I don’t remember this particular Rosh Hashanah, although I know exactly who would have been there.

There were five of us in my family: my parents, my two brothers, and me, along with my grandparents Karl and Mathilde and my paternal grandparents. Nine people. That was pretty much our family, and year after year, the holiday table rarely changed.

I never thought of it as small. It was just our family.

And I certainly wasn’t thinking about any of that in this photograph. I was a little girl with my arms wrapped around my grandfather’s neck, happy to be held by him. For most of my life, that is what I saw when I looked at it.

Rosh Hashanah is usually described as the Jewish New Year, which is true, but doesn’t quite explain it. It isn’t the Jewish version of New Year’s Eve, a celebration of putting one year behind us and starting fresh. Rosh Hashanah begins the High Holy Days, a time when we look back at the year we have lived, reflect on who........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)