I took a bag of used cardboard and cartons upstairs to my Israeli neighbors house to ask them about a ritual for discarding these types of things on what I read was the real Jewish New Year.
Their daughter greeted me at the door talking on her phone and impatiently called for mother.
I explained my question and her husband came over and invited me in.
He took me to a bedroom that he had converted into a library to find a particular book explaining why Rosh Hashanah really started on a different day.
I was then invited into the living room where I was introduced to a young Black man who I assumed was a boarder and who was just getting ready to leave the house.
My neighbor insisted I stay for dinner and was directed to the table where I sat on a chair that was too low for me to comfortably eat my meal.
The meal consisted of a single dish, a soup with 48 ingredients, including corn and a strange edible small glass cup that contained a mixture of sweet tasting vegetables I’d never seen before.
At one point I excused myself from the table and took the last edible glass capsule from my bowl and went downstairs to show my family and tell them about the room our neighbors had converted into a library.
I wondered where everyone slept in their small apartment seeing it only had three bedrooms, one of which was occupied by the library.
Then I woke up.