In with the new -- welcome to Rosh Hashanah 5768

It is the midst of High Holy Day season as it were. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur have passed. Sukkot begins tomorrow night with Simchat Torah and Shemini Atzeret immediately following.

I davened with Chabad in Tyson's Corner for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Rabbi (Levi) Deitsch had arranged to use one of the large function rooms at the Westpark Hotel, as has been done in years past. The Westpark is certainly not at the same level as say, the Sheraton or Marriott down the street, nor these business hotels like Courtyard or Garden Inn, but the rooms are clean, and the hotel is very accomodating of our needs, allowing us to bring in kosher food, which would be problematic elsewhere.

While davening at a hotel is not, well, the most "spiritual" environment, I must give them credit for something rare at High Holiday services -- it's COMFORTABLE!!! I'm not crammed in to my seat. The air conditioning is working. People are generally quiet (although the man sitting behind me was having to deal with his teenage son). Still, I could focus on davening better then at many other places I've been this time of year.

The Rabbi's youngest brother has joined us for Rosh Hashanah. He's only a few years older then my own son. Even more amazing though, is despite being part of this respected Chabad family from Crown Heights, he's a Red Sox fan!

After Mincha and Maariv on that first night of Rosh Hashanah, there is dinner at Rabbi's home. I got separated from the group walking back in the lobby. I waited there a few minutes, not realizing they had left. I hesitated before ultimately deciding that if nothing else, I can use the exercise. I cut across Tyson's Corner, across Routes 7 and then 123. I was as surprised as anyone when I came onto Old Courthouse Road was (approaching me no less!) the Rabbi, his brother, his cousin (a young woman from Australia), and the chazzan!

I have to admit that I was quite impressed with the Rabbi's cousin. She wore heels the entire yontif. It hurt ME to watch her walk in them!

The Rebbitzin had prepared a wondeful meal for us. Challah and Honey led the way of course, followed by salads, gefilte fish, hummus, chicken, beef, and dessert. Any of a number of L'Chaims were given and as is the tradition at Rabbi's table, we all discussed highlights of our week.

The first day was quiet. Services were again at the hotel, and several old friends of mine, from when I lived in Washington before 1999, were present. The highlight was dinner.

Chabad of Tyson's has among its core members a group of young men, professionals in the area. They work for any of a number of "Beltway Bandits" [companies like SAIC, MITRE, and Northrop Grumman, that specialize in building systems for the US Federal Government] or the Big 4 [Ernest and Young, KPMG, PWC, and Deloitte]. One of these young men, Alex, hosted dinner that second night.

It was comforting in some way to be there. The oldest one there (aside from myself) was 25 -- young enough to be my own son (setting aside that my oldest son is a decade younger then that). There were some two dozen young men and women. Some were observant, but most were not, yet here they all were together, connecting in their own way to our common religion.

Alex had managed to put together a fine meal for everyone, but he was not the most practiced host. It was amusing to hear him repeated ask "Did you respond to the e-Vite", to watch him fuss over getting the food out, and ensure everyone's needs were attended to. Still, it was chaotic, and I took advantage of the situation and tried to bring some order to the world (and get people's minds off Alex trying to get the food out!)

I stood up, and banged on the wall for attention. I've been where these people are now, I've learned how to get the attention of an audience and hold it, at least for a short while. I used that to begin an exercise that Rabbi uses at his Shabbat table. I take a moment to introduce myself. I state the obvious, that I suspect I'm of their parent's generation, and to try and put them at ease, I have everyone call out their names at once, then a second time louder, just to make sure we all heard one another. I go on.

"Each Shabbat", I begin, "Rabbi goes around the table and asks each guest 'What inspired you this week'" I start with one young woman at one end of the table -- "Miss, what is something that inspired you". She tells a story about a puppy she and her boyfriend have, and how the dog managed to destroy a cache of cigars the boyfriend had sequestered when he started an effort to quite smoking but a few days before. Around the table we go. Several of the people at dinner area teachers and the speak of their students. One young man talks about his own parents. Another young woman talks about her decision to become more observant, and that her boyfriend at first left, feeling uncomfortable about this, but in time reconsiders and decides he wants to make this work for her. One story after another.

Finally, there is but one story -- my own. After all, I can't ask these people to talk without willing to share my own thoughts. I tell them of my own children, how they study at an orthodox school, something that would have been unthinkable in my own childhood; how my oldest son, a sophmore at mesivta, (an Orthodox Jewish High School, often connected to a Yeshiva) was studying for semicha. I told them that as a parent, there was nothing that made me prouder to see my own children build upon the foundation that I had laid for them, that my parents had laid for me, and so on, and specifically to use that to recapture our culture, that our forebears gave up when they came to the United States. As the meal began, I wished that they should all find their besherits, be that person someone in the room with them tonight (as one couple attending was recently engaged to one another) or elsewhere, that they bring Jewish children into the world, and raise them to be strong vibrant members of Eretz Yisrael.