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When I was growing up near Inkster and Main in the North End of Winnipeg, the fun and games of summer gave way in late August to my mother scrambling to prepare us for September. We’d be dragged to department stores like Clark’s at the Northgate Mall with the dreaded supply list from our Hebrew school to hunt down the Hilroy notebooks, glues, pastes, Laurentien coloured pencils and not-too-sharp scissors required to experience a proper elementary school education.

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Shopping for new Buster Brown’s at The Bootery, parkas and pants at Oretzki’s, winter gloves and scarves and toques at Woolworth’s also included an additional trip for the ritual fitting of new suits — not needed for school, but for the High Holidays.

The whirlwind of a new grade, new classroom, and new schoolmates was accompanied by a countdown to Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, a time to be at synagogue with family and the community in solemn observance of centuries of religious tradition and practices. And solemn it was — with the highlight being hearing the Shofar, the ram’s horn, herald our covenant with eloheynu v’elohey avoteynu — our G-d and the G-d of our forefathers. It looked easy to do — pucker up and blow! — but we saw many a scholar humbled in the effort to master the........

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