It’s September—if you can believe it—and Rosh Hashana is only two weeks away. I have always loved this holiday, with its eternal promise of hope and new beginnings. Fond memories from my youth include taking days off school to go to the synagogue where I would see my Jewish friends and family, in a town where I was often the only Jewish student in my class, everyone dressed in their holiday best. And here’s a fun little extra—I am a honey cake snob. Which makes little sense as I know with 1000% surety that any honey cake I ever had as a child was born in a Manischewitz box, or from the grocery store, ready-made in its tacky little tinfoil loaf pan, plastic wrap intact, labeled Manischewitz, and stamped with a suggested 12th of Never expiration date. Like Twinkies. Or fruit cake. But Jewish. By all reason, I have absolutely no right to be a honey cake snob, yet, here we are. Memories. Honey Cake. Me. Snob!
Teen's Honey Cake from Our Community Table
Teen's Honey Cake from Our Community Table
Teen's Honey Cake from Our Community Table
It’s September—if you can believe it—and Rosh Hashana is only two weeks away. I have always loved this holiday, with its eternal promise of hope and new beginnings. Fond memories from my youth include taking days off school to go to the synagogue where I would see my Jewish friends and family, in a town where I was often the only Jewish student in my class, everyone dressed in their holiday best. And here’s a fun little extra—I am a honey cake snob. Which makes little sense as I know with 1000% surety that any honey cake I ever had as a child was born in a Manischewitz box, or from the grocery store, ready-made in its tacky little tinfoil loaf pan, plastic wrap intact, labeled Manischewitz, and stamped with a suggested 12th of Never expiration date. Like Twinkies. Or fruit cake. But Jewish. By all reason, I have absolutely no right to be a honey cake snob, yet, here we are. Memories. Honey Cake. Me. Snob!