The Jewish New Year

The Jewish New Year

Bailey never actually professed his religious beliefs, but if I had to guess I am pretty sure he’d say he was Jewish. He didn’t have any knowledge of the Old Testament or believe in a single supreme being but he sure loved Rosh Hashanah—the Jewish New Year.

Each year my mother would make several of her now famous honey cakes as gifts for friends and family to celebrate a sweet new year. And for a few years in a row, Bailey somehow managed to outsmart everyone and get a hold of one of these honey cakes. Even when the cake was placed on the counter against the wall, Bailey found a way to get that cake on the floor and eat the entire thing. For many, the Jewish New Year is celebrated by going to temple or eating apples and honey. For me, the holiday often meant cleaning up a mess in the middle of the night after the Bailey’s stomach and the honey cake disagreed with one another.

The holidays were as special for Bailey as they are for the rest of us. These annual events meant plenty of people and lots of different kinds of food. Bailey’s penchant for eating these holiday goodies became somewhat of a running joke as I would ask my mother if she made a honey cake specifically for Bailey. But Bailey didn’t discriminate—he loved all the holidays equally. One year on Thanksgiving, Bailey devoured an entire sweet potato pie leaving nothing but the pan and the plastic wrap. Upon finding the evidence of the empty pan, Bailey would routinely give himself up by putting his ears back and looking up and away as if to say: “Ok. You got me. I did it.” I often described Bailey as being like an alcoholic (for people food)—he knew eating it was wrong but he just couldn’t help himself.

I will always remember the time I had purchased an economy pack of 24 Pop Tarts. (Side Note: Who is actually thinking of the economics when they buy a package of 24 Pop Tarts?). I never thought that Bailey would even identify the box as containing something edible. After all, they were not only in a box, but they were also packaged in silver foil wrappers. One day, I returned home to find Bailey lying on his side in the kitchen surrounded by a whole bunch of these silver wrappers. He had eaten 22 of the 24 Pop Tarts and then finally given up. I can just imagine the effort it took to break into each wrapper to get the prized Pop Tarts. I fully expected that the Pop Tarts would be ejected from his rear end the same way they fly out of the toaster—and I wasn’t far off.

To this day, I can’t look at a box of Pop Tarts without thinking about how Bailey almost ate a month’s worth in just one sitting. Even more, I can’t think of receiving a honey cake from my mother without asking if she made one for Bailey. Holidays like Rosh Hashanah and Thanksgiving will be the toughest. Without question, I will be thinking about how much Bailey loved being around all the people and all that great food.

I hope the holidays in heaven have as many honey cakes, sweet potato pies and even Pop Tarts as he can handle. Oh… and I hope there’s someone there to clean up the mess too.