For Jennie Tabakin, a pediatrician and mother to Rivka, 6, and Ben, 8, talking through hard topics with kids is second nature professionally — but she credits her children’s Jewish day school with getting the holiday conversations started in the first place.

“It was a huge help for them to go to Strelitz (International Academy) because the conversation started there, and then it is easier to continue at home,” Tabakin says. PJ Library books, she says, help open the door further, and everyday sibling squabbles — Rivka and Ben “love each other fiercely and fight just as fiercely” — have taught the kids what it means to ask for forgiveness.

The family doesn’t have the kids fast, but a Break Fast hosted by their grandmother is the day’s anchor. This year, Tabakin is considering a different challenge — giving up something other than food for the 25 hours, such as phones.

“Honestly, in 2026 it’s probably harder for many to give up screens than food,” she says.

The family attends services at Temple Emanuel, which Tabakin describes as family-friendly, and pushes back on the idea that services are too serious for young kids.

“Without children, there’s no future in Judaism,” she says. “It’s super important to include them, even if it’s with adaptations and games.”

Not every question at home has an easy answer. A few years ago, her son asked whether Jonah was really swallowed by a whale — sparking a conversation about how adults themselves don’t always agree on whether the story happened literally or was meant to teach a lesson.

For Nina Kruger, teaching Yom Kippur to her son, Liam, now 10, has evolved over the years. When he was younger, she explained it simply, as a time to “say our sorries.” As Liam has grown, the conversation has deepened.

“We talk about Yom Kippur as an opportunity for reflection — a chance to look back on the past year, recognize where we can do better, and make a commitment to grow,” Kruger says. The family focuses on learning and accountability rather than dwelling on mistakes — values reinforced by Kruger, her partner, Darin, and Liam’s grandfather, Pop Pop.

Liam isn’t yet required to fast, but each year he chooses to challenge himself, going a little longer than the year before — a milestone he’s proud to share with his father in Arizona.

One family tradition carries the holiday’s spirit well beyond the day itself: a nightly “Dark, Light, and Sparkle,” where each person shares something that didn’t go well, something positive, and something to improve tomorrow.

“It encourages us to slow down, reflect honestly, celebrate growth, and set intentions for becoming better each day — and ultimately, better each year,” Kruger says.

The family also finds meaning in Kol Nidre, a service Kruger calls one of the most moving of the year — “gathering in shul with family, friends, and community members, all united in prayer, reflection, and hope for the year ahead.”

Kruger says Liam often surprises her by apologizing for things she wouldn’t consider worthy of an apology — sometimes even on behalf of people who he feels may have wronged her. Looking ahead, she hopes the holiday’s values of reflection, accountability, and compassion become a lasting part of who he is.

For Amy Weinstein, mother to Avi, 11, and Daniella, 9, Yom Kippur centers on services at Ohef Sholom Temple, where kid-friendly, clergy-led family services use storytelling to convey the holiday’s meaning. But for her family, the heart of the day is what comes after: the meal that breaks the fast.

Ten years ago, with a toddler at home and invitations to Break Fast gatherings starting too late in the evening, Weinstein and her husband , Eliot, decided to host their own — building a new tradition with friends who, like them, hadn’t grown up in Tidewater. They started with six families, including their own.

A decade later, the gathering has grown to more than 15 families, including friends who did grow up locally and Weinstein’s own parents, who later retired to Tidewater. The kids in the group have grown up together — the oldest is now a high school senior.

The evening leans non-traditional: arts and crafts, and s’mores once it gets dark. Weinstein’s youngest even took her first steps at Break the Fast in 2019.

“We’ve realized that we want to make sure that our kids and our friends’ kids are making core memories around the High Holidays,” Weinstein says. “Yom Kippur may seem like a strange choice for something that seems so celebratory, but we’re really just interested in creating community.”

For some guests, it’s become the most consistent holiday plan they have every year — “and we are honored by that,” Weinstein says. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Sukkot with NextGen

United Jewish Federation of Tidewater’s NextGen has myriad plans for Sukkot at venues throughout the community. NextGen is for Jewish adults, ages 22 – 45ish.

All Sukkot events can be found at www.Jewishva.org/Nextgen, where registration, which is required, can take place. For additional information, contact Hannah Yasemsky, NextGen engagement coordinator, at 757-470-8080 or Hyasemsky@ujft.org.

Rabbi Ari Oliszewski, Temple Emanuel, Virginia Beach.

The concept might not immediately resonate with children, most of whom have not lived quite long enough to gain a real perspective on their place in the world. 

Nonetheless, there are myriad ways to introduce the holiday and familiarize youngsters with it in a meaningful way. Here, three Strelitz International Academy families share their approaches.

