#rosh hashanah has perfect timing this year

[itslookingback]

two vaguely related things

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

Interviews for New Beginnings: Part 2

Alfie Solomons x Fem!Reader; Word Count 3.4k

Warnings: Swearing, Sexism

A/N; Hi everyone! I am so glad you guys liked the first part! It was so much fun to write, and when someone asked for this to be multi-chapter, I just couldn't get it out of my mind. So here's another part! I have no clue how long this will be yet, but I do have a plot in mind. Please enjoy, have fun, much love , <3. - Mo

Eli and you made a pact to not tell the family that you now BOTH were working for one of the most feared men in the city. Eli would’ve been berated for an hour or two at best, thrown out at worst. You? One could only imagine how many years you would be locked in your room. When your mother and father asked about your interview and your new boss, you gave the prettiest pieces.

He is quite successful papa. The bakery is very large, easily 100 men employed!

Yes mama, I get my own desk, and I get Rosh Hashanah off.

Yes papa he is Jewish. Yes very respectable. No I don’t know what Temple he attends.

Yes mama Eli never left my side. And I suppose he is handsome. No mama I don’t know if he is married.

Your mother bustled about, checked all of your dresses and stockings, making sure they were all in perfect condition for your new job. She checked your bag of supplies possibly 30 times by the end of the night, just to ensure that you had everything you could possibly need, even things you may not have needed. A mother could never be too careful.

The next morning as you began to walk out of the door, your mother and father kept fussing over you, straightening your hat and sweater.

“Now dear since Eli’s shift does not start till later you will have to walk yourself ok? Be careful, don’t talk to anyone, you go right to the office yes?” Your mother reminded you for the umpteenth time.

“Yes mama of course. Straight to work.”

“And be on the look out for those awful gangsters poppet. The Peaky Blinders have been seen milling about town, and you know that God forsaken Solomons has his disgusting paws on every corner of the city.” Your father grunted out still drinking his morning tea.

You felt the tips of your ears warming. You hated to lie. You were so bad at it. “Of course papa. I’ll be careful, I love you! I might be home late, I’ll send Eli to alert you.”

You kissed them both and made your way down the street. Excited for a new start, and for what the day may hold.

It’s interesting how Alfie insisted on being at the office at 8, yet still had not shown up by 8:20. Thankfully Ollie had given you a tour of the distillery, shown you your desk (situated right in front of Alfie’s door) and given you the times of the meetings today. You had taken the liberty of starting up some tea on the small stove by your desk, and clearing out some of the crumpled paper strewn out across the floor. ‘Honestly for such a tyrant he really keeps this office unruly.’

You hear your name bellowed from outside the office, and you run out quickly. There you see Alfie, smiling at you. “Shalom my little viper! So you weren’t bluffing were you? Glad to see you aren’t as cowardly as Eli.”

You crossed your arms and you felt your mouth firm, “Shalom Alfie. You are late this morning and I have to talk to you about todays schedule. Ollie had to show me around the distillery and he informed me that you have 5 meetings today, FIVE! One of them is set to start in 20 minutes, and -.”

“Now now treacle hold your tongue, be sweet to me yeah? My back. Let get to work yeah?”

It was only then that you noticed the cane he was clutching. You immediately felt your chest become heavy, and guilt override. “Oh..Alfie I’m so sorry I didn’t know I-“

“Hush now pet don’t even begin to fuss. It’s just my back yeah?”

“What are you taking for it?”

Alfred just scoffed and rolled his eyes walking away from you and into his office.

“Mr. Solomons what are you doing to help your back!?”

“Be quiet woman! You want the whole town to know that Solomons’ got a bad back? Hush damnit! Now what is on the calendar? Who am I meeting with?”

“Well you have a Mr. Abrams coming in at 8:40. A Mr. Clochester at 10. Rabbi Rubin at 12. And a Mr. Shelby at 4. But you’re not seeing anyone until you-“

“Till I what huh? Till I what? Are you my mother? No! Now hush! Ollie! Get this woman a notepad now! Treacle sit there on that coach and be quiet!”

You just stared at Alfie, and you couldn’t help but feel shame and embarrassment. And Alfie was faring no better. He could see hints of tears threatening to spill, but your chin set firm, fists clenched. Alfie wanted grab you in his arms and… tell you he was sorry, but…

“Aw fuck… treacle… no you’re right. Treacle come please. What do you think?”

“Think about what Mr. Solomons?”

“Nah fuck that I told you Alfie. Tell me what you think I should do about these meetings and my damn back.”

"No not at all Alfie. If you don't need anything for the pain in your back then you don't. I'm just a woman right?

"Well now you're acting like a fucking child."

"Of course Alfie. Whatever you say Alfie."

You closed your ears off to what he was barking at you. Fine. If he wanted to suffer, he could suffer. It was far too early to fight with such a stubborn...beast of a man. And besides, you had things to attend to.

Despite the tiff this morning, the day went by smoothly. As smoothly as it can be in the distillery you supposed. Mr. Abrams left the room with a black eye and tears, promising he would never lie to Alfie again. Mr Colchester left more bloody than he came in. Rabbi Rubin was a delight, complimenting the tea you made, and scolded Alfie for not coming to temple recently.

Throughout the day, you could slowly but steadily see the stiffness working it's way up Alfie's spine. Though it didn't quite deter him from inflicting pain and vengeance on those who came in, you kept your eye in careful study. The small twitches of his eye. The rougher grunts when he got up from his seat, and the heavier footsteps as he walked around. You also noticed that he hadn't eaten all day, and when you asked about it he merely mumbled, "mmnot hungry''. But based on the way he quickly avoided your gaze when you caught him staring and the loud grumbling you heard at 3, you figured his resolve would have to melt soon.

At 3:45 you were at your desk, drafting out some letters Alfie had requested. It was while you were in deep focus, chewing on the tip of your thumb when you heard a soft cough.

Your head snapped up, and you were met with the iciest eyes you had ever set your eyes on.

Pretty.

That's the only thing you could think as you looked at the man in front of your desk. Clean shaven. Well dressed. The smell of tobacco and soap and...something secretive radiating off of him. You internally shook yourself out of you consideration of the man to finally say, "Good Afternoon sir, how can I help you?"

He smiled, in a soft way though you felt a rush in your chest, "My name is Thomas Shelby, I have a meeting with Mr. Solomons."

Oh. This is Thomas Shelby. Leader of THE Shelbys. "Oh yes Mr. Shelby I've been expecting you. You are a bit early, so if you could please sit. Can I offer some tea?"

He nodded, turning to the soft couch across from your desk, "Tea would be lovely, thank you love."

After serving him tea, you went back to work at your desk till the clock struck 4. At least you tried to. You felt those eyes all over you. You felt as though every muscle movement was being scrutinized. "Since when did Alfie get a secretary?"

"Today is my first day, he hired me yesterday."

Thomas hummed in understanding, looking out the window to your left, admiring the soft rain. "If I may be so bold, could I ask your name? I don't like not knowing who gave me tea."

You gave your name, looking directly into his eyes. He repeated it back, as if he was feeling out every consonant on his lips. Even though it was an innocent enough question, you couldn't shake the feeling that you needed to be on the offensive. As if he wanted something. "Where did he find you? You're far too pretty to be working for someone like Alfie."

"I found him. And I can assure you Mr. Shelby that my face had nothing to do with my hiring."

"As you wish darling."

As soon as he said it, you heard your name being called from inside Alfie's office. You quickly got up to meet him, and felt those eyes all over you.

Alfie looked horrible. His hair was sticking up in all directions, his vest and shirt were both half done, and he was scribbling away on some paper, "Oi, is that bastard here yet?"

"Mr. Shelby? Yes, he is sitting down waiting for you. I've just given him tea."

His head rose from his hands, and his thick brows were furrowed together, "The fuck did you give him tea for? He doesn't need tea, no he doesn't deserve tea!"

"Alfie you can have tea too if you ask me."

"No no no already told you I don't want tea. I don't want lunch. I don't want your help beyond taking the notes. I am a grown man damnit! Now for fucks sake, bring that damn bastard in here, sit on the couch, take the notes, and hush your mouth!"

He was teetering. This wasn't just being a gangster. This was a child who was fighting to take a nap. He was going to snap soon. So you just smiled cheekily, "Of course Alfie. I'll be right back."

You nearly skipped to the door. Alfie was growing increasingly frustrated, "AND TAKE AWAY THAT FUCKING CUP. NO ONE GETS TEA."

You did take the tea cup away from Mr. Shelby , and ushered him in, settling yourself down on your seat with your pad and pencil.

As Mr. Shelby settled in, he smiled and looked at Alfie, who was looking more and more disgruntled, "Good Afternoon Alfie. You look well."

"Fuck off Tommy. What do you want?"

"Yes the weather is quite dreary, but I am doing well thank you. But yes let's get down to it. Alfie...are you familiar with gaming clubs?"

In your opinion, this meeting should have taken 30 minutes at most. But you were going on hour 3 at this point. 7 o'clock and you were growing tired. You know Eli had already gone home to tell your parents you were held up. This was becoming ridiculous.

The idea was interesting enough. Gaming clubs have been an up and coming social house for the high society. Men (and their women) would gather in clandestine areas, playing cards, placing bets, drinking, doing snow, all types of things. But the real trade was information. Yes their main products would be successful in such places, but the information that would be dripping from loose lips would bring more power than they could get now. More than they could get in decades.

The only thing they disagreed on was the split ownership. Alfie offered a 90/10 split. And when Tommy refused Alfie was quick to pull his gun. And maybe you should have been afraid, but frankly you were too irritated with Alfie to care, or to believe this petulant act he was putting up. Your pad was almost filled with doodles, crossed out numbers and terms when they finally shook on it, you would write up the agreement in the morning.

As Tommy stood to leave so did you, and when he took your hand to shake it, he raised your knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss and giving a wink. Your eyes widened at his boldness. He smirked at your response, turning to Alfie again, "Love the new secretary Alfie. Definitely brightens up the place."

He turned back to you and tipped his hat to you, "See you soon darling."

Tommy sauntered out of the door, and Alfie stayed standing until the door closed and he heard his steps fade. It was then that Alfie nearly collapsed into his chair, hands rubbing his face, "Treacle come here."

You came and sat right back in the chair Tommy Shelby just occupied, "You want me to reread the agreement to you?"

"Nah I trust you got it. Just write it up tomorrow. But listen to me yeah? You do not go near Thomas Shelby. I know the young girls tend to fancy him but listen to me... that man is evil. He is not safe. And I don't want you caught up in his nonsense."

"He's evil yet you're doing business with him."

"I'm a bad man darling, but that doesn't mean you need to get wrapped up in it. Just say that you won't fratrenize with him alright? Or do you need to fight with me about this as well?"

You nodded, "I understand."

You just stared at him, waiting for him to dismiss you when you heard his stomach growl again, and his face twitch in pain, hand rushing to his back. "Are you ready to admit defeat Alfie?"

He scowled at you, "I don't know what you're talking about. Go home it's late, you don't need to stay."

You smiled, "If it's already late no difference is made at this point. But I'm not about to let my boss go home hungry and in pain... or go home without saying I was right."

He puffed out his lip, "There's nothing to eat here anyway."

"I brought you lunch. Beef, roasted veg, and bread."

He looked at you quizzicaly before you said, "Eli told me that Ollie told him that you haven't been eating recently. I just took upon myself to bring you something. There's also a muffin, but you will have to share."

You heard him say something about mutiny, but then told you to go fetch the lunch you brought him. You only brought enough for one lunch for him, but he ended up insisting you share with him, since, "You haven't eaten supper. It's not right."

Eventually, once his stomach was warm with a good meal, you got him to let you tend to his back. "What are you going to do hmm? Give me a strange draught your grandmother taught you that will make me vomit for three days?"

You laughed brightly, and he couldn't help but smile and stare at the way you threw your head back and laughed loudly. Deep in his chest he hoped that you would let him make you laugh like that forever.

"No you ridiculous man. My father was in the war, and he got shot in the shoulder. He lived thankfully, but he feels a deep pain like you do. The muscle tightens and he can't move. We get a hot rag, place it on his shoulder, and my mother needs to work out the pain."

