Yom Ha’Atzmaut – Sunday, April 26, 12 – 3 pm Sandler Family Campus

As Israel continues to face a difficult moment, the bond between the nation and Jewish communities around the world
feels especially powerful. Marking Yom Ha’Atzmaut, Israel’s Independence Day, is both a celebration and a meaningful show of solidarity—an opportunity to remember the sacrifices that led to the establishment of the State of Israel, honor those who safeguard it today, and renew a commitment to its future.

 Jewish Tidewater kicks off its Yom Ha’Atzmaut celebrations with the third annual Israeli Chef’s Table Experience on Wednesday, April 22. This signature event highlights Israel’s rich culinary culture while creating space for community. Guests will enjoy a kosher three-course menu crafted by this year’s chefs-in-residence, Ben and Zikki Siman-Tov, the rising culinary stars behind New York City’s Buba Bureka and authors of the acclaimed cookbook Eat Small Plates. Their cooking reflects the spirit of modern Israel—deeply rooted in tradition while shaped by diverse regional influences. Throughout the evening, the chefs will share personal stories that highlight the deep ties between food, culture, and heritage, creating an experience that celebrates the flavors and spirit of Israel around the table.

 “Small plates, for us, are not necessarily about the size. It’s about the concept of sharing with others and creating on a table, dishes that are meant to be eaten all together, and the joy of people combining different flavors and textures and building their own bites,” says Ben Siman-Tov. His philosophy — that food is interactive, communal, and celebratory — is at the core of Eat Small Plates and the way the two chefs cultivate gatherings.

 The annual Yom Ha’Atzmaut Community Celebration takes place on Sunday, April 26. This community-wide festival honors Israel’s 78th Independence Day and celebrates the enduring connection between Israel and Tidewater. Families, friends, and all synagogues from across the region will participate in an afternoon of Israeli culture, music, food, and interactive activities for all ages. 

 A new menu for the celebration will feature authentic Israeli cuisine and barbecue, bringing the flavors of Israel to life. The event will also include an ESEK Israeli marketplace. An organization committed to supporting Israeli small businesses and highlighting the stories behind their products, ESEK will bring to Tidewater more than 20 curated collections, including the NOVA Collection, showcasing creations by survivors of the Nova Music Festival, as well as offerings from IDF reservists working to sustain their businesses while serving their country. The diverse array of crafted items will include artisanal chocolates, olive oils, jewelry, and Judaica, allowing for great shopping. 

 Together, these events reflect the many ways Israel’s culture, creativity, and spirit continue to inspire Jewish communities around the world. From the flavors of Israeli cuisine to the music, traditions, and stories that define the country’s vibrant society, Yom Ha’Atzmaut brings the community together to celebrate Israel’s independence, as well as the resilience and unity of the Jewish people.

To purchase tickets or a table for the Israeli Chef’s Table, go to JewishVA.org/YH.

To learn more about the Yom Ha’Atzmaut volunteer opportunities, events, and registration, visit JewishVA.org/YH or contact Nofar Trem at NTrem@UJFT.org.

 That was the case in October 2020, when a representative of Rosenheim, Germany, contacted Ohef Sholom Temple about a former congregant and Holocaust survivor. He said the city wanted to honor her family and requested documents or photographs of her life in America and the name of any of her relatives. The temple put him in contact with her nephew, and the OST Archives provided the documents. 

 The former congregant was Charlotte Moos. Born in Rosenheim in 1914, she fled to Czechoslovakia in 1936 and the Philippines in 1940. She married another Jewish refugee, and following the Japanese invasion of the Philippines, she became a prisoner of war. Widowed after her husband’s death, she was released at the end of the war and transported to the mainland in a Liberty Ship. Moving to the Washington, D.C. area, she worked for the U.S. government, met and married a fellow Holocaust survivor, and moved to Norfolk, Virginia. 

 When Adolph Hitler came to power in 1933, Rosenheim was a city of almost 20,000 inhabitants, 38 of whom were Jews. Six years later, on the eve of World War II, only seven remained. Moos’s parents fled in 1938 following Kristallnacht; her half-sister Katharina left in 1939. One couple committed suicide; the others had escaped or were arrested.

