Growing up, I hated honey.
It was too sweet and too gooey.
Whenever the New Year rolled around my Hebrew school teachers would dip apple slices into honey and serve them to all the kids. I would just stare at the strands of honey running off the apple. It looked too similar to the snot that would run down my classmates' noses when the weather was cold.
So, I always opted out of eating honey; to my teachers I’d say, “just apple please.”
I would sit around during the holiday wishing for all the food we’d consume during Hanukkah instead. Chocolate gelt, latkes, and sufganiyot were unbeatable.
On top of it, the story of the Maccabees was also a clear favourite—Jews overcoming insurmountable odds and being victorious? It was the hero story we loved to learn.
But Rosh Hashanah was different. I didn’t understand the stories, and I didn’t understand the food.
In fact, I found the Torah reading during this time of year deeply troubling and horribly barbaric.
We had to learn that Abraham was about to sacrifice his son Isaac to show his absolute devotion to God? And it was all a test by God to see how devoted Abraham was? I couldn’t believe it! How cruel. I would just sit in synagogue and imagine my parents willfully giving me up, as if I was nothing but a sacrificial lamb.
It’s safe to say Rosh Hashanah wasn’t my favourite holiday.
As the years passed, I grew to love other holidays besides Hanukkah. Passover has now claimed the top spot.
And then one day, in my teenage years, when I was celebrating Rosh Hashanah at my family's close friends’, I took a leap of faith and dipped my apple slice into the honey. To my aged eyes the texture of the honey no longer looked like snot but rather a warm amber jewel.
That first bite was delicious—the hit of the rich, golden, syrup-like honey and then the crunch of the tart McIntosh apple was a match made in heaven. I couldn’t believe what I had missed out on for so many years.
And with my taste buds finally maturing, so did my understanding of the Torah.
I can definitively say that I would never sacrifice my child to prove my devotion to God but Abraham’s story makes us reflect on what values we devote ourselves to. If not of faith, then maybe it’s devotion to family, to community, to humanity.
And it’s this teaching that is incredibly universal and forever relevant.
When I sit in synagogue this year and reflect on my goals for the 365 days ahead, I will always hold steadfast to the lessons of Abraham—to devote ourselves to something is a sacrifice and a price worth paying when the cause is worthy, even if that means one has to eat honey every now and then.
I now look forward to this time of reflection when Rosh Hashanah comes along, and that first sweet bite of that ever-delicious honey and apple.
Growing up, I hated honey.
It was too sweet and too gooey.
Whenever the New Year rolled around my Hebrew school teachers would dip apple slices into honey and serve them to all the kids. I would just stare at the strands of honey running off the apple. It looked too similar to the snot that would run down my classmates' noses when the weather was cold.
So, I always opted out of eating honey; to my teachers I’d say, “just apple please.”
I would sit around during the holiday wishing for all the food we’d consume during Hanukkah instead. Chocolate gelt, latkes, and sufganiyot were unbeatable.
On top of it, the story of the Maccabees was also a clear favourite—Jews overcoming insurmountable odds and being victorious? It was the hero story we loved to learn.
But Rosh Hashanah was different. I didn’t understand the stories, and I didn’t understand the food.
In fact, I found the Torah reading during this time of year deeply troubling and horribly barbaric.
We had to learn that Abraham was about to sacrifice his son Isaac to show his absolute devotion to God? And it was all a test by God to see how devoted Abraham was? I couldn’t believe it! How cruel. I would just sit in synagogue and imagine my parents willfully giving me up, as if I was nothing but a sacrificial lamb.
It’s safe to say Rosh Hashanah wasn’t my favourite holiday.
As the years passed, I grew to love other holidays besides Hanukkah. Passover has now claimed the top spot.
And then one day, in my teenage years, when I was celebrating Rosh Hashanah at my family's close friends’, I took a leap of faith and dipped my apple slice into the honey. To my aged eyes the texture of the honey no longer looked like snot but rather a warm amber jewel.
That first bite was delicious—the hit of the rich, golden, syrup-like honey and then the crunch of the tart McIntosh apple was a match made in heaven. I couldn’t believe what I had missed out on for so many years.
And with my taste buds finally maturing, so did my understanding of the Torah.
I can definitively say that I would never sacrifice my child to prove my devotion to God but Abraham’s story makes us reflect on what values we devote ourselves to. If not of faith, then maybe it’s devotion to family, to community, to humanity.
And it’s this teaching that is incredibly universal and forever relevant.
When I sit in synagogue this year and reflect on my goals for the 365 days ahead, I will always hold steadfast to the lessons of Abraham—to devote ourselves to something is a sacrifice and a price worth paying when the cause is worthy, even if that means one has to eat honey every now and then.
I now look forward to this time of reflection when Rosh Hashanah comes along, and that first sweet bite of that ever-delicious honey and apple.