In Irina Komarovsky’s home, Rosh Hashanah is all about sweetness. She leans into the holiday’s central wordplay, calling it a “sweet new year,” and fills her table with apples dipped in honey and an array of desserts. One small, playful touch has become a family favorite: Swedish Fish, meant to symbolize being a leader.

This year, that table will look a little different. Komarovsky’s son, Palmer, nine years old and a fourth grader at Strelitz International Academy, will be joined by his soon-to-be stepfather, Nick, and four-year-old stepbrother, Luca – the family’s first Rosh Hashanah as a blended household of four.

The holiday is now a chance for the two boys to bond. Palmer has taken on a teaching role of his own, sharing his collection of PJ Library books with Luca to introduce him to the holidays their new family will celebrate together. 

Komarovsky, who was born in the former Soviet Union and immigrated to the United States as a toddler, says her own approach to the holidays shifted after she lost her grandparents and became a mother.

Growing up, she says her family didn’t always celebrate at home, but she wanted to change that – both for Palmer, and to honor her grandparents’ memory.

“I want Palmer and Luca to remember the smells of the house while Nick and I cook,” Komarovsky says. “I want them to remember the warmth around the table as we include both found family and blood family when we celebrate Jewish joy.”

Other parents point to the shofar as a point of fascination. Aly Yaary’s oldest son, Asher (who is, by his own emphatic correction, three and three quarters), has always loved music and instruments. 

When he learned that Rosh Hashanah has its own instrument to blow, he was thrilled. There was just one problem: the family doesn’t own a shofar.

Undeterred, Asher enlists his mom to “fake blow” one by making trumpet noises. He coaches her through the holiday’s four traditional blasts – tekiah, shevarim, teruah, and tekiah gedolah – and he does not let mistakes slide.

Asher is far from the only child with a shofar hyper fixation. Pati Oliszewski shares that the shofar has made Rosh Hashanah particularly meaningful to her six-year-old son, Ben.

Given that his father is Rabbi Ari at Temple Emanuel, Ben has been watching his dad blow the shofar since he was born. Last year, his parents gave him a mini shofar of his own to play at home. 

He did so well that he and two friends now take part in the official shofar blowing during services.

“It gives them a real role in the holiday rather than simply watching the adults celebrate it,” Oliszewski says.

Apart from the shofar, she highlights community as an important aspect of Rosh Hashanah. Going to synagogue and seeing everyone (especially those they only see once a year) is part of what makes this time of year so special.

“That feeling of belonging and experiencing the holiday together is something I really value and hope our children will remember,” she says.

It’s wonderfully intuitive – as participants in the ritual tear up the pieces of bread, they acknowledge their sins with a faint whisper and a prayer. Then, once repentance is made clear, the guilt-ridden crumbs are thrown into the running water, to be carried away by the currents. 

The crumbs, however, are not always carried afar. Where many Jews live, including in Tidewater, the breadcrumbs often wash up on the beach, remain floating in the lake, or are eaten by the aquatic animals inhabiting their waters.

As Joanne Palmer of the Jewish Standard, a regional newspaper serving North Jersey and Rockland, New York, recalls, “someone at our lunch fantasized about the ducks getting ready for their annual feast. ‘I know I shouldn’t eat all that bread but I can’t help it,’ she imagined a duck saying. ‘It’s so tempting. Even though it goes straight to my thighs.’” 

It’s a funny anecdote, but ultimately, there is some truth in the anthropomorphic situation posed here. Ducks, fish, and other wildlife that receive the sin-contaminated bread, in many ways do not benefit from the extra gluten cast into their waters. 

In fact, according to an article on the Chabad website, the ritual is not exactly aligned with Jewish law. “On Shabbat and holidays, one is not allowed to feed any animals that aren’t one’s responsibility and are not dependent upon him for their sustenance.” 

In the decades since this moral dilemma has been posed, alternatives such as frozen peas and river-friendly grains have been championed by Jewish environmental organizations. The Jewish environmental organization Repair the Sea (Tikkun HaYam) has pushed the conversation a step further by introducing a new kind of Tashlich ritual that suggests cleaning up pollution in waterways rather than producing more. 

Created in 2018 by Rabbi Ed Rosenthal, Reverse Tashlich is essentially an organized trash clean-up through a Jewish lens. 

Rooted in the Jewish value of Repair the World (Tikkun Olam), the concept of Reverse Tashlich is maybe just as intuitive as its traditional counterpart. It was spearheaded at Ohef Sholom Temple for the last two years by Andrea Trank, the temple’s Sisterhood president.

Having worked for the Sierra Club and lobbied on behalf of the Chesapeake Bay Foundation, Trank is extremely aware of the environmental crisis of the 21st century and the importance of Tikkun Olam.

“There’s a lot of young people that have a huge concern for our environment,” Trank says. “To me, this is a very physical way to demonstrate your care and repair of the world.”