Alfie felt a flush on his neck, "Well that would require me to take my shirt off darling."

You rolled your eyes, "For a gangster you act like a child. I won't tell if you won't Alfie. Now will you cooperate?"

In truth you hadn't thought that far into it. But it was pitiful to see him like this, and you can definitely be professional about this. Alfie shrugged and pulled off his vest and shirt, and you couldn't help but feel the heat rise, and not just from the hot rag in your hand.

You knew he was imposing, it was hard not to see him and hear him. But seeing the breadth of his shoulders, the width of his body and the hair on his chest made your cheeks heat up and your face freeze. Alfie caught your stare, smirking, "Now who's acting like a child?"

You rolled your eyes, and placed the rag on his lower back, hearing him hiss and try to relax into the heat. You began to work the knots out of his back when he asked, "Do your roommates know where you are?"

"My roommates are my parents, Eli, his parents, my little sister, my younger brother, and our grandparents. And they know that I am at work, helping my boss finish a business meeting. Eli told them."

Alfie nodded, "Do they... know where you work?"

You smiled, "They know that my boss is a respectable jewish man, who owns a large bakery that employs many many men, and that I get my own desk."

He snorted, "So you lied to them?"

"Not lie. Just...reframed it for them. Shall I tell my mother that I am the secretary of the fearsome Alfred Solomons? Or should I tell my father that I directly disobeyed his orders to stay away from Solomons boys, and went directly to the top?"

He laughed, "Alright now alright... so why this office? Educated girl like you can't work anywhere else? Unlikely, seems like you like being rebellious to me."

"Well... if you can believe it Mr. Solomons... my back talk does not do me many favors. Truthfully... Eli brought me here because you were my last chance at independence. It was either your office, or I would have to visit the matchmaker."

A silence washed over you, and you began to worry that you shared too much. "Well... I like that you speak your mind. Even if it drives me fucking nuts. Never give it up darling. You stay just the way you are alright?"

You smiled softly to yourself, "Yes Alfie."

A comfortable silence took its' place, and you eventually were able to work out all the knots from his back. You began to pack up your bag, and as Alfie redressed himself he asked, "Is Eli coming to pick you up?"

"No I don't think so. He is probably having to help with the tailoring, and he won't be able to step away. I'll be ok."

"Fuck no. You're a woman, you don't walk alone at this time at night, especially not here. I'm taking you home."

"You don't think women are capable of taking care of themselves?"

"No I know you could hold your own darling, but it is cold and I am not about to let you get hurt on my watch. Come we'll take the car."

The drive to your house was comfortable. You couldn't understand it. You had only met Alfie yesterday. And yet you felt as though you had known him for years. As if you never knew life without him. The whole ride you talked. From business for tomorrow, his childhood, his dog, your interests and what your opinions were on the business. You laughed and spoke the entire time, and it felt like no time passed. The car pulled up right to your door, and Alfie walked to your door to open it for you and help you out, "Alright watch your step treacle, still wet from the rain yeah? There you go darling."

You took his hand, and your breath hitched at the contact, his warm and rough hand covering yours. You looked up into his eyes, face partially obscured by his hat, "Thank you Alfie. You didn't have to."

"Of course I did. And it was no trouble. If you are kept in the office till dark, I drive you home yeah?"

You nodded with a smile, and he shook his head in affirmation, "It's a deal then. Now get inside you little viper, you'll catch a cold."

You began to walk to the door, turning around to say, "Goodnight Alfie."

He smiled, "Goodnight darling."

As you walked up the stairs to the home of your family, you couldn't help but run through the day in your head. Especially the end of it, smiling to yourself and feeling the rush in your stomach. You opened the door as quietly as you could, but heard you mother say, "Who was that in the car dear?"

[xclowniex]

do you believe in God?

Yes and kinda at the same time

I am undecided if hashem is a higher being or if it is a name for a higher force, but I do belive something higher than us exists.

I used to lean more towards maybe, but I recently witnessed a straight up miracle answer of a prayer so it's hard for me to say maybe anymore.

My sister was told she was infertile, that she had no eggs, and she is still in her 20s. She really wants to be a mother, to the point that she has approached me before to be her surrogate. Well, my dad prays for her to get pregnant and have a child and a week later she hooks up with a dude and falls pregnant.

She never became pregnant when she was with her many boyfriends or even her ex husband. She hasn't been single for than a month in the past 7 years, and she only got pregnant after my father prayed.

Then there have been two less miracle type things but still unexplainable.

A few weeks before Rosh Hashanah, a lady at shul was handing out card for the holiday for free that she made. I picked one for my dad. I had erev rosh hashanah service after work and was debating bumming around town for 3 hours or going home for 2 hours and then coming back out. I had this urgent feeling to go home and give my dad the card that evening instead of the next day during rosh hashanah. So I went home and gave him the card before sunset. And turns out my dad was just really going through it that day. Like he was not having good thoughts. And me giving him the card made his day and made him feel better. Whilst I may have been a day early, it was the perfect day for him to recieve the card.

Then on the Friday after rosh hashanah, I attended a Jewish potluck. I was driving myself and someone else there. The other person was helping with directions at this one intersection which is tricky. I knew I needed to go down one street, and the person told me to go down the street I needed to take, but for some reason I took the other street (y shaped intersection), and I needed to take a side street to get back into the street I should've gotten on. Well we passed a pro Palestine protest which had antisemitic signage just before the side street and as we turned into the side street, we saw a lady from shul and we started frantically waving at her from the car and she saw us and waved back.

The next day at shul she told us that normally she doesn't notice people waving at her from their cars, and that she was also anxious about walking past that protest. But she saw us waving, waved back and felt a lot better and it gave her the courage to walk past the protest.

With all of those things happening, it is hard for me not to believe in a higher power or being of some sort.

[leiascully]

Fic: who shall rest and who shall wander

980 words; post-revival; g for gentle; soft and Jewish

Mulder doesn't remember the last time he celebrated Rosh Hashanah.  He doesn't go to the synagogue, but he sits Gracie on the counter as he peels and cuts apples.  She kicks her little feet against the cabinets and he passes her apple slices.  Enough will make it into the cake.  He likes feeding his child.  She grows and thrives, all auburn curls and inquisitive green eyes, and it soothes just a little of the ache Emily left.  He never had the chance to nourish his other children.  If William - Jackson - survived or thrived, it wasn't on his account. But Grace's cheeks are round and her limbs are strong and he is so grateful he doesn't know what to do with all that he feels.

He could go to the synagogue.  He's sure there are any number of them in the greater DC area, maybe even a congregation that would take in a lapsed atheist whose memories of services flicker like a havdalah candle.  No doubt his therapist would tease out some thread woven deep into his consciousness: an image of his mother with her hand cupped over her eyes, the rich smell of challah and the taste of wine.  A moment of peace, a moment of fear; letters on a page he traced but could not read.  Maybe that's the root of his love for the mysterious and the unknowable.  

Gracie asks to get down.  When he complies, she scampers off with a basket of books to tuck herself into her favorite Gracie-sized chair, her own little rocker on the front porch.  It's a pretty day.  He watches her through the window as she flips through her books and chatters to herself.  It is a perfect moment, wholly beautiful.  Holy.  Beautiful.

He pulls out his phone and brings up a recording of the only prayer he can remember.  Avinu Malkeinu plays, tinny and thin, his phone's speakers not doing justice to the timbre of the singer's voice.  It is mournful, soaring.  The tune sounds familiar, as if it's been in his dreams or his bones all these years, half-remembered.  Something about sin, something about forgiveness: the same song he's sung all his life, transcribing himself into a minor key.  Mulder chops the apples small, tips them into a bowl with lemon and honey and cinnamon, leaves them to sit.  Let them soak in the sweetness.  He has been allowing himself the same luxury, these past few years.

For the first time, he opens a recipe for challah.  The dough is soft and sticky.  He calls Grace back in, gives her a blob of it, teaches her to knead as if he didn't learn it from a YouTube video five minutes ago.  Under her hands, it transforms into a mess that covers the counter, her face, and her hands.  But the dough in the mixer bowl becomes round and taut, a thing all its own.  He believes that it will grow and transform in the bright warmth of a sunbeam.  He believes that he has made something good and nourishing.  He believes that he can, now.  It took years.

They leave the dough to rise and he takes Gracie down to the creek.  They gather pebbles on the way.  He cups his hands to receive Gracie's selections, and she fills them.  There are enough pebbles for her to fling four little fistfuls, with a few left over for him.  They patter on the water.  Tiny fish flicker away.  He doesn't know what to say or how to explain it to Gracie, but he feels lighter, after.  L'dor v'dor: a small gift from the grandmother Grace will never meet.  He is free to rewrite his parents' legacy for her, to give her only the wheat and let the chaff blow away.  She will inherit a stranger world, but she has her mother's good sense.  He consoles himself with the notion that they did all they could to make sure there was any world for her at all.  When she gets tired, he hoists her onto his shoulders.  The tall grass in the field has gone from green to golden when he wasn't looking.  It shifts in the wind with a hissing like the sea, and Grace watches the horizon, beyond and beyond.  

When they get back to the house, he listens to Leonard Cohen.  They have been through fire and water, through high ordeal and common trial.  Gracie colors at the table.  Apple cake, in its nascent state, holds no interest for her since she isn't allowed to eat the batter, but she likes plunging her fist into the quivering mass of the challah dough.  It consumes her arm almost to the elbow; she laughs and makes a face and both things remind him so much of Scully that his heart squeezes.  The mixer whirs, whirling the cake batter together.  Mulder braids the challah the way he used to braid Samatha's hair and coils it into a round loaf.  He leaves it to rise again under its tea towel.  Good things take time.

The house smells amazing by the time Scully gets home.  The brisket emerges from the slow cooker in shreds, dripping jus.  Mulder serves it to his beautiful girls alongside a tangled wedge of potato kugel.  There's a kale salad for the adults, accented with more apples and some pickled beets, and peas for Grace, which she picks up one by one with her little plastic fork.   

"What did we learn today?" Mulder asks.

"Shana tova!" Grace declares through a mouthful of challah.  They didn't say the right words over it, but Mulder feels like he prayed.  The flames of the candles on the table are as steady as Scully's gaze, as steady as the warmth that blooms inside him.

"We're going to have a sweet year," Mulder promises, and that's a prayer too.  

Scully tilts her head.  She sips at her wine.  "I believe you," she says, and takes his hand.  

[mariacallous]

Last year, I hosted my biggest Rosh Hashanah dinner ever. My boyfriend and I invited about 15 friends over to our one-bedroom Brooklyn apartment, moved all of our furniture into the bedroom, rented a couple of folding tables and chairs, and turned the living room into a Rosh Hashanah dreamscape, complete with thematic streamers, ambient lighting, and candles. I whipped up four round challahs, a vat of vegetarian matzah ball soup, my mom’s famous cornflake kugel, some baked chicken, and a batch of spiked apple cider.

It was a lot of work, but absolutely worth it: I’m always sad when I can’t be with my family in Chicago during the High Holidays, but being surrounded by friends, some Jewish, some not, to celebrate Rosh Hashanah with food and drink was a warm, wonderful way to ring in the New Year.

But this year? Nah. I’m going with a pizza.

Of course we won’t be hosting another Rosh Hashanah dinner this year for the very obvious reason of a global pandemic. I know we could still make a special meal for the two of us with all the standard trappings that I grew up eating at my mother’s holiday table, but when I think about the work that that requires, and how exhausted I’ve been from merely existing in this current world, I just… kind of… don’t want to. I still want to mark the day as special, and I love the idea of eating symbolic foods on Rosh Hashanah, but I don’t want to spend an entire day cooking, and I certainly don’t want to spend an entire night washing dishes.

Which brings me to pizza, which I will henceforth argue is the perfect — and yes, symbolic — Rosh Hashanah food.

Why should pizza be considered a Rosh Hashanah food? Let’s dive in.

