And the one I share with you, is plucked from the pages of our family lore: 'The Year of the Failed Fish Platter.'
What befell the house of Kronfusion, more than 10 years ago, was no laughing matter.
When you've gone 24-hours without food and drink, repenting for your sins, the only thing on your mind is, "What's for dinner?" and, "When can we eat?"
The count-down clock had already started ticking, the night before, after our teeth were brushed with clean running water. It was that 'minty fresh feeling' fix, before the oral bacteria became fruitful and multiplied.
All we could think about were the bagels, the lox and whitefish salad. Not to be forgotten, the schmears, cheese and kugel (Jewish noodle pudding).
Ticking hours meant hoggish grumbles from our empty bellies, as the scent of eau-de-B-O filled our nostrils. Alas, hunger does crazy things to a person.
After the sunset and the clarion call of the ram's horn, the entire family arrived, ravenous, at my parent's house -- and the hangry had kicked in.
However, one year we ordered from a now out-of-business specialty supermarket, Zagara's. They catered, so we didn't have to cook. Makes things easier, working smarter not harder.
But things didn't go exactly as planned.
The fish platter and dozens of bagels had not yet arrived, even after the slew of very hungry guests filled my parents home. We'd downed OJ, sipped some soda, and were waiting for the bagels and schmear. It was late. Er, the driver was. By the time she arrived, we were ravenous - vultures.
My cousin went outside to help the woman who had the order, bring it into our house.
Except, the platter never made it. She had dropped the entire tray in the back of her car.
Just in time for my cousin to grab a few bagels and cream cheese.
Then, she came inside our house to tell my mother that the tray was ruined (ie. inedible).
And that's when it happened; My mother cried. Well, actually she kind of 'lost it,' in a reactive way. This is how I remember it: Mom was visibly upset, went upstairs to her bedroom, and cried. The kind of cry where you're sitting on the bathroom floor, rocking back-and-forth, praying that the moment passes from your memory. Forever.
A house full of hungry people, and no food to serve.
Except, there's always a back-up plan. And that's when my aunt or uncle suggested we order pizza for the masses. Et Tu Hungr-ay? Let them eat Pizza!
Yom Kippur was not ruined, in fact, this is the story we tell each year: Remember the year we ordered pizza.
We fondly call it, "The Year of the Failed Fish Platter."