 Moos’s father, Alexander, had been born in Czechoslovakia, and perhaps that’s why the family sought refuge there. But when the Germans invaded, Moos’s mother, Frieda, was deported to the Zamosc ghetto in Poland and murdered. Alexander was killed in the Majdanek death camp.

 However, Moos was one of approximately 1,300 Jews rescued by the Philippines, then a self-governing commonwealth of the United States. The rescue plan was most likely proposed by U.S. High Commissioner Paul McNutt, who got the idea from a friend whose brother worked for a Jewish relief agency. McNutt took the idea to Philippine President Manuel Quezon, and with the help of the Philippine Jewish community, Quezon put the plan into action. The original plan included visas for 10,000 Jews, but the 1941 Japanese attack and occupation of the islands halted all immigration for the remainder of the war.

 Moos was interned in a POW camp in Manila, probably the former Santo Tomas University. She would have been surrounded by many other refugees, including the cantor of Manila’s Temple Emil. Initially, conditions were fairly good, but they quickly deteriorated. As a citizen of a Japanese ally, Moos would have been exempt from internment, but the 1935 Nuremberg Laws had revoked the citizenship of all German Jews. 

 The camp was liberated in February 1945. The war ended in August, and that fall, Moos, recently widowed, left the Philippines and found a new home in Alexandria, Virginia. Her husband, Leo, had been part of a group of 14 Czech civilians who had fought with the U.S. Armed Forces. Captured on Bataan, he endured the infamous Bataan Death March, was transported to Japan on the “Hell Ship” Hokusen Maru, and died in a Japanese POW camp in Fukuoka in April 1945. He’s buried under a Star of David in the American Cemetery and Memorial in Manila. 

 Living in Alexandria, Charlotte found work as a secretary for the federal government, and in 1950, she married another Holocaust refugee, Henry Moos. He had immigrated to the United States in 1938, sponsored by his father’s first cousin, Albert Einstein. The couple moved to Norfolk, and in 1954, they joined Ohef Sholom Temple. Henry was active in and an officer of the Men’s Club, and Charlotte served on the Sisterhood Board. Charlotte died in 2000 at the age of 85, and Henry died in 2009, aged 96.

 In 2021, the city of Rosenheim memorialized Moos and her family by installing stolpersteine (“stumbling stones”) for them. Each “stone” is a 4” x 4” block, topped by a brass plate engraved with the name, birth date, and fate of the honoree. The blocks are installed in the street where someone victimized by the Nazis lived or worked. The idea was initiated by German artist Gunter Demnig in 1992, and today there are more than 107,000 stolpersteine in 30 countries. In Rosenheim, there are stones for Moos, her parents, and her half-sister, Katharina. Katharina, known here as Kate, and her husband, another Holocaust survivor, had also found refuge in Tidewater. Moos’s story had come full circle; the city she had fled almost 100 years ago is now one of 1,900 municipalities helping to ensure the Holocaust is not forgotten. 

My own seder plate does just that.  On my first trip to Israel when I was 17, I purchased a seder plate for my grandparents.  Eventually, it made its way to my mom’s table. Then, when my husband and I held our first seder, my mom happily handed it over, as she was thrilled to pass the task of hosting this holiday on to us. “You keep it,” she said without a hint of hesitation or appearance that she might ever take it back. After cleaning it that first year, I realized I had basically bought a souvenir. The back of the plate has a hook for easy hanging on the wall!  Never mind, all these decades later, it remains in good condition, with clearly labeled space for everything needed – the parsley, haroset, egg, etc. And when it goes on my seder table, it reminds me of so many memories and relatives. . .  and does the job!

I’m not alone in my affection for the “not so perfect” piece of Judaica for the holiday. Susan Cohen, Lynn Shoenbaum, and Sharon Grossman share images of their seder plates here, and the stories that go along with them.   

Susan and Andy Cohen

“We have a seder plate that I really love — we bought it from the Judaica shop at our synagogue in Northern Virginia,” says Susan Cohen. This was the plate, she says, that she and her husband, Andy, used “since our kids were young” at their annual Passover seders.

An even more special treasure for Cohen, however, is a mosaic orange that her Aunt Alice (of blessed memory) created for her family “that we display on the seder plate each year. My aunt was a very talented artist who studied Kabbalah. That inspired her,” says Cohen, “to create the orange to emphasize the centrality of women in Jewish families – in response to the apocryphal story of a rabbi who dismissively said a woman belongs on the bima the way an orange belongs on a seder plate.”