1. It’s round. Traditionally on Rosh Hashanah, instead of braiding challah into a traditional loaf, Jews bake their challah in a round shape to represent the circularity of the calendar and the never-ending cycle of life. You know what else is round? Yup, it’s pizza. Pizza might not be traditionally round for symbolic reasons, but it does allow for easy slicing and sharing, and sharing your food with others seems like a nice Jewish thing to do, no? And I’m not gonna lie: When I stare into a beautiful pizza pie, I see the entire universe staring back at me in all of its cheesy, saucy goodness.

2. It’s *possibly* a Jewish invention. Most people assume pizza came from Italy, but the cheesy delicacy actually has quite a complicated and debated history, with some even believing that the ancient Jewish philosopher Maimonides first coined the word. As Henry Abramson wrote in JTA, Yehuda Romano, a 14th-century Hebrew scholar from Italy, “translated Maimonides’ use of the word ‘hararah’ (a type of flatbread) in the Mishneh Torah with four simple Hebrew letters: peh, yud, tzadi and heh, or ‘pizza,’ arguably the very first time the word was ever used in any language.” In the “History of pizza” page on Wikipedia (a wonderful read if you’ve got the time), it’s noted that, “Some commentators have suggested that the origins of modern pizza can be traced to pizzarelle, which were kosher for Passover cookies eaten by Roman Jews after returning from the synagogue on that holiday, though some also trace its origins to other Italian paschal breads. Abba Eban has suggested that modern pizza ‘was first made more than 2000 years ago when Roman soldiers added cheese and olive oil to matzah.'” Look: I don’t know if Jews really invented pizza, but the chance that our people have been eating it for thousands of years is reason enough for me to order a fresh pie this Rosh Hashanah.

3. It goes well with honey. Honey is a traditional Rosh Hashanah food that represents the sweet New Year. Have you ever put honey on a pizza? What about hot honey? Just do it. Trust me. Moving on.

4. It’s already kind of a New Year’s food. Is it really a New Year’s celebration if you didn’t order pizza at 1 a.m.? Yes, I’m talking about that other New Year’s Eve, but the logic still applies. Plus, if you go a little too hard on that sweet kosher wine, you’ll be very happy to have a fridge full of cold leftover pizza the next morning.

5. Its numerical value is pretty meaningful. Okay, I can’t take credit for this one, and it’s a little out there, but bear with me: My colleague Ben Sales pointed out that according to Gematria, the numerological system by which Hebrew letters correspond to numbers, the Hebrew numerical value of “pizza” (פיצה) is 185. This is also the numerical value of the phrase “אני לד��די ודודי לי” which translates to, “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine,” which comes from a verse in the Song of Songs. This is kind of a slogan for Elul, the month leading up to the High Holidays. The idea is that this is a time period when we’re growing closer to God and vice versa. So let’s grow a little closer to pizza, too.

6. It’s just really good. I don’t know what else there is to say besides pizza is a perfect food, and why wouldn’t you want to start your New Year off with something so amazingly delicious? It’s been a tough year and we need comfort foods more than ever. We need takeout more than ever. We need to go easy on ourselves — and not add any unnecessary stress to our lives — more than ever!

If cooking up a storm on Rosh Hashanah makes you happy, then of course, you should go forth and do so. If you can’t imagine the High Holidays without some tzimmes and brisket, by all means, have at it. But if you’re looking for a way out of the norm during this very, very unusual year, I hereby grant you full permission to ditch the kitchen and call up your favorite local pizza place. Let them bring the party to you (and tip well!!). It’s just one of the many Jewish things to do.

[briar--rising]

Rosh Hashanah is next week. It's always been my favorite holiday, and every year I prepare for it and look forward to it. But this year I've been dreading it, and until this past week I couldn't figure out why.

I haven't been to synagogue much in the past year. I've gone a handful of times, but much less than any other year since graduating college. And I thought of going, my therapist tried to encourage me to go because she knows it often makes me feel better, but there was just this inner resistance that I couldn't figure out and wasn't ready to look at closely enough to decipher anyway. And then as the High Holy Days got closer and closer I started to notice that I was really dreading them, which is not how I usually feel. And so I brought it up in therapy on Tuesday, and came to some really important realizations.

I've been doing a lot of very serious grief work and trauma work this fall. My most serious trauma anniversaries are almost all in the fall, and it's a season of great grief and usually highly elevated symptoms for me. My first serious psychotic break was in the fall, four of my five hospitalizations have been in the fall, etc. Until this year I spent every autumn of the past decade pretty severely psychotic. I could not face the trauma and grief that this time of year brings up for me, I could not process those feelings and memories without losing my mind in defense so that I wouldn't have to truly experience them. I've always known this, and for a few years have tried very hard to truly experience my grief and not retreat into psychosis, but I never managed it until this year.

This autumn has been different. I've still struggled with psychosis much more than in the summer, I still have to fight it most days. But I'm winning most of those fights. And I'm grieving. I'm mourning, I'm crying, I'm sitting with my feelings for as long as I can bear and then distracting myself from them when they get too much instead of retreating into symptoms most of the time. I'm genuinely experiencing the thoughts and feelings I need to be experiencing. I'm reading about death, about grief, about loss, I'm talking about these things in therapy. It's often incredibly painful, though sometimes it is simply a peaceful kind of sorrow. I'm getting in touch with a lot of the feelings I've found so difficult to face from some of the hardest times of my life, and I'm experiencing some of them again.

And some of those feelings that I was really quite blindsided by and that I've been largely repressing for 15 years are incredibly complicated feelings about G-d. When I was 11 years old I was just like any other religious and traumatized kid: I prayed to G-d to fix it. I did that thing kids do, I tried to make bargains with Him. "Dear G-d, if I clean my room will You save my mommy? If I'm perfect, will You fix my family?" You know. Things like that.

I was desperate for anything, anyone to save me. I talk sometimes about the particular traumas of that year, about my brother's birth, about my mother's hospitalizations, about her suicide attempt. But I have no words to express the year as a whole, except to say that terrible thing after terrible thing after terrible thing happened, and throughout all of it I was neglected and left at sea. My mom was sick, my dad was trying to keep his head above water, no one was there for me. So I tried to turn to G-d. And when He wasn't there for me either, I felt incredibly abandoned and betrayed, both by Him but also because I was taking my feelings about my family neglecting me during severe trauma and putting them onto Him. It's hard for me to express the levels of hurt and rage I felt at G-d during that time period.

And then my memory cuts out. I remember approximately nothing from shortly after my twelfth birthday (in June) until November over a year later. I have a handful of memories of specific events that took place at school or at camp, but absolutely zero memories of my internal feelings or anything that ever took place at home during seventh grade. It's just. Gone. Always has been, probably always will be.

The next significant things I remember in terms of my relationship to G-d and my religion are all about Hebrew High School, which I loved (I got to start it early bc I was being bullied in normal Hebrew School), and preparing for my Bat Mitzvah, which I also loved. My memory goes from intense feelings of betrayal and abandonment and agony to instantaneously a relatively low conflict, positive relationship with G-d and Judaism (with Jewish-appropriate amounts of questioning of course and moments of anger, but no true rage and despair like I once felt). And I stayed in that space of Judaism-as-comfort-with-minimal-internal-conflict for the next 10+ years. I have no idea how that transition happened, but it certainly didn't occur because I slowly and naturally dealt with all of my complicated feelings and embraced religion after processing.

And then this year, well. I guess the processing came due. I'd like to be very very clear that being Jewish always has been and always will be incredibly important to me, and nothing about any of this changes that. I am struggling, though. I'm re-experiencing a lot of those childhood feelings of betrayal and abandonment and confusion and rage. And not being ready to face those feelings is why I've been subconsciously avoiding synagogue for the past year, and is why I've been dreading the holidays. At least now I'm aware of what's happening, so that's a step in the right direction. And in the long term this is a good and important step not only in my trauma recovery but in my relationship with Judaism and with G-d; I can't have as deep of a relationship as I want without this kind of struggle. To quote my therapist, "your relationship with Judaism is too important to you to be easy." Thankfully in Judaism struggling like this is not only allowed but expected. But it is a struggle, right now. A painful one.

I leave you all with a song I've been listening to on repeat that is helping me confront and think about a lot of these feelings:

[iantimony]

hurricane-core twednesdaypost

I am in FL this week visiting my grandma! oopsie! disclaimer that I somehow managed to be in a teeny tiny window of No Hurricane At All which I am very grateful for so I am totally safe, it's not even raining where we are lol

listening: Cowboy Malfoy and Laufey type of jazzy chill music. my "I miss my boyfriend and I'm sad" playlist that I'm too self conscious to link.

reading: my torah portion for Saturday! I initially had the thought of like, well, my flight on Thursday back might get cancelled so I may not actually make it to temple to read … so I definitely didn't study as much as I should have, which may have been a weird reverse manifestation thingy, the universe going "well you're not prepared so now you'll definitely be home in time" typa beat. ah well I have time to cram

watching: saw "The Watchers" this evening with my grandma on hbo. I'm gonna be so real with y'all, this movie sucked. it was not good! I understand and like the vibes they were going for but the script was bad, the acting was stilted because of the bad script, the plot was not good, characters were not compelling, THE TWIST WAS NOT WHAT IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN … spoilers, but the twist ABSOLUTELY should have been that the main character had been a changeling the whole time, not the old lady. which, like, maybe the point is that's what we're supposed to assume…? but they don't make it explicit which I think was a mistake because it just makes a lot of it feel out of place. I really loved the themes of twins/duality running through it that really just. carried zero weight ultimately. the redeeming factors of this film were the setting (which carried a lot of the cinematography, really atmospheric forest) and Olwen Fouéré who is extremely sexy. she is apparently largely a stage actress which makes a lot of sense, she really was the only one Acting acting which just made the underacting from Dakota Fanning so much flatter. mega nepo baby vibes from this (m night shyamalan's daughter), though I guess I could be nicer because she's my age and I doubt I could do a better job. shrug.

spent a large part of today watching Ryan Hall on youtube tracking the hurricane progress.

playing: fallow :-( I miss minecraft.

making: also fallow oughhhhh. I Miss My Apartment And Craft Table !!! I've started crocheting another grocery bag which I guess is SOMETHING but ugh.

eating: Deb smittenkitchen has done it again. I made her brisket recipe and honey cake for Rosh Hashanah last weekend. great success, I might toss some baby carrots in with the brisket next time, I feel like it needed more veg, but otherwise was perfect. I got to bring honey cake to my grandma who probably hasn't had any in like 50 years and she loved it :) I really want to try making her Russian honey cake recipe but I didn't have the time or energy this year. I also picked up some "goldee" apples on a whim from a local orchard farmstand and they are soooooooo good 10/10.

misc: by some miracle I should be able to catch my scheduled flight despite mr milton, please everyone think affirming thoughts really really hard at [airport redacted] to keep it all moving tomorrow.

[becauseiamnotanelephant]

Grandma

Today, my grandmother passed away. There can't be many almost 43 year olds who still had their grandmother in their lives, so I feel lucky that she was with us for so long. I wasn't there when it happened, but my mom was able to get everyone on the phone so we could have a chance to say goodbye.

It's a very difficult thing to process. She, just like my grandfather, was someone that I would have loved to have with me forever. But realistically, everyone dies, so understandably, this moment was inevitable. It's also hard because while we are all sad and will miss her, her quality of life was not good, despite all my parent's efforts. She had pretty severe dementia, lived alone with her aids, and as the youngest in her generation, was one of the only one of her peers still alive. It's hard not to feel a sense of relief for her, and also for my parents, who have spent nearly every day since their retirement taking care of her and dealing with the stress of her life. It's also hard because since it's been so long since she was herself and I was a kid, I feel that many of the details of our interactions are hazy and I wished I remembered them more vividly.

As I remember her and my grandfather, I like to see all the ways that I am similar or have taken on their traits/habits/interests, and would like to find ways to pass these things on to Hannah so she can feel a connection to her past. In some ways, this will be easy. In some ways, this will be hard. While no one's fault, by my mom marrying my dad, I think some element of the Jewish tradition was lost just because my dad isn't really one who will carry the torch, and I find myself in a similar position with Graham, who doesn't really value religion and didn't grow up with the traditions in his house. I think this will be the greatest loss - so I am working to find ways to create our own traditions that work within the framework of my life that can also be used to connect Hannah to our family's history. It is a real challenge.