Ohef Sholom’s Rabbi Rosalin Mandelberg agrees. “It is a creative and good way of reimagining an old tradition for a new day,” she says. “And though it isn’t a replacement for the traditional ritual of casting one’s sins away, it calls upon Jewish communities to do something just as important – be good stewards of the planet.”

The idea began as a joke when Rabbi Rosenthal, founder and CEO of Tikkun HaYam, was explaining the tradition to members of Scooby Jew, the Jewish scuba-diving club he created at Eckerd College in St. Petersburg, Fla. One of them pushed back.

“There’s already more than enough human sin in the water,” the student said. “Why don’t we take some of it out instead?”

Rosenthal took the challenge seriously. He recruited five students, and together they pulled about 75 pounds of debris out of the mangroves along Eckerd’s mile and a half of waterfront. 

The next year, the group grew to 10 students, eventually prompting Rosenthal to take the concept off campus and reach out to synagogues across the Tampa Bay area. 

“I was really surprised at the response,” he says. “It showed me that there’s an interest, but there was no vehicle in the Jewish world to raise awareness of it.”

Almost a decade later that response has scaled well beyond Tampa. Last year alone, 320 teams in 31 countries participated in reverse Tashlich events, including a Newport News-based chapter already serving Tidewater.

“When you combine the awareness of the mitzvah and recognize it’s fulfilling the mitzvah,” Rosenthal says, “an ordinary action like a beach cleanup becomes a holy action — no different than going to synagogue.”

The concept has strong roots in religious values, drawing heavily on Bal Tashchit, the biblical prohibition against needless waste. Rosenthal also points to Tza’ar Ba’alei Chayim, the prohibition against causing needless suffering to animals.

“It’s very bad for the fish,” Rosenthal says of the use of bread for Tashlich. “It’s not their normal food.” But he doesn’t ask people to abandon the traditional ritual altogether. 

Instead, he recommends observers use pebbles and seashells – things already native to the water. Seashells are made of calcium carbonate, a compound that the ocean is increasingly starved of by rising acidity.

As Rabbi Rosenthal says, “We in the Western world take water for granted, because it’s the most common substance on the planet… in Hebrew, our tradition refers to it as mayim chayim — living water. The water is alive, and it gives life. It sustains life. Without it, we die.”

 What did I accomplish during the year that has passed? Where did I fall short? Whom did I help? Whom did I hurt? What needs to change? 

 But beneath all these questions lies another, more fundamental one: 

 Who am I? 

 The easiest answers are usually the most immediate: our names, professions, accomplishments, relationships, and responsibilities. We introduce ourselves by describing what we do, where we live or to whom we belong. 

 These things are important, but they are not the whole story. Jobs change. Titles disappear. Success comes and goes. Even the roles we treasure most may change with time. 

 Rosh Hashanah invites us to look beneath those temporary descriptions and encounter the deeper self—the soul that remains when the titles and achievements are stripped away. 

 Jewish tradition suggests that this soul is formed through relationship: our relationship with family, with community, with other human beings, and with God. 

 The Torah teaches, Lo tov heyot ha’adam levado—“It is not good for the human being to be alone” (Genesis 2:18). Family is not merely an accessory to life. It is one of the principal places in which the soul is formed. It is where we first learn to give and receive love, to disagree, to forgive, to make sacrifices, and to care for someone beyond ourselves. 

 Family, of course, is not only biological. There are families we inherit and families we create. There is also the extended family of the Jewish people—a people bound together by memory, responsibility, and a story that began long before us and, God willing, will continue long after us.

 A beautiful midrash (Shir HaShirim Rabbah 1:4) teaches that when God prepared to give the Torah at Mount Sinai, God asked the Israelites to provide guarantors who would ensure its continuity. The people first offered their ancestors and then their prophets. Finally, they said, “Our children will be our guarantors.” 

 God accepted. 

 The message is powerful: Jewish identity cannot survive only as a memory of the past. It survives when we place it into the hands of the future. Our children become our guarantors when they see that Judaism matters to us—not only in what we say, but in the lives we lead. 

 Faith forms another part of this deeper identity. 

 The Torah says: “The word is very near to you, in your mouth and in your heart, so that you may do it” (Deuteronomy 30:14). Faith is not necessarily found in dramatic miracles or perfect certainty. It can live in prayer, gratitude, doubt, and even complaint. 

 After all, complaining to God may itself be an expression of faith. It means that somewhere within us, we still believe someone is listening. 

 The Talmud (Ta’anit 25a) tells a remarkable story about Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa, a man who lived in profound poverty. In response to his prayers, Heaven granted his household one leg from a golden table. Later, however, his wife dreamed that in the World to Come everyone else sat at complete tables while theirs was missing a leg. Rabbi Hanina prayed again, asking that the golden leg be taken back. 

