the afternoon services were drawing to a close and it was my job to escort Bubby home. Hunger consumed both our stomachs as we walked and anticipated the traditional kiddush that awaited us. By that time, the sun's rays were warmer, so I neatly placed my white gloves in the red leather purse that I thought went so perfectly with my blue coat.
As we approached our apartment which was in a two family dwelling in Brooklyn, New York, the aroma that wafted throughout the open windows increased our hunger pangs. My sister, Muriel, whose generosity knew no bounds, prepared a kiddush worthy for kings, with everything from soup to nuts, and then some. A beautifully decorated table sporting all the delicious traditional dishes was surrounded by family and friends eagerly awaiting the end of the prayer over the challah. At that moment I knew that being Jewish was a gift to treasure. As my mind lapsed into this thought I was awakened by a loud geshri; " ...O.K. every body eat ! ". That was the day I realized the extraordinary impact of my Jewish heritage and that revelation will always remain a cherished memory.