That said, there are many things I remember about my grandmother and somethings are just part of who she was and somethings are important to how I want to be.

She always listened to the radio and somehow this has become something I do, too. I am sure growing up with my dad listening to NPR in the car all the time also contributed to this.

The general area of food is a strong memory for me - she made great matzoh balls soup and brisket (I didn't care for the tzimmes, however). She made the best scrambled eggs and I believe my siblings and I converted my mom into adding milk to the eggs to make them fluffier as a result. She was staying with us after my brother was born and packed an olive and cream cheese sandwich in my lunchbox. I was horrified, but admit it probably would be pretty good if I tried it today. She had an amazing capacity to slice - she would slice cherry tomatoes, grapes, snickers bars, orange (she would slice the slices!). I don't know how she had the time or patience to do this. While this is not a primary memory of mine since I think it started after I graduated college, she was known as the Candy Lady, who would always carry a container of candies with her and distribute them as she saw fit. She also never drank alcohol, and rarely even drank water. This seems to have been passed on to my mom and to me, too. It's never been easy to stay hydrated except when I'm riding my bike.

She liked to laugh and my grandparents introduced me to Carl Reiner and Mel Brooks; those were perfect companions for a road trip. Even enduring the hardest thing a parent can face, the death of a child, she was able to still enjoy life and be happy.

She crocheted many blankets and did show me how to crochet when I was first starting out. On our many trips to Cape Cod for Rosh Hashanah, she always had hot cocoa for us to have in her hotel room, played rummikub with all the adults, and showed me the fun beach game of building a course for a ball to run through in the sand.

She had the most spotless house you probably ever saw and has definitely passed on the love (or need) for a clean house and doing the cleaning. She was anti-technology in ways that I can't reciprocate but definitely appreciate. She and I would send many letters and it's just more fun to get a letter in the mail than an email.

She always know the right way to do things - how to organize a wedding invitation, who to invite to events, how/what to do. I guess today we have the internet to help us with those things, but I definitely appreciate a strong sense of morals.

She was a kind soul - always calling people sweetie, honey, etc. While I only recently learned that she didn't like everyone, she hid it very well. And of course I bet there were many examples (like dumping a plate of food on her head) where my mom would disagree that she was entirely a kind soul, I like to hear about those feisty moments, too.

She always looked good, had her hair done (slept with her head wrapped in toilet paper), had everything ironed (even sheet and pajamas), loved getting dressed up, and had lots of costume jewerly - these are ways that we were definitely not alike, but they are still all parts of who she was and who we will all miss. It is truly the end of an era.

[destinyimage]

Hebrew New Year 5784: Kingdom Arise in the Year of Abundance & Creative Order

The Kingdom is Arising!

On Rosh Hashanah which begins September 15th at sundown – September 17th at sundown, we enter into a new Hebrew year, 5784. We declare the King is coming! These numbers stand for grace (5), perfection (7), new beginnings (8) and creation (4). I believe we are entering into a year in which the King is calling His kingdom to creative order and miracles in Christ. Watch as God takes you to next levels of order and creativity in the kingdom in the earth!
 


Get ready to see God do some amazing things this year! Remember, the year 5783 was about the resurrection, 5782 was about the double glory, and 5781 was about opening our mouths in the decade of Pey (the 80’s). 81, 82, 83, 84 all are in the 80’s “Pey” means to open your mouth and prophecy! You see, you prophesied the beginning, you prophesied double, you prophesied the resurrection, and now you now are stepping into the place of creative miracles and creative order in the power of kingdom. Yes! You are going to see some amazing, creative miracles happening this upcoming year.  If miracles are to arise then creative order is evident! The church is going to step into the abundance of the kingdom!

On Rosh Hashanah, we declare the Kingdom is Arising and God is coming to bring creation into its divine order! Whenever the enemy is attacking he always reveals a counterfeit of the real thing that God is doing. Have you noticed all the talk on gender issues. Why? Because the enemy is revealing that the true sons and daughters of the King are about to stand up and declare they are made in the image of God and He is their creator and sustainer. God wants this for the whole world and His heart is to see life transformation come to all. But He needs the kingdom kids to arise and be who they are called to be. We are the example of the kingdom in the earth! If we do not arise to reveal the King then who will?

Genesis 1:26- 28, (KJV) reads, “And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.  So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them. And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.”

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We were called the sons and daughters and made in His likeness and then called to rule in the earth. The sons and daughters will begin to align this year and call forth those who are uncertain of who they are and what they have been called to do. The enemy has sounded the alarm that the sons and daughters and here and that is why there is so much alarming news and so much craziness. It is because we are here and now is the time to roll!

The trumpet blows in Zion on September 15 at sundown, let us be the ones declaring the coming King! (Joel 2:15) That is one thing that is most important about Rosh Hashanah we declare the King and our likeness to Him! Let the earth cry out because we the sons and daughters have arisen to the call of the King and are here to declare and prophesy “Pey” in 5784, that this is the year of getting creation in order! As we get in order with the King all of the earth will then align with Him! This means the lost will be saved and the confused living in lack will have their blinders removed so they can SEE and Recover their Sight!

God is shifting the church to live in the realms of Kingdom and abundance. Now, I know that the church was always supposed to have been there, but let me tell you, there are keys from heaven that are being deposited into the earth. These are rich keys that help us understand that we have ascended with Christ, we are seated with Him in heavenly places, and from that place we can walk in Kingdom authority. That’s not just Kingdom authority to cast out devils, cleanse lepers, and bring healing into the earth, although they are a part. It’s also revealing, expressing and walking in abundance as the Lord continues rebuilding and establishing a new foundation.


The foundation of the apostles and the prophets is what the church is being built on. He is activating the Kingdom! Ephesians 4:11-13 says, “And he gave some, apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some, pastors and teachers; For the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ: Till we all come in the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ:” 

You have re-entered the Garden of Eden and now live in the realms of abundancy. If you don’t live in abundancy, the enemy will trick you into returning to the soulish realm of lack. You cannot create in lack, only in abundance. There is no lack in your garden. 
 

As some men and women struggle with gender identity issues, a way to help others overcome is you need to speak life everywhere lack resides. Learn how lack manifests and then SEE above it.  If Yeshua had to recover His sight (the Greek work anablepo) before doing a miracle to feed the 5000,  then you and I as Christians, need to do the same thing (Luke 9 :16). 

Yeshua gave us access in spirit realms. You must hover in abundancy. Genesis 1:1-2 says, “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.”

Male and female were created in image of God and called to subdue and dominate. The bondages of sin, death and the grave are broken, and we have freedom. See, you were freely given access to the realms of heaven and abundance and you are called to co-create with God there. It is time for us to SEE, HEAR and SPEAK the kingdom but we must know the difference ourselves between kingdom living and earthly lack. Church arise on September 15 as the King is coming for a bride that knows how to live in abundance and can call forth His creative order in the earth!

When Yeshua died, was buried, resurrected and then ascended to heaven, sin, death and the grave were defeated, and you were launched into abundance and the dominion of the King. Our everyday position is one of fullness and prosperity – as in nothing missing or broken, shalom peace. You walk with the ABUNDANCY of CHRIST!


I declare and call into order right now every person who believes they were falsely created for lack. Come into alignment with who you are in Christ! I declare in 5784 you will live in fullness and co-create with the eyes and ears of heaven in abundancy first, in Jesus’ name! May the blinders be removed and you can SEE and walk in the heavenly places now.

Share with a friend and recover your sight daily. Be sure to position yourself in the place of abundance.

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[littleharpethcrossfit]

Thursday, 14 September, 2023.

Coach's Note:

It is always a good idea to arrive early and do the warmup and all exercises in the sequence scheduled. That is especially true today since this involves a lot of SHOULDER work. Athletes are advised to use weights that they can easily handle for all the reps in unbroken sets. This is not your day for PR's.

Another absolutely perfect afternoon at the Barn.

Warmup

4 Rounds

5 PVC Squat Snatch's

10 PVC Shoulder Dislocates

Strength & Skill

Hang Snatch

Start Very Light And Progress If Quality

3 Reps EMOM For 3 Minutes

2 Reps EMOM For 3 Minutes

1 Rep EMOM For 3 Minutes

Nathan/Robert=115 Herb=95 Dana=85 Coach=75 Tom/Joe=65 Elisa/Kayla/Sue/Linda=55 Shannon=45 Faith (The Kid)=23 Tom/Timmy/Sammy D=did weird stuff Owen/Charrita/Jackie/Holley and several others failed to visit the whiteboard.

WOD

15 X 12 X 9

Hang Power Cleans ( 115 / 85 / 65 )

X 50 Double-Under's ( 100 Singles )

3 MINUTES REST

12 X 9 X 6

Power Cleans ( 135 / 115 / 75 )

X 50 Double-Under's ( 100 Singles )

Elite:

Dana=9:08 Robert=9:57 Timmy=10:57

The Rest:

Faith (The Kid)=8:53 Nathan=9:03 Joe=9:23 Elisa=9:33 Sue=9:45 Kayla=10:52 Herb=11:30 Linda=13:00 Shannon=14:08 Coach=14:45 Charrita/Holley/Jackie/Owen= did it Tom/Sammy D=stuff And others too shy to approach the whiteboard.

Cool-Down:

Wine and snacks around the picnic table. It was a perfect evening.

We had at least 15 assorted bottles of wine brought to the picnic table. A few were left for the next time.

Foods brought were in the extreme category. I always fear having to list them because I cannot remember foods and who brought them without error. But I'll try: Kayla brought a huge casserole of Ziti pasta/ meat, and cheeses. Shannon brought a "To Die For Dessert". There were a few bites left that she took home for Armando. There were fresh peppers and veggies with Hummus, a couple different popcorns, fruits, nuts, home made cookies, Chic Fil A Nuggets galore, and Mr Butler produced bags of Chic fil A pimento chicken sandwiches. There must be stuff that I am missing.

We never had Thursday's quite like these before Alicia returned from Pittsburg and we recruited Kayla from the California Hustler's Gym. Believe it or not, I think the atmosphere is much more sedate and cordial, and the food is hugely improved. At least 2 things are the result of having more GIRLS: better foods and better behavior. But sometimes I miss the drunks trying to leap over the fire-ring, and coming up to the house and falling through a glass table and not realizing I was hemorrhaging to death until Miss Linda unquestioningly served my morning coffee under said table.

Did anyone spot Faith (The Kid) meticulously listing the WOD in chalk on the mat she was using? Did you know that if a parent can't bring her, she rides her bike from home? There is no adult who comes here who has a more serious attitude than The Kid. In 3 years when she is 14 yo we will have a CrossFit Games Teen Champ on our hands. Many thanks to Coach Butler for working with her. I know he loves it.

Holley and Jackie returned after many months un-excused absence. Why do girls always get insulted when the near 80 yo Coach can't remember their names after a 6 months absence? Maybe that's not the fault of my memory.

Saturday at 0730 and 0930. It will be Kayla's 1 Year anniversary and 10 on-line romances since first coming to LHCF. The only appropriate way to celebrate would be to have a crew of male strippers come sing the Happy-Happy Anniversary song. After today, I promise to quit giving Kayla so much free advertisement in this blog.

Also, Rosh Hashanah may interfere with attendance. We cover all the news that's fit to print.

[kosherlinegourmetgifts]

A Comprehensive Guide to Celebrating Rosh Hashanah: The Jewish New Year

Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, is a time of reflection and celebration. But what are the historical and traditions surrounding this significant holiday? And how can you make this Rosh Hashanah truly special for your loved ones?

In this comprehensive guide, we will explore everything you need to know about celebrating Rosh Hashanah, from attending synagogue services, lighting candles, and blowing the shofar, to choosing the perfect gift.

What is Rosh Hashanah and How It is Celebrated?

Rosh Hashanah is a Jewish holiday that marks the start of the new year. It literally means "head of the year" according to the Hebrew calendar. It is one of the holiest days in Judaism.

