Something remarkable happened to me the first night of Rosh Hashana.
I arrived home from visiting M in rehab about 6:30 and discovered that both of the two elevators of our condo were out of service. Because I use a walker and can't schlep it up six flights of stairs, I was stuck in the lobby. I kept asking the concierge when the repair person was coming and was told, "Soon."
By 8:30 I was getting hungry. The concierge, who had stayed past her official quitting time, told me that someone was having a party in the party room. She asked them whether I could have something to eat because I was stuck downstairs and was hungry. They said okay and I crashed the party.
The party was a family of four, eating a catered meal. When they said, "Actually we're having our first night of Rosh Hashana meal," I smiled.
"That's what I should be doing, too. My husband is finishing some physiotherapy in rehab* and I was visiting him."
They had plenty of food, a mind-boggling variety. Vegetarian or meat. Gluten or gluten-free. With nuts or without nuts. All kosher--I'm not--and all absolutely delicious.
My neighbours, whom I was meeting for the first time, were charming as well as gracious. I left after half an hour, refused their offer of taking some leftovers, and thanked them.
I only wish that M couldn't have been there, too, to share my special Rosh Hashana surprise.
* a long, evolving story, which I won't go into here