Cohen says, “I smile and think of her every year when I place it on our table.”

Lynn Schoenbaum

Old and ‘newish’ seder plates comprise Lynn Schoenbaum’s collection. 

The older plate is made of metal.  Schoenbaum’s mother, Ruth Ann, set this one on her table at family seders in Newport News and later in Williamsburg. 

“My grandfather always sat at the head of the table,” recalls Schoenbaum. “I remember him raising the plate to describe the significance of each item placed on it. “My Uncle Louis used it at a recent seder, and it brought back many fond memories.”

The ‘newish’ glass plates are from The Paisley Hippo, an artsy gift shop, that Schoenbaum owned in Ghent. 

And now, the plates, with much different looks occupy distinct but equally important memories of seders for Schoenbaum.

Sharon Grossman

“I actually made my ceramic seder plate and all ‘the pieces,’” says Sharon Grossman, a local artist. 

Grossman says she made it in the 1990s and has used it since. “I just got inspired to make something meaningful.  I’m very proud of it.”

The plate depicts the children of Israel crossing the desert with the Red Sea parting. A former slave carries a roasted egg on his head, for instance, and a little boy holds a frog.  To create the plate, she even used sand to conjure up the desert.

 In addition to lots of camels, Grossman’s seder table includes pyramid salt and pepper shakers, which get left behind in Egypt.

 In the days leading up to Purim, volunteers assembled festive boxes filled with hamantaschen, the traditional triangular pastries enjoyed during the holiday, along with warm Purim greetings. The volunteers then delivered the boxes to local leaders, partner organizations, and community institutions that collaborate with and stand alongside the Jewish community across the region.

 Purim celebrates the Jewish people’s survival in ancient Persia as told in the Book of Esther, and is marked by joy, costumes, festive meals, and giving. By sharing mishloach manot throughout the community, the JCRC extends the celebration beyond its walls, offering a gesture of gratitude to the individuals and organizations that strengthen and support the local Jewish community. Virginia Beach Sheriff Rocky Holcomb and Commanding Officer of the Virginia Beach Third Precinct, Captain James Gordon, were among the many recipients who sent their heartfelt appreciation for being included in this initiative and for the community’s steadfast partnership. 

 In addition to receiving festive mishloach manot, all recipients were invited to join Jewish Tidewater’s Yom Ha’Atzmaut Community Celebration on April 26 at the Sandler Family Campus. 

For information on the Jewish Community Relations Council, Community Volunteer Days, and the Tidewater Yom Ha’Atzmaut Community Celebration, visit JewishVA.org or contact Nofar Trem at Ntrem@UJFT.org. 

 Purim is a holiday filled with joy, costumes, laughter, and of course, mishloach manot — gifts of food shared with friends and neighbors. JFS wanted to be certain those gifts also reached area seniors who may not have family nearby or who are unable to participate in community celebrations.

 To include as many people as possible in this effort, JFS partnered with two congregations and welcomed volunteers to its offices to assist.

During B’nai Israel’s Purim carnival, between the games and festivities, children and families created handmade cards and wrote notes to include in mishloach manot baskets. Watching little hands carefully decorate cards and write messages such as “Happy Purim” and “We are thinking of you” was a beautiful reminder of what Jewish Tidewater is all about.

 At Ohef Sholom Temple’s Purim carnival, JFS staff spoke about the meaning of tzedakah and the important ways Jewish Family Service helps the community every day. JFS staff spoke about how it supports seniors, feeds families facing food insecurity, and cares for the most vulnerable. They also shared how community members can partner with JFS — through volunteering, donating, and acts of kindness — to make a difference in someone’s life.

 At JFS’s office, volunteers assembled the baskets. Tables were filled with hamantaschen and other treats, and the room buzzed with conversation and laughter as community members packed each basket. Every package represented more than just holiday goodies — it carried warmth, kindness, and connection.

 The celebration didn’t stop there. Many dedicated volunteers helped deliver the baskets to seniors throughout Tidewater. For some recipients, the visit was just as meaningful as the treats. Smiles, stories, and even a few tears were shared at doorways and in common rooms.

 Purim reminds of the importance of community, generosity, and taking care of one another. This year, those values came to life in tangible ways. From the children who made cards, to the volunteers who packed and delivered, Jewish Tidewater ensured that no one was forgotten.

