Sunday’s storm, which brought daily life in the New York metropolitan area to a standstill, was the first truly major snowstorm we’ve experienced in quite some time. It immediately brought back memories of the blizzard of 1996, which dumped nearly 30 inches of snow across Connecticut over a three-day period. I distinctly remember that year because there was still a trace of snow on our lawn on June 1.

I also vividly recall a major storm in 1983 that struck on Shabbat—the weekend of my sister-in-law’s wedding. For a while, it was a toss-up as to whether the wedding would even take place that Sunday. Somehow, everyone managed to get to the hall, and the wedding turned out to be lovely.

But when I think about snowstorms, my mind always drifts back further—to childhood, and to the pure joy of knowing that school would be canceled because of a snow day.

There was a particular kind of magic to waking up on a winter morning and realizing it was a snow day.

You didn’t check an app or scroll through email. You listened. The wind rattling the windows. The scrape of a shovel somewhere down the block. The radio playing softly in the kitchen while coffee........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)