It marks the beginning of the Ten Days of Awe, a period of intense reflection and repentance that culminates in Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.

According to Jewish tradition, it is during this ten-day period that God decides each person's fate for the coming year. So, Rosh Hashanah is an opportunity to start the year on a positive note, by making amends, praying, and making resolutions for the year to come.

But it's also a time of joy and celebration, with plenty of delicious food, heartfelt greetings, and thoughtful gifts like Gourmet Rosh Hashanah Gifts.

Whether you're Jewish or not, understanding the customs and traditions of Rosh Hashanah can enhance your appreciation for this rich and meaningful holiday.

1. Historical and Spiritual Significance

Rosh Hashanah, which translates to "Head of the Year" in Hebrew, has both historical and spiritual significance. Historically, it commemorates the creation of the world and the beginning of humanity.

Spiritually, it serves as a time for self-reflection, repentance, and renewal, as individuals seek to improve themselves and their relationships with others and with God.

2. When is Rosh Hashanah: Dates and Duration

Rosh Hashanah falls on the first and second days of the Hebrew month of Tishrei, which usually corresponds to September or early October in the Gregorian calendar.

The holiday spans two days, as mandated by Jewish law, except when it coincides with Shabbat, in which case it is observed for one day.

3. Preparation and Symbolic Customs

Tashlich: Prior to Rosh Hashanah, many Jewish communities participate in a symbolic ritual called Tashlich, meaning "casting off." This ritual involves going to a body of water, such as a river or lake, and symbolically casting away sins and regrets by throwing breadcrumbs or small stones into the water.

Candle Lighting: Like other Jewish holidays, Rosh Hashanah begins with candle lighting. Women and girls typically light candles before sunset, ushering in the holiday with blessings and prayers.

Festive Meals: Rosh Hashanah is celebrated with special meals that feature symbolic foods. One of the most well-known customs is eating apples dipped in honey, symbolizing a sweet and fruitful year ahead. Other customary foods include round challah bread (representing the cycle of life), pomegranates (symbolizing abundance and mitzvot), and fish heads (signifying leadership and not being "the tail").

4. Prayers and Synagogue Services

Rosh Hashanah is characterized by extensive synagogue services, where Jews gather to pray, reflect, and seek forgiveness. The central prayer of Rosh Hashanah is the blowing of the shofar, a ram's horn, which serves as a wake-up call for individuals to repent and reconnect with their spiritual roots. The shofar blasts evoke deep emotions and are an integral part of the holiday's observance.

5. Themes of Repentance and Judgment

Rosh Hashanah emphasizes the themes of repentance and judgment. It is believed that during this time, God reviews each individual's actions from the past year and determines their fate for the upcoming year. Jews engage in self-reflection, seeking forgiveness from both God and fellow human beings. Acts of charity, prayer, and repentance are encouraged as means of achieving atonement.

6. Family and Community Celebrations

Rosh Hashanah is a time for families and communities to come together. Many families gather for festive meals, engaging in meaningful conversations, and sharing personal reflections. It is also common to send Rosh Hashanah greeting cards or make phone calls to wish loved ones a happy and healthy new year.

7. Traditions on the Second Day

In some Jewish communities, a distinct set of customs is observed on the second day of Rosh Hashanah. These include the recitation of additional prayers, such as the Akedah (the binding of Isaac) and the symbolic tradition of "new fruit," where a new seasonal fruit is eaten for the first time, accompanied by a special blessing.

Conclusion

Rosh Hashanah is a joyous and spiritually significant holiday that holds deep meaning for Jewish communities worldwide. It serves as an opportunity for introspection, repentance, and renewal, as individuals strive to improve themselves and their relationships with others and with God.

By embracing the rich traditions, customs, and rituals associated with Rosh Hashanah, Jews come together as a community to celebrate the start of a new year filled with hope, blessings, and sweetness.

[buckwilson]

even more barnes-wilson family stuff bc i’m too lazy to turn this into a full fledged fic-

bucky’s jewish, he starts practicing again after breaking free from hydra, but he still mainly does the things stuff he did when he was younger; only really celebrating certain holidays (rosh hashanah, yom kippur, chanukah, and passover), mostly kosher (it’s kind of always been his diet, might as well keep it up), attending shabbat when he can, etc. it’s never anything big, usually just a way to remember his family and roots.

sam still celebrates christmas, he hasn’t been settled down in one place since joining the avengers so it’s mainly just sending gifts to family and friends.

when the two of them get married, and have lil riley-winnifred “winnie” barnes-wilson, they completely up the ante, going all out celebrating jewish and christian holidays, to give winnie a taste of both so she can decide what/if she wants to practice when she’s older.

they have a tradition of getting their christmas tree the day after chanukah ends (usually, if the holidays line up). they’re settled in new orleans, so they get their tree from a christmas tree farm run by a family friend of sam’s, located in the same place it was when he was a kid.

in the years they’ve been getting a tree, sam and bucky typically just pick out the first one they see, before heading home and really focusing on the decorating aspect. but this year, winnie’s three and a half, has lots of opinions, and wants to pick out the tree.

the whole way to the lot, winnie’s babbling about how she wants the “most biggest” tree there is, so santa can see it from miles away and won’t miss their house. the moment they get there and bucky unbuckles winnie from her seat and puts her down, she’s off in search for the perfect tree. bucky sighs and smiles at sam before heading off to follow winnie, even though the lot doesn’t have that many people and is fenced off.

sam means to go follow them too, wants to hear winnie’s baby reasoning for why every tree isn’t “the one”, but he ends up talking with the lot attendant, a friend of his father, catching up on each other’s lives and recounting stories of christmas pasts. the whole time, sam keeps a look of adoration on his face directed at winnie and bucky as they make their way around the lot, judging each of the trees they come across with way too serious looks on their faces.

sam’s laughing at the attendant’s story about the time sam cried after his parents and siblings picked out a tree because it “wasn’t big ‘nough, way too small!”, when he sees bucky pick up a christmas tree and waltz right over to them, winnie’s little hand holding onto the tree in an attempt at helping.

bucky peaks his head from behind the massive tree, absolutely beaming at sam, and matching look on winnie’s face. he jostles the tree in his arms as to point to it. “baby thinks this is the perfect one, what do you think?”

and sam can’t keep the smile off his damn face as he nods, “if baby thinks it’s the one, then i think it’s the one.” winnie’s giggle and bucky’s chuckle are music to his ears, as winnie hugs him, bucky, and then the tree.

the attendant moves to get the tree from bucky to go and strap it to their car, but bucky beats him to it, and hoists the tree over arm before picking winnie up with the other. “you coming’ doll?” bucky calls over his shoulder, making his way to the car. “babydoll already has a movie in mind to watch while we decorate.” sam smile gets impossibly wider and he swears it’s about to split his face in two. “i still have to pay for the tree, dumby.”

[be-gay-do-heists]

hello yall :) the holy month of elul started last night, which is typically a time for contemplation, so since it is impossible for me to stop thinking about leverage, i decided to write an essay. hope anyone interested in reading it enjoys, and that it makes at least a little sense!! spoilers for leverage redemption

-----

Leverage, Judaism, and “Doing the Work”: An Essay for Elul

When it comes to Elul and the approaching High Holidays, Leverage might seem like an odd topic to meditate on.

The TNT crime drama that ran from 2008-2012, and which released a new season this summer following its renewal, centers on a group of found-family thieves who help the victims of corporations and oligarchs (sometimes based on real-world examples), using wacky heists and cons to bring down the rich and powerful. In one episode, the team’s clients want to reclaim their father’s prized Glimt piece that had been stolen in the Shoah and never returned, but aside from this and the throwaway lines and jokes standard for most mainstream television, there’s not a ton textually Jewish about Leverage. However, despite this, I have found that the show has strong resonance among Jewish fans, and lots of potential for analysis along Jewish themes. This tends to focus on one character in particular: the group’s brilliant, pop culture-savvy, and personable hacker, Alec Hardison, played by the phenomenally talented Aldis Hodge.

I can’t remember when or where I first encountered a reading of Hardison as Jewish, but not only is this a somewhat popular interpretation, it doesn’t feel like that much of a leap. In the show itself, Hardison has a couple of the aforementioned throwaway lines that potentially point to him being Jewish, even if they’re only in service of that moment’s grift. It’s hard to point to what exactly makes reading Hardison as Jewish feel so natural. My first guess is the easy way Hardison fits into the traditional paradigms of Jewish masculinity explored by scholars such as Daniel Boyarin (2). Most of the time, the hacker is not portrayed as athletic or physical; he is usually the foil to the team’s more physically-adept characters like fighter Eliot, or thief Parker. Indeed, Hardison’s strength is mental, expressed not only through his computer wizardry but his passions for science, technology, music, popular media, as well as his studious research into whatever scenario the group might come up against. In spite of his self-identification as a “geek,” Hardison is nevertheless confident, emotionally sensitive, and secure in his masculinity. I would argue he is representative of the traditional Jewish masculine ideal, originating in the rabbinic period and solidified in medieval Europe, of the dedicated and thoughtful scholar (3). Another reason for popular readings of Hardison as Jewish may be the desire for more representation of Jews of color. Although mainstream American Jewish institutions are beginning to recognize the incredible diversity of Jews in the United States (4), and popular figures such as Tiffany Haddish are amplifying the experiences of non-white Jews, it is still difficult to find Jews of color represented in popular media. For those eager to see this kind of representation, then, interpreting Hardison, a black man who places himself tangential to Jewishness, in this way is a tempting avenue.

Regardless, all of the above remains fan interpretation, and there was little in the text of the show that seriously tied Judaism into Hardison’s identity. At least, until we got this beautiful speech from Hardison in the very first episode of the renewed show, directed at the character of Harry Wilson, a former corporate lawyer looking to atone for the injustice he was partner to throughout his career:

“In the Jewish faith, repentance, redemption, is a process. You can’t make restitution and then promise to change. You have to change first. Do the work, Harry. Then and only then can you begin to ask for forgiveness. [...] So this… this isn’t the win. It’s the start, Harry.”

I was floored to hear this speech, and thrilled that it explained the reboot’s title, Leverage: Redemption. Although not mentioned by its Hebrew name, teshuvah forms the whole basis for the new season. Teshuvah is the concept of repentance or atonement for the sins one has committed. Stemming from the root shuv/shuva, it carries the literal sense of “return.” In a spiritual context, this usually means a return to G-d, of finding one’s way back to holiness and by extension good favor in the eyes of the Divine. But equally important is restoring one’s relationships with fellow humans by repairing any hurt one has caused over the past year. This is of special significance in the holy month of Elul, leading into Rosh haShanah, the Yamim Noraim, and Yom Kippur, but one can undertake a journey of redemption at any point in time. That teshuvah is a journey is a vital message for Harry to hear; one job, one reparative act isn’t enough to overturn years of being on the wrong side of justice, to his chagrin. As the season progresses, we get to watch his path of teshuvah unfold, with all its frustrations and consequences. Harry grows into his role as a fixer, not only someone who can find jobs and marks for the team, but fixes what he has broken or harmed.

So why was Hardison the one to make this speech?

I do maintain that it does provide a stronger textual basis for reading Hardison as Jewish by implication (though the brief on-screen explanation for why he knows about teshuvah, that his foster-parent Nana raised a multi-faith household, is important in its own merit, and meshes well with his character traits of empathy and understanding for diverse experiences). However, beyond this, Hardison isn’t exactly an archetypical model for teshuvah. In the original series, he was the youngest character of the main ensemble, a hacking prodigy in the start of his adult career, with few mistakes or slights against others under his belt. In one flashback we see that his possibly first crime was stealing from the Bank of Iceland to pay off his Nana’s medical bills, and that his other early hacking exploits were in the service of fulfilling personal desires, with only those who could afford to pay the bill as targets. Indeed, in the middle of his speech, Hardison points to Eliot, the character with the most violent and gritty past who views his work with the Leverage team as atonement, for a prime example of ongoing teshuvah. So while no one is perfect and everyone has a reason for doing teshuvah, this question of why Hardison is the one to give this series-defining speech inspired me to look at his character choices and behavior, and see how they resonate with a different but interrelated Jewish principle, that of tikkun olam. 