Julie Kievit is Jewish Community Services manager for Jewish Family Service.

Children and families are invited to join Shinshinim Noga Yaniv and Yarden Lahan for a delicious evening of games, crafts, and an ice cream social to celebrate Golda Meir, Israel’s first female Prime Minister.

 Kids will learn about Meir’s inspiring journey—from a young immigrant to one of Israel’s most important leaders—and how her courage, determination, and love for Israel helped shape the Jewish state.

 This special kids’ program will take place at the same time as Partners in Jewish Life, so while parents are participating in PJL, children can have fun right down the hall. It’s a meaningful and engaging way for the entire family to take part in the evening together.

Information and registration: JewishVA.org/Shinshinim or contact Nofar Trem at NTrem@UJFT.org.

 By coincidence, mohn sounds like Haman (Hamohn in Hebrew), the supervillain of the Purim story who plotted to annihilate the Jews of Persia. German Jews, writes Marks, “renamed this Teutonic cookie as hamantasch ..meaning ‘Haman’s pocket.’” It was common, in Jewish communities all around the world, to prepare foods for Purim that somehow alluded to Haman, his body, the clothes he wore, or to other characters in the Purim story. In eating those pastries, writes Marks, a person “symbolically erases Haman’s name.”

 Following the Black Plague in the 14th century, many German Jews fled their homes and migrated eastward, bringing their poppy seed stuffed pastries with them. 

 Shmil Holland, a restaurateur, expert on Eastern European Jewish food, and author of the cookbook, Schmaltz, says that over time, this “haman’s pocket” cookie became associated with Purim in Eastern Europe, and poppy seed became the “ultimate Purim filling.” But other fillings gained popularity, too.

 The choices were limited by the time of year and what was available in the markets and the cellars of Eastern Europe. Since Purim falls at the end of winter, the abundant fresh fruits and berries, like cherries, strawberries, and raspberries found in the woods and orchards of that region in the warm weather were not an option. Winter fare such as dried fruits, nuts, poppy seeds, honey, or kasha (buckwheat) was.

 In Poland, says Holland, hamantaschen were sometimes stuffed with “dried pears that were soaked in water or alcohol, then chopped and mixed with walnuts.” Jews in Bukovina (an area that is divided today between Ukraine and Romania), Serbia and Moldova filled their holiday cookies with a walnut paste combined with honey.

 Following a Purim-like story of their own, the Jews in Bohemia and Czechoslovakia (today’s Czech Republic and Slovakia) embraced a special hamantaschen filling called povidl (known as lekvar in the United States) which is a thick spread made from slow cooking the dark purple Damson plums that are harvested in Eastern Europe at the very end of summer. After the fruit and its peel are cooked for 48 hours on a low flame, says Holland, they become a sweet paste. It lasts for months when kept cool in the basement, and it was used in kugels, strudels, cakes, and blintzes in central and Eastern Europe. Those same plums are used, too, to make slivovitz, the fiery, high proof plum brandy.

 According to Holland, about 300 years ago a Jewish shopkeeper named David Brandeis was accused of selling poisoned povidl to a Christian family. After eating Brandeis’ povidl, the Christian customers fell ill — one of them died — and Brandeis and his caramel-like confection were blamed. Brandeis was imprisoned. 

 An investigation uncovered, however, that the person who died met his end from the flu, and not from anything purchased from Brandeis. So, just as the Jews in Persia were saved from Haman’s evil plot at the last moment, so, too, were David Brandeis and the Bohemian Jewish community in Brandeis’ town. As fate would have it, Brandeis was released from jail four days before Purim. To commemorate that miracle, the Jews of that region forever after filled their hamantaschen with the thick, sweet plum spread.

 While most Purim baked goods are sweet, symbolic of a sweet future, there were savory options, too. In Poland, says Holland, kasha, a widely available grain, was prepared with fried onions, seasoned with salt and black pepper, stuffed into the triangle-shaped pastry, and then topped with whole poppy seeds. 

 In Israel today, stores begin filling up with this Eastern European pastry weeks before Purim. You can still get the classic poppy seed filling, but the choices today spread across the culinary spectrum. “Every year,” says Holland, “fillings get more creative. You can get hamantaschen filled with pastry cream and chocolate.” Of course, here in the United States we also have an expansive list of flavors that become part of the always-changing Jewish food landscape. It all started with one humble poppy seed pastry. 

