The kindness of Jewish strangers in a Brookline neighborhood guided me through Rosh Hashanah on September 18, 2009. I began the Jewish new year 5770 with a walk from Cleveland Circle Station down Beacon Street to Coolidge Corner.
Men wearing white, long sleeve button down shirts and women wearing modest skirts leisurely strolled to synagogue. The crisp breeze and flame colored foliage welcomed Autumn. For the first time I attended prayer services at the Young Israel of Brookline synagogue on Green Street. Putting on their coats, Orthodox families wished each other happy new year, good Shabbat, and goodnight.
I asked a mother when there would be blessings for red wine and challah. Oh, everyone here goes home to make the blessings, she said, and without hesitation she invited me to her home to make Kiddush. She took a shortcut to get to her house on the hill behind Coolidge Corner Theatre. Jewish neighbors waved hello to us from their porches.
Entering their home, I realized that Jewish holidays should be shared with the community. As my parents observed Rosh Hashanah in Dallas, Texas, I felt grateful to be the guest of a Jewish family in Boston. Strangers no longer, together we sipped Kedem green grape juice and dipped challah in orange blossom honey. After an Ashkenazi dinner with asparagus and potato lamb soup, I mentioned I would need to begin my walk home.
My gracious hosts guided me to Corey Road. Crossing Beacon Street, I continued on Dean Road and crossed the stone bridge over the Green Line D railroad tracks leading to Reservoir Station. Usually, I would take Bus 51 up the hill. But the evening was so pleasant that I decided I could find a new path home. Unfortunately, I wore the wrong shoes, glitter plastic jellies, for a trek. The concrete sidewalks appeared clean of all glass and debris. Deeming the path safe enough to go barefoot, I walked in stockings to give my blistering toes a break from the shoes.
If tonight I can find my way through the darkness, I thought, then this year will open new paths for me. Eliot Street sounded familiar enough. But I did not know where to turn next at Crafts Road. Luckily, another Jewish family was on their way out of a Rosh Hashanah dinner party. When I asked for directions to the neighborhood near Larz Anderson Park, the mother offered me a ride. Seeing her children in the backseat of the car, it seemed safe to accept a ride from a stranger, and I gladly accepted.
Neighbors in Brookline gave me so much my first Rosh Hashanah in Boston. I could find my path through the city through the kindness of strangers. Trust started the new year on the right foot.
Men wearing white, long sleeve button down shirts and women wearing modest skirts leisurely strolled to synagogue. The crisp breeze and flame colored foliage welcomed Autumn. For the first time I attended prayer services at the Young Israel of Brookline synagogue on Green Street. Putting on their coats, Orthodox families wished each other happy new year, good Shabbat, and goodnight.
I asked a mother when there would be blessings for red wine and challah. Oh, everyone here goes home to make the blessings, she said, and without hesitation she invited me to her home to make Kiddush. She took a shortcut to get to her house on the hill behind Coolidge Corner Theatre. Jewish neighbors waved hello to us from their porches.
Entering their home, I realized that Jewish holidays should be shared with the community. As my parents observed Rosh Hashanah in Dallas, Texas, I felt grateful to be the guest of a Jewish family in Boston. Strangers no longer, together we sipped Kedem green grape juice and dipped challah in orange blossom honey. After an Ashkenazi dinner with asparagus and potato lamb soup, I mentioned I would need to begin my walk home.
My gracious hosts guided me to Corey Road. Crossing Beacon Street, I continued on Dean Road and crossed the stone bridge over the Green Line D railroad tracks leading to Reservoir Station. Usually, I would take Bus 51 up the hill. But the evening was so pleasant that I decided I could find a new path home. Unfortunately, I wore the wrong shoes, glitter plastic jellies, for a trek. The concrete sidewalks appeared clean of all glass and debris. Deeming the path safe enough to go barefoot, I walked in stockings to give my blistering toes a break from the shoes.
If tonight I can find my way through the darkness, I thought, then this year will open new paths for me. Eliot Street sounded familiar enough. But I did not know where to turn next at Crafts Road. Luckily, another Jewish family was on their way out of a Rosh Hashanah dinner party. When I asked for directions to the neighborhood near Larz Anderson Park, the mother offered me a ride. Seeing her children in the backseat of the car, it seemed safe to accept a ride from a stranger, and I gladly accepted.
Neighbors in Brookline gave me so much my first Rosh Hashanah in Boston. I could find my path through the city through the kindness of strangers. Trust started the new year on the right foot.