Tikkun olam is literally translated as “repairing the world,” and can take many different forms, such as protecting the rights of vulnerable people in society, or giving tzedakah (5). In modern times, tikkun olam is often the rallying cry for Jewish social activists, particularly among environmentalists for whom literally restoring the health of the natural world is the key goal. Teshuvah and tikkun olam are intertwined (the former is the latter performed at an interpersonal level) and both hold a sense of fixing or repairing, but tikkun olam really revolves around a person feeling called to address an injustice that they may have not had a personal hand in creating. Hardison’s sense of a universal scale of justice which he has the power to help right on a global level and his newfound drive to do humanitarian work, picked up sometime after the end of the original series, make tikkun olam a central value for his character. This is why we get this nice bit of dialogue from Eliot to Hardison in the second episode of the reboot, when the latter’s outside efforts to organize international aid start distracting him from his work with the team: “Is [humanitarian work] a side gig? In our line of work, you’re one of the best. But in that line of work… you’re the only one, man.” The character who most exemplifies teshuvah reminds Hardison of his amazing ability to effect change for the better on a huge stage, to do some effective tikkun olam. It’s this acknowledgement of where Hardison can do the most good that prompts the character’s absence for the remainder of the episodes released thus far, turning his side gig into his main gig.

With this in mind, it will be interesting to see where Hardison’s arc for this season goes. Separated from the rest of the team, the hacker still has remarkable power to change the world, because it is, after all, the “age of the geek.” However, he is still one person. For all that both teshuvah and tikkun olam are individual responsibilities and require individual decision-making and effort, the latter especially relies on collective work to actually make things happen. Hardison leaving is better than trying to do humanitarian work and Leverage at the same time, but there’s only so long he can be the “only one” in the field before burning out. I’m reminded of one of the most famous (for good reason) maxims in Judaism:

It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you free to neglect it. (6)

Elul is traditionally a time for introspection and heeding the calls to repentance. After a year where it’s never been easier to feel powerless and drained by everything going on around us, I think it’s worth taking the time to examine what kind of work we are capable of in our own lives. Maybe it’s fixing the very recent and tangible hurts we’ve left behind, like Harry. Maybe it’s the little changes for the better that we make every day, motivated by our sense of responsibility, like Eliot. And maybe it’s the grueling challenge of major social change, like Hardison. And if any of this work gets too much, who can we fall back on for support and healing? Determining what needs repair, working on our own scale and where our efforts are most helpful, and thereby contributing to justice in realistic ways means that we can start the new year fresh, having contemplated in holiday fashion how we can be better agents in the world.

Shana tovah u’metukah and ketivah tovah to all (7), and may the work we do in the coming year be for good!

------

(1) Disclaimer: everybody’s fandom experiences are different, and this is just what I’ve picked up on in my short time watching and enjoying this show with others.

(2) See, for example, the introduction and first chapter of Boyarin’s book Unheroic Conduct: The Rise of Heterosexuality and the Invention of the Jewish Man (I especially recommend at least this portion if you are interested in queer theory and Judaic studies). There he explores the development of Jewish masculinity in direct opposition to Christian masculine standards.

(3) I might even go so far as to place Hardison well within the Jewish masculine ideal of Edelkayt, gentle and studious nobility (although I would hesitate to call him timid, another trait associated with Edelkayt). Boyarin explains that this scholarly, non-athletic model of man did not carry negative associations in the historical Jewish mindset, but was rather the height of attractiveness (Boyarin, 2, 51).

(4) Jews of color make up 20% of American Jews, according to statistics from Be’chol Lashon, and this number is projected to increase as American demographics continue to change: https://globaljews.org/about/mission/. 

(5) Tzedakah is commonly known as righteous charity. According to traditional authority Maimonides, it should be given anonymously and without embarrassment to the person in need, generous, and designed to help the recipient become self-sufficient.

(6) Rabbi Tarfon, Pirkei Avot, 2:16

(7) “A good and sweet year” and “a good inscription [in the Book of Life]”

[hedgy-hog]

Fish Eyes

Phillip Altman x Jewish! GN reader (AFAB if you squint) 

Words: 5.9k

A/N: Shana Tova to everyone who celebrates! I hope this new year brings you light and love. For those who don’t celebrate, I still hope you enjoy this! 

CW/Tags : Mentions of food and alcohol, implications of sex, oral sex (GN receiving), penetrative sex, reader doesn’t practice but is Jewish, mentions of children/babies, Annie and Paul finally have a baby 

Read on AO3!

“A joke is what it is,” you begin, the corners of your mouth turning upwards at the sentiment. “Rosh Hashanah translates to ‘Head of the Year’, so, for a laugh, people place fish heads on the table. Sometimes the brave eat it, eyeballs and all.” Judd shutters at the thought of an eyeball exploding between his teeth, quietly declining the offer before pulling out a chair for Penny and then himself. Phillip’s arm snakes around your waist as he pulls out a chair for you, pulling you close to his side first. You fit almost perfectly; it would be perfect if he wasn’t so damn tall. 

“If you were a fish, I’d eat your eyeballs,” he claims, “eat both of ‘em. Chew them real nice.” The reflex of your hand coming to whack him is abruptly intercepted by his hand encasing your wrist. You’ve smacked him enough already today, he determines, bringing your hand up to his lips to lay a lingering kiss upon your pulse. “Don’t pretend that you wouldn’t eat my eyeballs too.” 

“So, why are we doing this exactly?” 

Some stray breadcrumbs that linger in your hand are already slotted between your fingers, irritating your skin like the most delicious sand. The urge to drop the bread and dip your hand in the water pushes you closer to the pond. Leeds Pond was the closest and the easiest drive, so here you stand, the cool September wind brushing against your skin with a handful of crumbs. 

“To cast away our sins for the new year,” you explain, feeling the friction of the crumbs almost becoming unbearable. “With the beginning of the year, it’s best to start off with a clean slate. With Tashlich, they wash away and you can start anew untainted,” you explain. You keep holding onto the piece of too-stale bread, as much as you wish for it to be taken by the water. You want him here beside you, joining you in the annual ritual you perform. The earth crunches below his feet, the first thing to come into view is his own cupped hand filled with the same bread you brought along. The same amount deposited into yours looks so minuscule in his hand, yet with his size, everything looks tiny. 

“What if I want to remain tainted? What if I don’t give a shit about what God thinks?” he pesters as he always does. A huff expels through your nostrils as you try to control your laughter, shaking your head at his petulance. 

“You really want God to remember Paul catching us in your car? It’s enough that Paul has to remember that,” you sigh, your brows pinching forward. It is a miracle, truly, how you two were able to squeeze into the back seat like that. Judd never returned the Porsche, remembering him cautiously driving it down the street in case Phillip had a fit. Better Judd than some asshole, he chuckled at the scene, simple as that. For now, the Prius is enough. Maybe not a babe magnet, but who would he need to attract when he had you? 

“He enjoyed it, trust me, he’s not getting any action since that kid came along, and it’s not like he hasn’t seen much worse shit from me before.” He’s the one who laughs now, the smack of your unoccupied hand against his sturdy bicep sending him further into hysterics. Catching a glimpse of his pointy teeth, you give in, your shoulders shaking in time in your shared laughter. 

“You’re such an ass. Come on,” you lead him further towards the water, Phillip following at your side. You halt about five feet away from the water, peering over at him from beneath your lashes. With the morning sun casting a golden glow upon his skin and the sight of his windswept hair, he looks almost ethereal. Perhaps he doesn’t need his sins washed away after all. Perhaps this is God’s way of saying he is forgiven for every whacky thing he has ever done. It’s not like it matters. This is simply a tradition in your eyes. “You ready?” 

“Yup,” he nods, accentuating the p with the pop of his tongue. You shoot him a simple countdown from three. At the sound of one, you swing your arm back, letting the bread fly into the pond. The crumbs remain, continuing to irritate the skin between your fingers. The old bread soaks up the muddy water, breathing some kind of life into it once more before it disintegrates for the fish to consume. Even if it’s just tradition, you can’t explain the weight that seems to melt off of your being. A new beginning, a chance to restart. You don’t say the prayer that goes with the ritual; you don’t know it if you’re being honest with yourself. Still, being in the moment, sharing it with him, the prayer isn’t needed. 

Phillip’s piece looks smaller than you remember placing in his palm previously. Your brows furrow, gaze following him once more to see him pressing the remaining piece past his lips and gnawing on the too-hard dough. 

“You’re not supposed to eat it!” you shriek, your hands reaching out for him again in hopes he somehow stops his ministrations. Instead, he keeps chewing, arms reaching out to grab you by the waist and pulling you into his front. He swallows obviously, lips smacking together before releasing an exuberant sigh of satisfaction, noting how yummy it was. You roll your eyes, fingertips skirting against his arms as your hands come to join his own. “Ugh, you’re the worst.” With a hunch to his spine, he bends over just enough to brush his lips against your cheek, his facial hair prickling at your skin. 

“Mmm, but you love me anyway,” he grumbles before his lips meet your skin again. You wish to act fast, to lie and rip yourself away from his grasp spewing how you don’t love him. He’s a menace, and childish, and will do anything to get a rise out of you. Yet it would kill you at this moment to leave his embrace, his arms encasing you so perfectly. The breeze subsides against your frame with your human shield wrapped around you. Your body relaxes the more he holds you, knees going lax as your head comes to rest against his chest. 

“I shouldn’t, but I do,” you sigh, eyes slinking shut as his lips continue their gentle attack upon your skin. Goosebumps push their way up, the warmth from his embrace easing the urge to shiver. With the proper angle of your head, you respond with a kiss upon his jaw in return. Your nose nuzzles into the edge of his goatee. “I really do.” You have no idea how this happened, how you ended up in his arms like this, giving him your whole heart. You couldn’t stand him growing up, the too-tall and lanky immature boy he was, always pestering you and your every move whenever he had the chance. He’d push every button you had and then find more you didn’t know existed, just to push those as well. As you both grew, so did your intolerance of him. It didn’t matter how handsome he became, how he filled out all of his shirts and grew facial hair that would look creepy on any other man that you would come across. 

Well, maybe that wasn’t the case. You know how this happened, as does he. The lock of eyes across the room at a party your friend took you to, the existential dread settling in your belly as he made his way across the room, drink in hand, to talk you up. Your brain screamed at you to run, to do anything to get out of his way. Instead, you stayed firmly planted in place. For once in your life, you didn’t want to knock him straight in the jaw. The first few days, you blamed the alcohol, but when you woke in the same bed night after night for a week straight, you only had yourself to blame. Awestruck by Phillip, you quickly became enamored, as much as you tried to avoid him afterward. Still, he found a way, always showing up where you least expected him.  Something about him, as much as you wished to smack him upside the head, captivated you unlike anything else. His winning smile, contagious laugh, the feel of his hands. The jokes started to become less intolerable. You liked them even. Two years later, here you stay, locked in his arms, his familiar scent the only one to calm you. 

“It’s a good thing I love you too, then,” he presses a final kiss into your skin before pulling away. “Come on, let’s go fuck in the car.” Now you tear away, exasperated with your jaw on the floor. His laughter booms through the sounds of nature and although you go to smack him again, calling him disgusting, you walk back to the car arm-in-arm with your heart about to burst. 

Even though you speed down the road, you’re late. Thank Phillip for that, you grumble at the door as you return Hillary’s welcoming embrace, the Shana Tova still fresh upon her tongue despite not being Jewish at all. He wasn’t kidding with his offer, practically begging you with pursed lips and puppy dog eyes and his hands right where you needed them, that you couldn’t refuse. There were times you had to stop, as close as you were to your precipice because your leg was screaming at you, the muscles cramping up from being stuffed in the backseat of a car that could barely fit two. His hands massaged the muscles each time, trying to alleviate the pain as you rushed to bring each other to ecstasy on top of him. Still attentive, even in your thoroughs of passion. You don’t remember hearing that from others back in high school. Your hair is still mused, clothes still hanging off awkwardly as you feel Hillary’s shoulders shake against you in laughter. 