This article first appeared in The Nosher.

(JTA) One of the main advantages for Jewish kids in a Christian world is that — thanks to Purim — they get two “Halloweens.” And for parents, it’s nice to get double use out of that overpriced probably-toxic-plastic monstrosity you rush-ordered from Amazon on October 28. More broadly, Purim celebrations are probably the most accessible entry point for getting the littles to associate Judaism with “fun.” Passover strains mightily to do this, and sometimes succeeds. Hanukkah succeeds, but at the price of sometimes becoming a sad Christmas knockoff. 

 Purim is just unlimited sweets, grown-ups making fools of themselves, and kids getting to be loud. Game over.

 But for anyone who actually reads the original “whole Megillah,” there’s a lot going on in there that’s very far from fun. And extremely far from “family-friendly.” Raging alcoholism. Domestic strife. Female exploitation. Genocidal antisemitism. Slaughter in the tens of 1,000s. Literal asphyxiation, 11 times over. 

 So how did that dark, telenovela-like book become the only Jewish holiday when we’d even think of having a “Carnival?”

 One reason is, Megillat Esther, or the Book of Esther, is famously the only book of the Bible where God is never mentioned. In a way, this frees up a spirit of irreverence, bordering on blasphemy. Purim stands apart from other, more theologically formulaic Jewish narrative holidays with its wild roller coaster narrative. And this briefly gives the religion of rules a refreshing “anything goes” vibe.

 Purim has also served some historical functions that give it a different flavor. For some, it’s a sly way to knock back down to earth the high and mighty. And/or a cathartic storyline to insert whatever villain is currently threatening the Jewish people. And finally, with its only halachic orders involving how to celebrate, Purim has been a great avenue for much-needed escapism.   

  But to get back to the story: How can it be so readily boiled down and leeched of its naughty adult parts? Perhaps because the basic tale is very simply hero and villain: an unlikely underdog girl gets to be royalty and fight and defeat a two-dimensionally cartoonish villain. It almost comes across as a Disney movie.

 All of which was apropos for me recently, because I’m a professional screenwriter who was actually hired to adapt the Purim story into a family-friendly film. I read the previous drafts — one where they adapted it so literally it would have been rated X, the next where they went to the other extreme and made it about Esther and her wacky talking animal friends. 

 I was the Goldberglocks asked to find the balance, and it was an interesting challenge. I had to find ways to make some of its barbarities more palatable — for example, reducing King Ahasuerus into an innocent, gullible dupe of Haman so he could be an actual love interest for Esther that we like, rather than what he actually was like. And I tried to bring a little silliness to Haman, so that his actual terrifying plans could be felt to be more ridiculous and unlikely.

 It didn’t hurt that I’d been producing and sometimes appearing in Purim spiels (staged, often riotously comedic re-stagings of the Book of Esther) for more than 20 years. I knew the story had so many unlikely twists and turns, hidden identities, incredible coincidences, it was an endless mine of possibility. 

 And I think, in a way, this is why it’s actually a good thing that Megillat Esther has been popularly boiled down to a kiddie-version. Because the main theme of the story, and holiday, “v’nahafoch hu” (Hebrew for “and it all got turned upside down”), is an extremely powerful Jewish idea that shines through it. Ever since the Golden Calf, we Jews have been trying to get the world to not take human-made institutions too seriously and reminding everyone that everything can change in a flash. As well as the idea that we live behind masks that hide our true selves.

 Kids may come to Purim celebrations dressed as everything from princesses to Pokemons, and not understand a word of that ancient thing being sung up on the bimah. But they see the big authority figures in their lives not taking themselves too seriously, the hallowed halls of their synagogue briefly turned into a free-for-all where hierarchy is temporarily abandoned. And, even when they know or intuit that Big Sad Adult Things Are Happening in the world, they feel powerfully how the Jewish people respond to, and survive, them: through unfettered joy and celebration of what we have, and our continued peoplehood.

 And that’s an even better value for that costume than getting to use it twice a year. 

Rob Kutner is an Emmy-winning comedy writer and author who has written for The Daily Show, CONAN, and Marvel. His comedic book of Jewish history The Jews: 5,000 Years and Counting (HINT: a perfect bar/bat mitzvah gift!) arrived last year just in time for Purim!

