Rosh HaNew Year
My religious life has been through many changes over the years. For example, I was raised “modern Orthodox.” This meant that all the women in my family wore pants, and they did not cover their hair. This meant that our winter vacations were over Christmas and New Year’s. This meant that we ate fish and dairy in non-kosher establishments. This meant that when we went to synagogue, we still sat separately from the men. Had we sat with the men, we would have been considered Conservative Jews.
In fact, when my family first moved to Bergen County, we went to a Conservative synagogue. After a few years, my parents and a few other couples founded the Orthodox synagogue on “our side” of town. Gosh, can you imagine what my Oreos would be like had my parents not done that??? What comes after an Oreo? A Paskes Sandwich cookie???
What’s interesting is that Husband #1 was also raised “modern Orthodox,” but he never ate fish or dairy out. Not that he eats fish anywhere, unless it is gefilte fish, and that is only on Friday night or for an appetizer on Shabbos. And though it makes Husband #1 cringe, I am proud to admit that I have eaten grilled cheese sandwiches in almost every Howard Johnson’s on the east coast. And they were really good. And my brother and I always enjoyed the connect-the-dots activities on the placemats.
Where am I going with all of these confessions? New Year’s Eve. The concept has all but been erased amongst my progeny. “New Year’s Eve is the night before Rosh Hashanah, Mom!” my beautiful children remind me. What am I talking about New Year’s Eve? Ridiculous. I am trying to figure out when the yeshiva day schools officially switched their winter vacations. But, of course, not all of them did, so what happened at that meeting?
The heads of all the schools met under the cover of darkness to try to see what they could do to complicate everyone’s vacation while raising tuition at the same time. One head of school raised his hand sheepishly and said, “I am sorry, but my wife will absolutely never speak to me again if I go along with this.” And that was that. That school still has winter vacation when it should be — when the airlines prices are highest and when the hotels are the most expensive.
For the record, this scenario is total fiction as far as I know, but I am so curious to know what really happened. Well, not that curious.
I have probably written before about my family’s love of the now defunct and demolished Concord Hotel in Lake Kiamesha, New York. Some people thought it was kosher, some people thought it wasn’t kosher enough, and I still dream about the vegetable loaf with hollandaise sauce. We used to alternate between Grossingers and the Concord. Anyone born after 1994 has absolutely no idea of the joy they missed out on at these establishments and no idea what I am talking about, but that is what Google is for.
New Year’s Eve at the Concord Hotel was a huge deal. They would do a countdown, there was live music everywhere, there were parents who thought that their kids couldn’t get into any trouble because they were in a Jewish hotel. They served steak for dinner — very shpitz. Everyone dressed up in their fanciest clothes. It was a sight to behold.
And then I got married, moved to the suburbs, and had kids. New Year’s Eve was still a thing. I threw a few parties, didn’t get invited to some parties — you know, the usual. And then there was this past New Year’s Eve. My date this year was Strudel. Who decided she didn’t want to go to sleep because she was afraid of the thunder and lightning. “My eyes keep popping open, Babka!” “I forgot how to sleep, Babka!”
Strudel was still awake when her “modern Orthodox” Babka welcomed in 2025, lying in Son #3’s bed next to her crib answering a bevy of questions ranging from “What is lightning?” to “Why am I hungry sometimes?”
And you know what, it was even better than the Concord Hotel…and I am sticking to that story.
Banji Ganchrow wishes all of her readers, both friend and foe, a 2025 filled with only good health, simcha and peace. And she still cannot believe that it only took 49 minutes to get home from the Island of Long on January 1.
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