“Feel free to tell me later,” Hillary pats your hair down, removing herself from you to be engulfed by her youngest and largest child. She yelps when he lifts her feet off the ground, flopping her around like a rag doll. His laughter can fill any space, exuberant and boisterous. It doesn’t end once he puts her down, the older woman having to pat herself down to get her clothes back into place as well. “Hope he didn’t do that with you before.” 

“Mooooom,” Phillip whines, pushing past to go see who would be the schmuck to arrive later than him. The main room is booming with life, and it seems Phillip and you were the schmucks after all. The children chase each other around the room, shouting as they decide who is ‘it’ in their game of tag. The rumble of the china cabinets gives way beneath their little feet, so many of them now. The only one not in the feat of play is the youngest addition bouncing on Annie’s lap. They grow bigger every time you see them, their cheeks more cherubic with each bottle they suckle from and each spoonful of mashed whatever they eat. Today it seems to be peas and carrots, the empty glass jar discarded on the table in front of them. Cole runs into your leg, muttering an apology as you try to weave your way through the madness. Only at the Altman’s, it seems. 

“Ugh, you smell like sex,” Wendy groans as you hug one another. He’s told you all about her, what she did for him growing up. To say you’re thankful is an understatement. If she hadn’t cared for him, time would only tell how much more of a mess he would have been. How much more would he have gotten under your skin? But would that have made you fall for him even harder? You pull her in further, practically squeezing the air out of her lungs with how tightly you hold her. 

“What? Don’t like the smell of knowing your brother gets laid?” you jest, getting a laugh in return. 

“Glad it’s just you,” she speaks through her chuckles. Unraveling yourself from her arms, your hands remain placed on each other, another moment of many that you two have shared in silence. It’s hard to explain these moments, but they ground you both. You share a smile, a silent thank you for giving Phillip the chance to grow, whether it be now or then. 

“Are you doing okay?” you ask. Wendy’s lips purse, surveying the room before giving you a nod. 

“As good as I can be,” she responds, her thumbs making soft circles upon your arms. You study the room as well, trying to take in all of the commotions. Paul is in the corner, glass in hand, having discussions with Judd. With the feeling of your eyes on them, both men pause and look over, shooting you closed-mouth smiles that you return. Annie is no longer in her spot, off to the bathroom probably as Phillip has taken her place bouncing the baby on his knee, cooing at them. Penny is weaving through the room with a covered tray in her hands, the aroma of whitefish permeating the path she walks. She calls your name, shooting you a smile with a hello before disappearing into the dining room. 

“Barry?” 

“Italy,” Wendy is quick to answer, although her tone is anything but okay. From the few times you’ve met him, Barry has never been the most pleasant person. He’s always been distant, a phone attached to his face. You wonder if he’s lost the feeling in his arm from how often he keeps his phone propped up to press against his cheek. You breathe a sigh through your nose, not wishing to push further where you may not be wanted. Your grip on her tightens, giving her arms a gentle squeeze. 

Phillip watches from the couch, eyes tearing away for a few moments to blow raspberries into the baby’s chubby cheeks. The little one giggles, pressing Phillip on further to have his lips vibrate against their super soft skin. He’s never been the one to think of kids. Hell, in many people’s eyes, he still was a kid in some way. But with one in his arms, how he soars for you, and how you look upon his sister with such love in your eyes, he knows he can see a future with you. He swore off his playboy ways, it had been the first thing he promised when he asked you to be his exclusively. For the first time, the urge wasn’t there. There was no itch for new exploration with another, no pull for falling back into old habits. He wanted to be better, truly. At first, he told himself it was solely for you, but he knew it was for himself too. It took time for him to notice how he wished to better himself, but with you helping him along the way, it was quite easy to fall into new and improved ways of living. Your touch was all he needed to sate him, your voice the only one he needed to hear when he woke in the morning and fell asleep at night. It was you, only you. None of this mumbo-jumbo rush for love and marriage like last time. This was real, and he would wait as long as he needed to until you were ready, but he knew. It’s you. You’re it for him. 

“I’m here if you need me, okay? If you just wanna get away and steal a bottle of booze and talk, you know where to find me,” you affirm Wendy gently, not bringing attention to the glint that appears in Wendy’s irises. She nods again, muttering a ‘thanks’ before exiting to help her mother and Linda in the kitchen. You bounce back over to Phillip, bending over to plant a fat one upon the top of his head. Looking up, his gaze meets yours, pointy canines peaking out beneath pink lips. 

“Had a good talk?” he asks, continuing to bounce the baby on his knee. The tiny human grumbles and squeals, enjoying the gentle rocking of their uncle Phillip. You nod, hand reaching out to brush through his hair. You untangle a few knots you put there in the first place an hour earlier, his lips pressing against your palm during a brief pause. 

“Yeah. Are you stealing babies now? Thought it was just my underwear.” You follow in his footsteps with him being unable to keep his hands off of you, taking the opportunity to continue the soft attack on his hair. He leans into your touch as you preen him, eyes threatening to shut at the feeling of your fingers on him. 

“Ha ha. Very funny, babe,” he drawls, sarcasm laced with his tongue. “I’ll have you know I only borrowed this baby. I may have stolen two thousand dollars from Paul and Judd, but babies are where I cross the line.” You scoff, feigning offense as you sink into the couch next to him. With a cock of his brow, a quiet invitation, he places the baby upon your lap. You wonder how long Annie has been away as you place your hands on the baby’s hips to keep them steady. You don’t mind, though. Taking care of babies may be the most tiring thing in the world, as much as people enjoy parenthood. Annie deserves a break. With that thought, you bring them closer to your chest, letting their back rest against your front. 

“Hey there, Bubba,” you coo, the baby cooing back, “Uncle Philly isn’t giving you too much of a hard time, is he? I know how annoying he could be.” Beside you, Phillip huffs, a tuft of hair blowing from his eyes with the power of the air expelled. You giggle, leaning forward to land the softest of kisses upon the baby’s temple. 

You can’t lie to yourself when you say you haven’t thought of this. Of course, you have. You swore to yourself you didn’t need the hassle nor the expenses. The Altmans had enough kids for a million lifetimes and none of them had to go home with you. But these are the things you dream of when you’re not in control, the images of waking groggy at the sound of crying, only for Phillip to wake up beside you, mumbling that he’s got it. You both pad out of bed to calm the wailing child, together, like you do everything. With a sleepy smile, you watch him rock them until their fussiness subsides, hand coming to rest upon his back and rub in soothing circles. 

You’re a great dad, your dream self muses. He smiles, dazed as he remains half asleep. 

You’re pretty great too, dream Phillip responds, slowly placing the baby back in their crib to keep them from stirring. You blink away the memory with the baby still in your lap, sighing once your laughter ceases. No one has ever made you laugh so much. You never wish to stop laughing. The baby laughs as well and with that, you know. He’s it for you. 

“What the fuck is that?” Phillip blurts out at the fish head placed on the perfectly set table. There’s enough food to feed a village five times the size of those starting to gather at the table. In the middle of the table lay the head from the whitefish being served, mouth agape and eyeballs still intact. 

“Watch your mouth, there are kids here!” Judd hisses, glancing back and forth at all of the food, “but seriously, what is that?” 

“A joke is what it is,” you begin, the corners of your mouth turning upwards at the sentiment. “Rosh Hashanah translates to ‘Head of the Year’, so, for a laugh, people place fish heads on the table. Sometimes the brave eat it, eyeballs and all.” Judd shutters at the thought of an eyeball exploding between his teeth, quietly declining the offer before pulling out a chair for Penny and then himself. Phillip’s arm snakes around your waist as he pulls out a chair for you, pulling you close to his side first. You fit almost perfectly; it would be perfect if he wasn’t so damn tall. 

“If you were a fish, I’d eat your eyeballs,” he claims, “eat both of ‘em. Chew them real nice.” The reflex of your hand coming to whack him is abruptly intercepted by his hand encasing your wrist. You’ve smacked him enough already today, he determines, bringing your hand up to his lips to lay a lingering kiss upon your pulse. “Don’t pretend that you wouldn’t eat my eyeballs too.” 

“I wouldn’t,” you hiss, shivering at his lips remaining on your skin. The family pays no attention, thankfully, all taking their seats and settling in. Even if they were watching, it wouldn’t deter him. He lays his cheek in your hand, nuzzling into your palm like a kitten. 

“You’ve had other balls of mine in your mouth. Why would this be any different?” That seems to catch the attention of Paul, the sound of him choking on his wine. 

“Jesus, Phillip. Not in front of the kids!” he chastises once he catches his breath. The youngest brother chuckles, vibrations from his mouth sending shivers up your spine. Ugh! Not now, anytime or anywhere but getting ready to sit down for Rosh Hashanah dinner. Your eyes drill into his, giving a silent warning of what he’s doing to you despite the bullshit coming from his mouth. He offers you a wink and another kiss. He waits for you to sit before taking his seat beside you, instantly joining your hands together underneath the table. You intertwine your fingers with him, the warmth from his skin soothing the slight irritation in between your fingers from Tashlich. His thumb maps out invisible shapes on the back of your hand, you giving him a gentle squeeze in response. 

Hillary taps at her glass with a fork to hush the commotion, clearing her throat before continuing: 

“Does anyone know the prayer?” The room is silent, eyes casting glances towards one another in hopes someone else would know. How would they know if they rarely practiced? Hillary wasn’t Jewish and Mort was an atheist, you were told. Still, tradition runs strong as it does with you. Even then, tradition and all, you’re stumped. You know the stories, the general gist, but the last time you went to synagogue you fell asleep as the songs droned on in a language you will never understand. From the corner of your eye, Wendy shakes her head. Linda purses her lips, just happy to be here besides Hillary. Paul continues to sip on his wine, Annie eyeing the food that cools more by the second. Judd quietly asks Penny, her wild hair shaking along with her head. You shrug when eyes land upon you. You know about fish heads but not about the prayer. Typical. “Alright. Let’s eat then!” 

The meal is lively, the plethora of deliciousness overwhelming you quite early on. Still, you take on the hard feat of trying everything you can. Stories you have never heard before having the family's cheeks burning and looking away, begging whoever shares not to say anymore fills the space as you indulge in all of the food sprawled out on the table. Your insides hurt from laughing so hard, honey still lingering on your lips from the dipped apples you all shared. Your tongue craves the citrus that the whitefish holds in its tender flesh where your brain screams for more tzemmies, the sweetness the sweet potato brings being like the warmest of hugs upon your palette. Phillip’s hand never leaves yours, fingers toying with each other under the table as you chow down. 

You manage to reach over with your opposite hand and pinch him when he mentions how the round challah “looks familiar”. 

“Ow! What? It’s true!” he tries to reason, knowing he would try to ease the pain if his other hand wasn’t locked in yours. 

“It’s supposed to symbolize the circle of life, not an ass, you idiot,” you grumble, attempting to hide your laughter. You swear he does this on purpose to spur you on. It used to work all those years ago. But that was when you weren’t holding hands under the table and dreaming of families. Still, he tries. He enjoys it when you snap. You ride him that much harder when you snap, your hands rougher on him than usual, the word “brat” on your tongue making his entire body quiver. He pushes down those thoughts the moment they arise, his composure collected as he shrugs and reaches for his piece

“I’m just saying it’s familiar! You were the one that said it looked like an ass,” his words are muffled halfway through as he shoves the too-large piece in his mouth, the extra bits puffing his cheek out like a hamster storing food in their pouches as he chews. Later on, you shoot him a glance when he asks whether or not he should spit or swallow the pomegranate seeds that are passed around the table, winking at you and mouthing an I know what you’d do. Your face burns at that and you squeeze his hand a bit too tight. Oh, he’s asking for it now. 

Although you’re stuffed, dessert makes your mouth water. Your wide eyes wander the span of the table, taking in everything you wish to devour. The apple honey cake calls to you, the apple glaze dripping down the sponge-like the sweetest of raindrops. Although your stomach pains you, you wish to lick the plate clean. The roasted and caramelized dates are to die for and they are the first thing you reach for, the soft flesh giving way beneath your teeth and practically melting on your tongue. You fight back a groan at the flavor, feeling his eyes surveying you at such a reaction. You turn to take in his raised brows, his teeth worrying into his bottom lip to hide the hint of a grin. 