This article first appeared on Kveller.

Purim 2026

The festival of Purim begins this year on the evening of Monday, March 2 and runs through Tuesday, March 3.

Recounted in the Book of Esther, the holiday commemorates the saving of the Jewish people from annihilation at the hands of Haman. Purim is generally celebrated with joy, fun, and downright silliness. Carnivals, costumes, Purim spiels (skits or plays), Hamantaschen cookies, and for some, alcohol, all contribute to the holiday’s festivities.

Other Purim traditions include sending food gifts (mishloach manot) to friends and neighbors and giving to the poor (matanot l’evyonim).

Tu B’Shevat, the New Year of the Trees, is a Jewish holiday that marks the “birthday” of trees and celebrates a connection to the land, nature, and renewal. Once tied to the agricultural calendar in Israel, it is now a moment to focus on caring for the environment and nurturing growth.

 Families can bring Tu B’Shevat to life at home through simple, hands-on activities. Kids can help by recycling, saving water, turning off lights, and cleaning up outdoor spaces. Caring for a nearby tree by watering it, clearing weeds, or picking up trash around it helps children see how their actions make a difference. Planting is another popular way to celebrate the holiday – whether that means starting herbs on a windowsill, sprouting an avocado pit in water, or planting parsley to use later for Passover. These activities encourage curiosity, responsibility, and appreciation for the natural world. 

  PJ Library in Tidewater invites families to celebrate at Tu B’Shevat Sunday Funday. This program will be filled with interactive stations where kids can explore nature, plant seeds, learn about trees and the environment, and create crafts inspired by the holiday, all while having fun with friends. 

To learn more about different ways to celebrate Tu B’Shevat at home, visit pjlibrary.org. 

During the Thanksgiving holiday, I visited the Simon Family Jewish Community Center of Tidewater (the JCC), a place I had visited before, but never truly experienced as it was meant to be lived. My earlier encounter had been during the COVID-19 pandemic, when Jewish spaces, like so many others, felt provisional and restrained: masked, socially distanced, outdoors, muted and careful. This time was different. The building was open, alive and rooted again in the steady rhythms of communal life.

And what I saw inside offered both beauty and quiet instruction.

There was much to admire: a thoughtful space designed for human presence, a K–5 school alive with children’s voices, a room honoring the
Shoah, an Israeli flag flying with confidence. It was a place that carried history and purpose without spectacle, continuity without self conscious display.

But what stayed with me most was not architectural or ceremonial.

What moved me was a simple basket near the entrance, filled with challahs for Shabbat and made available to all. A simple sign said, “Fresh Challah.” No explanation.

No campaign language. Just challah, resting there quietly, offered without fanfare or qualification.

It was a small gesture, and yet it contained a world.

We spend enormous time debating the future of Jewish life—continuity, affiliation, belonging, identity. There are reports, strategies, task forces, demographic studies. Much of this work is well intentioned, even essential.

But standing there, looking at that basket, it was hard not to feel that something far simpler was quietly doing more.

That challah was not merely bread. It was rhythm, memory and care braided into form: the inheritance of Friday afternoons and family tables. It represented nourishment and connection, linking memory and presence.

I was reminded of something I once wrote: Bread is one of Judaism’s oldest civic technologies. It binds memory to practice, heritage to the week’s rhythms. It is how the ordinary becomes sacred without spectacle. Seeing that basket felt like the lived version of that argument—a small, steady act carrying centuries of meaning.

To place challah at the threshold of a Jewish community center is to communicate something elemental: You are not entering a bureaucracy.
You are entering a home. You are not first evaluated. You are first welcomed.

There is a moral confidence embedded in that choice. It’s something that is\ rare today, when institutions often operate out of caution, when belonging can feel conditional and kindness procedural. Even communal life can feel fraught or transactional.

This basket assumed none of that. It extended care before expectation. It trusted rather than tested.

Judaism has always understood that holiness lives not only in text or ritual, but also in the sanctification of everyday life. Bread becomes blessing. Ordinary space becomes sanctuary. Hospitality becomes covenant.

We speak of chesed, lovingkindness, as if it were abstract. Here it was embodied: tangible, quiet, present. No sermon. No explanation. Just an instinctive expression of what Jewish life knows how to do when it remembers itself.