We gave our 2 ½-year-old assorted glimpses of the High Holy Days this year. If he could describe the experience, here’s what he might say:

 

Rosh Hashanah: I help Mommy sprinkle crushed corn flakes and cinnamon on something called koo-gel. At dinner, we eat challah/Shabbat bread that’s round instead of oval. We dip apples in gooey stuff. Mommy rushes out the door to sing at temple.

created at: 2010-09-21

Tashlich: I run down a path to a beach at the Old Reservoir in Lexington, Mass. Mommy took me here a few months ago to swim. It’s too cold for swimming, but that’s ok. There are a few dogs running around and lots of people. I recognize a lot of them. “I want to pet the dog, Mommy.” I see our temple rabbis and the cantor. She plays songs on her guitar. “Music. It’s music,” I proclaim. I am surprised. Music on the beach? Then everyone throws bread into the pond. “Feed the ducks?” I ask. I keep asking for more bread. This is fun.

(Aside: Mommy asks the cantor, “How am I supposed to explain this to a 2-year-old?” The cantor responds: “Don’t try.” Good answer. Some other year I can learn about how people throw bread crumbs into a body of water to symbolize getting rid of their sins. Some other year I can learn what a sin is.)

Kol Nidre: Mommy and Daddy dress up and head to temple. A babysitter – and the cantor’s 4-year-old – come over. It’s an after-dinner play date. Cool. And, I’m still awake when Mommy and Daddy get home. “Play ball?” I ask..

Yom Kippur: Mommy leaves the house early for temple, and Daddy plays with me till it’s nap time. As dinner time nears, I get to go to temple, too. A group of kids gathers outside the sanctuary with glow sticks. I wave my light around. We wait and wait and wait. The rabbi’s wife comes out and says it will be an hour before the end of the service – and our part. Daddy takes me to a room to play with some cool toys. After a while, we leave and line up outside the sanctuary with our light sticks. I hear loud screeches. (Aside: It’s a group of volunteers blowing shofars to signal that Yom Kippur is over.)

Daddy walks behind me as I follow other kids into the sanctuary. I’ve never seen this many people at temple before. I hang on to my light stick. Ah, a familiar face. Our senior rabbi motions to me, and I climb up the stairs onto the bima. Daddy and I stand by other children, some also with their parents, holding their lights.

Daddy (aka Pavlik Mintz) tries

out his shofar.

 

Mommy, dressed in this weird white robe with a brightly colored shawl, comes over and picks me up. I touch her cheeks to make sure she’s listening and tell her what I’m thinking: “I want vanilla milk.” It is close to 7 p.m. Mommy says, “Shh!” She says to look as the rabbi dunks a candle in a cup. Everyone around me sings, “Lai, lai, lai, lai…” Sounds pretty. “Vanilla milk,” I repeat to Mommy. She smiles at me and sings. The music is pretty. The lights are pretty. Everyone seems so happy. Then, they all rush out of the sanctuary.

I finally get my vanilla milk. Then we rush out of the temple and drive to someone’s house. I eat lox, part of a bagel, and a cookie. I play with a train set and Legos. On the way home, Mommy and I sing, “lai, lai, lai….”

To a sweet and good year.                       

We went apple picking during the Jewish holidays. A new tradition?

 

Note: This entry originally appeared on Jewish Muse, A Writer’s Blog on Faith and Family.

This post has been contributed by a third party. The opinions, facts and any media content are presented solely by the author, and JewishBoston assumes no responsibility for them. Want to add your voice to the conversation? Publish your own post here. MORE