Yom Kippur: The High Holy Day of the Jewish New Year

For my yom kippur memories I yearn for the days gone by, the days of the big family and religious mother and father. These days, as you can tell, I've settled into a more Traditional way of Jewish life. Secular if you will. The closest synagogue, where I was Bar-Mitzvah'ed closed many moons ago. It was at 1780 Seward Avenue in the Bronx, near the East River. Presided over by a very nice man named Rabbi Schlomo Schwadron who took a real interest in his young Yeshiva students. Rabbi Schwadron was a very very kind soul, a dedicated Hebrew school teacher and I will miss him dearly. There was no problem walking over there to the river to cast breadcrumbs into the sea, as a way of relieving ourselves from the previous years' sins. So I have to live with that now. The building is now Iglesia de Dios de Soundview.

My father was vehement about the Fasting, my mother as well as far as I remember. But all eyes were on my father. Luckily the synagogue was near our house, where I still live today. I remember of the ulta-cockyas telling one of us youth that he might as well go home and eat now, because the boy had used a little mouthwash and brushed his teeth in the morning. And Yom Kippur was my brother's big thing. Long after and before the next one, he used to talk about it all year long. He used to scream it out to the hallways and anyone willing to listen and we all were. He was a bit "obsessed" with Yom Kippur as you can imagine.

My uncle was a rabbi, from the lower east side as where my parents were from. He had a beautiful cantorial voice. That's why my paternal grandfather chose him for that type of education. I used to love his family visits from first the Bronx Esplanade and then Miami. Regrettably I have lost track with most of my family from Florida.

My father was more religious than anyone in the family. My mother as well, but not as much as my father. They chose not to teach the children Yiddish, and as far as I'm concerned without a language there is no custom. Maybe they did it on purpose, maybe by accident but this is how we wound up. None of my siblings or cousins was taught Yiddish either, it wasn't just me. Even for the asking wouldn't of helped. They used the language as their secret code.

I live alone, so I've forgotten many of the rituals and requirements of Yom Kippur. Kol Nidre I know is one of them. Blowing the Shofar, and fasting. Praying in synagogue. I've seen a lot since those days. Maybe if I get back on track I'll start reliving the customs once again. But these days it's not happening. I envy and revere all my Jewish brethren who are perhaps taking my burden and my sins into the river with those breadcrumbs on this most solemn day in the Jewish calendar.

The meaning of yom kippur will never be lost. It's an ancient celebration that I enjoyed many years of doing. Did I ever keep the complete fast? Maybe once, maybe never. I didn't realize the importance of it when I was more Observant than I am now. I didn't figure in the importance. I didn't know what was important and what wasn't. I regret not giving it my all. However now that most of my family is gone I'm finding it harder and harder to be Observant to the level I once was.

Yom kippur experiences were many. Walking to the synagogue, loving every minute of it. My mother coming out crying after the short Yizkor service. How secretive it was, or perhaps that's how secretive she kept it. I hadn't a clue what was going on with Yizkor. From the way my mother was acting I thought Yizkor was something I would never have to do. That I would be shielded from it forever. How wrong I was.

These days I lay tefillin with an native Israeli friend in a local shop. About two weeks ago the regular Chabad men came by to the shop as they always do early Friday afternoons. They asked me to fill in an information card and asked me where I would be davening for Rosh Hashana. It's an embarrassing question. Probably nowhere. I just mentioned I'm affiliated with another shul. Or I may be going to visit a cousin in Boston. I'm sure the shop owner told the Chabad men it would be futile trying to get me into their Bronx service for the Jewish New Year. I feel bad, but as I said I now lead the Traditional, perhaps secular way of Jewish life.