“Ol’ man river, dat ol’ man river, He must know sumpin’, but don’t say nothin’. He jus’ keep rollin’, He jus’keep rollin’ along.”

– “Ol’ Man River” Showboat, Oscar Hammerstein II (1927)

“I can wait, Doctor. The river saved me, you know, Tashlich… I’ll explain when I see you.”

I know Tashlich is a Rosh Hashanah ritual in which we throw bread, symbolizing our sins, into the water to give us a clean slate for the new year. I know Esther, who left me the message, is a perspective new patient whom I can’t see for three weeks because of Sukkot, so I need to ascertain if she can safely wait that long.

Apparently, the answer is yes. I don’t begin to comprehend the rest of her message.

Tashlich saved her life? How? I’ll have to wait three weeks to find out.

Growing up in Washington Heights, Tashlich had been incredibly convenient. Walk three blocks east or west, you’re at a river.

As a toddler, in the early 50s, the Heights was awash with Jews. Every Shul had its own particular self-selected spot on the river. Like the Easter Parade, we promenaded past each other in our holiday finery offering curt Germanic nods in acknowledgment.

As a teen, in the late 60s, the Jews had largely washed out of the Heights. Tashlich once, almost cost me my life. I dawdled too........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)