 The story is not teaching us that poverty is inherently holy or that material needs are unimportant. Judaism does not romanticize suffering. Rather, it challenges us to consider how we measure abundance. 

 Pirkei Avot offers a different way of measuring abundance: “Who is rich? The one who rejoices in what they have” (4:1). 

 True wealth is not determined only by what we possess. It is also found in the people we love, the values we transmit, the good we bring into the lives of others, and the ability to recognize blessings before they disappear. 

 At the end of life, Pirkei Avot teaches, neither silver nor gold accompanies us. What remains are our acts of Torah and kindness. 

 What we accumulate eventually belongs to someone else. What we plant within another person can continue growing for generations. 

 This brings us back to the shofar. 

 The central mitzvah of Rosh Hashanah is not simply to blow the shofar, but to hear its voice. This year, because the first day of Rosh Hashanah falls on Shabbat, we will wait until Sunday to fulfill that mitzvah. Perhaps the waiting itself can prepare us to do more than hear a sound. Perhaps it can prepare us to receive its message. 

 The shofar has no vocabulary and offers no explanation. It speaks through breath, broken notes, and silence. 

 The tekiah is whole and confident—the sound of the person we hope to become. 

 The shevarim is fractured—the sound of disappointment, grief, and the awareness that something within us needs repair. The teruah trembles—the sound of a human being struggling, searching, and refusing to give up. 

 Finally, we return to the long, unbroken sound of tekiah. Yet it is not the same sound we heard at the beginning. We have passed through brokenness. We have acknowledged our imperfections. The final tekiah is not the sound of innocence, but of resilience. 

 The shofar does not ask about our résumé. It does not ask how impressive we appear to others. It asks whether we are awake. 

 Are we present for the people who need us? Are we transmitting Judaism to the next generation? Do our actions reflect the values we claim to hold? Are we so busy building a successful life that we have forgotten to build a meaningful one? 

 Perhaps our identity is not something we discover once and possess forever. It is something we create through every relationship, decision, and act of responsibility. 

 This Rosh Hashanah, when we finally hear the shofar, may we allow its voice to become a mirror. May it remind us that we are more than our titles, possessions, successes—and even our failures. 

 And when the new year asks, “Who are you?” may we be able to answer: 

I am a soul still growing. 

I am part of a family and a community. 

I am responsible for what I transmit to those who come after me. 

I am connected to God, even when I question, struggle or complain.

 I am a member of Am Yisrael. 

And I am ready to begin again. 

Shana Tovah! 

Rabbi Ari Oliszewski, Temple Emanuel Virginia Beach

For more information on upcoming Israel-related programs, visit JewishVA.org or contact Nofar Trem at NTrem@UJFT.org. Save the date for next year’s Yom Ha’Atzmaut gathering on Sunday, May 16, 2027.

Memorial Day began in the wake of the Civil War when a grieving nation came together to honor the fallen. What started as springtime tributes at newly established national cemeteries has grown into a solemn national observance recognizing all American service members who made the ultimate sacrifice.

Jewish Americans have been part of that story since the nation’s earliest days. This year, as America marks its 250th anniversary — a milestone to be celebrated on July 4, 2026 — it is a fitting moment to reflect on Jewish contributions to that very founding. At the time of the American Revolution, a small Jewish population—numbering only in the thousands—nonetheless showed deep patriotism, with many serving in the fight for independence. George Washington himself directly commanded 40 Jewish soldiers, and in Charleston, South Carolina, entire groups of Jewish men enlisted together in support of the cause.

According to the Jewish War Veterans of the United States of America, Jewish service members have consistently served in numbers far exceeding their proportion of the population—earning more than 52,000 military awards, including the Congressional Medal of Honor. From the Revolutionary War through the Civil War, where Jewish Americans fought on both sides, to modern conflicts, that commitment has remained unwavering.

Many of these stories—both well-known and largely unsung—are thoughtfully compiled in an article by Aish.com (We Jews: Memorial Day Edition) highlighting Jewish military service across American history. Readers are encouraged to explore it to gain a deeper appreciation for the breadth of contribution, sacrifice, and patriotism that continues to shape the community.

Behind these numbers are deeply personal stories of courage and sacrifice—young men and women who carried not only a sense of duty, but a profound awareness of what their service meant for those they loved and those they stood beside.

Their legacy demands more than remembrance. It asks Jewish Americans to live with intention, to safeguard the freedoms they defended, and to stand firmly against hatred, antisemitism, and injustice. Because of them, Jewish Americans can live openly and proudly—as Jews and as Americans. Honoring their memory means carrying that responsibility forward, not just on Memorial Day, but every day.

The Memorial Day commemoration at the Sandler Family Campus is presented by United Jewish Federation of Tidewater. For more information and to RSVP (required), visit JewishVA.org/memorialday26.

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.