Some who know me may be surprised that this marks just the sixth year I’m celebrating Rosh Hashana. After all, I thoroughly enjoy our Jewish festivals, holidays, and food. Our collective stories and religious traditions continue to fascinate me. Throughout the week, I’m readily found at such Jewish haunts as Chabad, Sixth & I Historic Synagogue, or Adas Israel. With this mind, why was it not until adulthood that I celebrated our New Year?
Quite simply, the heritage of my Jewish mother was quite overshadowed by my upbringing in suburban Pataskala, Ohio. Our small community of 15,000 people spread across 36 square miles contained dozens of churches, one bar, and no synagogues. In fact, my father was a fundamentalist Baptist minister in our town.
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