“Good, huh?” he nudges, leaning forward to steal the flavor from your lips in a chaste kiss. Involuntarily, you quietly groan against him, the taste of the honey cake upon his lips mingling with the dates. You nod as he pulls away, eyes drooping as the food finally catches up to you. You can never help yourself with food like this. Too much of it puts you right to sleep, but time and time again you make the same mistakes of stuffing your face with it. “You wanna go lay down?” After a moment of contemplation, you nod again, slowly pushing your seat back to rise from it. Phillip rises beside you, your hands still joined after all this time as he dismisses the both of you and leads you to his childhood bedroom. 

It’s still odd after all of the times you’ve seen his room. Each time it strikes you for someone like Phillip, how normal his room looked. Nothing changed from before he moved out, light blue walls were scattered with posters of baseball players you could only name because their names are printed on the glossy paper. His little league trophies span his windows, something you would have certainly laughed at if you had a relationship like this back in high school. He leads you to his double bed, somehow too small for the both of you. Still, you make it work. Finally, your hands unravel, palm somewhat sweaty. You don’t mind, really. A simple brush of your hand against your clothes and it’s wiped away. You kick off your shoes, letting them land wherever they do naturally, and climb into bed. Although it is his room, the sheets no longer smell like him like you expect them to, the lingering of laundry detergent given months to air out meeting your nose. Phillip slides in beside you once his shoes are kicked off, scooping you into his embrace underneath the covers. 

“You don’t have to stay with me,” you murmur, although your face nuzzling into his gives way to something entirely different. His hand comes to rest along your back, thumb running along your spine. 

“Well, that’s just too bad that I want to,” he responds, his chin coming to rest upon the top of your head. “Why would I wanna go back down there when I could lay here with you?” With anyone else, it would already be too hot. Phillip is a furnace and you feel the beginning of perspiration prickling upon the soles of your feet. But with him, it is the perfect shared heat, your own private sauna to soothe your body. 

“I won’t be much fun if I’m asleep,” you begin to slur, eyes fluttering shut as his hand travels downwards to rub your lower back. Phillip hums, the vibration of his ribcage against your cheek. 

“Then it’ll be fun waking you up with my face between your legs,” he purrs, your limp hand coming to flop against his chest in a mock smack. “Ow, that hurt real bad. Think you left a bruise.” You huff through your nose, settling further into him as the food coma begins to consume you fully. “Sleep, baby,” he whispers. You do. 

He stays there for a long time holding you, his ministrations continuing even as your breathing steadies. He’s going to have to wake you up soon for the candle lighting, but as long as the sun remains crested over the horizon, you can rest. He focuses on his breathing, watching your top half rise and fall with the movement of his chest. With a bloated belly and a light amount of drool leaking into the fabric of his shirt, you still are the most stunning thing he has ever laid his eyes on. He lived to pester you in high school, striving every day to watch you storm off so he could study the way your feet stomped across the floor. He lived to see your face scrunch up as you cursed him to the high heavens. No one got a rile out of you more than he did. It was his mission in life to bug you if that was the only way he could be around you. Now you lay in his arms, trusting him as you sleep. He smiles at the realization. 

“Hopefully by next Rosh Hashanah, you have something on your finger. But we’ll take it as slow as we need to. I only said ‘hopefully’ because if you reject me, I may as well die,” he speaks softly as if not to wake you. “None of this shit made sense before you. I don’t know how to explain it. I just -- I love you. I’ll tell you that every day until you get sick of me. Hopefully, that never happens.” Your lips smack in your sleep, wiggling a little to get more comfortable. “But you’re stuck with me. I’m yours.” 

As the sun begins to set, he keeps to his word. You jolt awake with the feeling of his mouth on you. How he was able to remove your clothing while you slept is a wonder all in itself, but such a thought doesn’t matter when your fingers are gripped tight in his hair, pulling him further onto you as you work your hips against his mouth. You whimper for him not to stop, to keep going. Just like that, Phillip. He chuckles against you, the vibration of his mouth blinding you with ecstasy as you explode against his tongue. When he steers home, his hips pressing deliciously into yours as he stretches you, you do all you can to stay quiet. The family is still downstairs and in a few moments, you will need to join them. Your teeth sink into your lip hard enough to draw blood, the indentation of a bruise starting on the underside. You encase him in you, your arms and legs wrapping around him for dear life as he groans and pants in your ear. The bed creaks louder than you would like, your skin burning at the thought of the comments you will get once you return downstairs. The thought is torn from you when you hear him whine about how fucking good you feel, both of you climbing towards your orgasms. It hits you first, your teeth sinking into his shoulder to muffle your screams as you squeeze around him, your body begging him to stay inside you forever as his orgasm blinds him with white-hot light. He, too, cries into your skin, peppering kisses along his path as his hands soothe you. Your forehead rests against his once his lips leave your skin, panting into each other’s open mouths as you gain some sense of semblance back. Your lips meet his in swift pecks, your legs dropping from his hips and splaying out beneath him. 

“We should go down. The sun’s about to set,” you utter against his lips. Phillip groans, throwing his weight onto you and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His lips latch onto your skin, sucking a mark into the flesh that is certain to leave a bruise. 

“Can’t we just stay here with me inside of you?” he grumbles against your neck. Your hand moves upwards to brush the knots out of his hair, running them against his scalp. 

“At home, Philly,” you reason with a kiss to the top of his head. “Once we get home, you can stay inside me for as long as you’d like.” Groaning again, Phillip lays kiss upon kiss upon you. “Come on. We gotta get dressed.” 

Your back rests alongside Phillip’s rumpled front as the family gathers in the main room. They have given Cole the responsibility of lighting the candles, his mother guiding his hand to prevent any injuries. The flame flickers as it transfers from candle to candle, the starter candle being blown out by a gargantuan puff of air from the little boy’s cheeks. Your hands rest along his arms as you take in the sight, the only light in the room being from the illuminated candles. 

“Do you remember the prayer for this?” Hillary’s voice breaks the stream of focus from across the room. Again, you’re at a loss. If only you went to Hebrew school when it was offered to you. You shake your head although not many can see it, Phillip’s arms encasing you further into him. 

“No. I know you’re supposed to cover your eyes while you say the prayer, though. Maybe we should make one up; just talk or something,” you suggest. His lips find their way to the top of your head, his kisses feather-light against your scalp. 

“I got this, Mom,” Wendy volunteers, taking a few moments before beginning. Your hands leave his frame to rest over your eyes, encasing the world around you in total darkness. You focus on your breathing, feeling how your body moves against his. Wendy speaks of what comes with a new year, second chances, thirds, fourths, millions of chances. She speaks of how newness is refreshing and much needed. She speaks of how with newness, it is still important to hold onto the good of the old, the thankfulness and loved shared that has been surrounded by everyone in the last year. She thanks whatever power above for the happy moments of the last year, begs for forgiveness for the bad, and for the chance to start anew. Phillip’s eyes close on his own, his hands not leaving your frame. His fingertips trace shapes into your hips as he takes in his sister’s words, the kisses upon your head, although slowing, never ceasing. Explaining his gratitude is difficult, showcasing his love is not. 

“I’m thankful for you,” he whispers for only you to ear, lips ghosting against your temple now. “I love you.” You exhale slowly through your nose, the apples of your cheeks beginning to ache from the smile you wear as you slink further into his form. One hand leaves your eye, making sure to keep it squeezed shut as you reach for him. Unraveling one hand from your body, you bring his hand up to your lips. His palm is attacked with the gentlest of kisses, over and over and over with a silent response to his daily confessions. 

I’m thankful for you too, your lips spell out, I love you too. 

“Oh, and I’m stealing some of the dates to bring home.” 

And if you couldn’t love him more, there it is. 

You’d eat his eyeballs if he was a fish, too. 

[byrdierose]

I’m just. Overcome with gratitude this year. Things are not perfect for me yet but they are a hell of a lot better than they were last year! And it’s like, every year, I get to Rosh Hashanah and I am overcome with how much I love being alive! I love myself! I love being a Jew! I love being queer! I love that I get to be on this earth at the same time as all the people I love! And I hope I get to experience that for a long time yet!

I am healing! I am important! I am loved and I love everyone!

If no one has told you yet today, you are loved! You are important! And your life is worth every scar it gives you!

[mariacallous]

In the U.S., pumpkin pie is almost mandatory at Thanksgiving, while pumpkin makes occasional appearances in sweet breads and sometimes a creamy soup during the fall and winter. But pumpkin holds a special place in the stomachs — and history — of Sephardim. This versatile fruit is used in cakes, soups, stews, puddings, jams, pastries and pancakes. It can be savory or sweet and baked, boiled, roasted, steamed or stuffed. And, yes, it’s a fruit much like avocados, tomatoes and squash. 

Pumpkins have been around as a cultivated food for a surprisingly long time. Native Americans grew them for nearly 6,000 years before pumpkins became one of the first New World foods introduced to Europeans by Spanish explorers in the early 1500s. 

During the 16th century, the Jews remaining in Iberia were nearly all conversos, converts to Christianity, with many secretly hanging onto their Judaism, often through food. During the 16th and 17th centuries, these secret Jews continued to flee Spain’s inquisition across Europe to the Ottoman Empire and throughout the Mediterranean and Middle East, bringing with them their love of this new ingredient, pumpkin. As Gil Marks notes in “The Encyclopedia of Jewish Food:”The presence of pumpkin in early Mediterranean dishes is usually a sign of Sephardi influence.” You can read more about the history of Sephardim and pumpkin here.

From this Sephardi influence, Italian Jews were among the first to robustly incorporate pumpkin into their cuisine, becoming known for their pumpkin-stuffed ravioli and tortellini, puddingsand sweet pumpkin fritters (fritelle di zucca). Sephardim who found new homes in what is now Turkey and Greece made many pumpkin dishes, including filling flakey Ottoman pastries to make borekas de kalavasa(pumpkin in Ladino, the language of Sephardim) and deep-fried pumpkin fritters or sweet pancakes, both called bimuelos de kalavasa. There are, by the way, different versions of the name,which include bumuelos, birmuelos and, in Central America, buñuelos. 

We can’t talk about pumpkins without bringing up its 21st-century status as a “super food” acclaimed for its nutrient-dense benefits. Pumpkin flesh is fat-free, and high in fiber, potassium and vitamin C. It provides antioxidants and is one of the best sources of beta carotene. All this adds up to being good for hearts, eyesight, weight control and cancer-fighting. Canned pumpkin still has these healthy benefits including 7 grams of fiber per cup, more than two slices of whole wheat bread. In fact, unlike most fruits and vegetables, nutritionally, canned pumpkin is usually as good, or even better, than the homemade puree… and a whole lot less work.

Sephardim recognize pumpkin’s importance during the fall holidays. At the traditional Sephardi Rosh Hashanah seder, one of the special seven blessings is symbolized by pumpkin (or its close relative, squash). At Sukkot, not only is pumpkin a fall crop, but the many seeds symbolize fertility and abundance. These pumpkin patties, bimuelos de kalavasa, are perfect for Hanukkah along with the deep-fried version. 

So this year, for your very American Thanksgiving dinner and potato latke-laden Hanukkah, let these pumpkins patties bring an easy and tasty bite of Sephardi history to the table.

Notes:

To refrigerate or freeze, put cooked patties in an airtight container with layers separated by parchment paper.  Can be refrigerated for four days or frozen for up to a month. 

To reheat, defrost slightly, just enough to separate patties. Place directly on a parchment-lined baking sheet or on top of wire cooling racks placed on a baking sheet. Heat in 350°F oven for 8-10 minutes.

1/4 cup granulated sugar can be used instead of maple syrup.

Date syrup (aka silan) is available at Middle Eastern and some kosher markets.

These are best when served immediately, but the cooked patties can be kept warm in a 200°F oven on top of wire cooling racks placed on a baking sheet for up to 40 minutes.