Deena Mirow Epstein

Every year as the days shorten and the leaves begin to change color, I begin my preparations for Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) by taking out my copy of The Happy Cooker, the 1977 cookbook from the Tifereth Israel Synagogue Sisterhood in the small Pennsylvania town where I grew up, and leaf through the pages until I find the one recipe that is essential to my celebration of the holiday—Mrs. Edelstein’s Honey Cake.

Sometimes it takes me longer to find it than other years—distracted by the recipes and names that I remember from my childhood—Ethel Slovonsky’s Sweet and Sour Meatballs, Lil Ginsberg’s Cranberry Jello Mold, Shim Cohen’s Almond Toffee Bars. There are so many memories of these women—all who had the honorific “aunt” attached to their names—and of growing up in the embrace of the small Jewish community in New Castle that became my parents’ home when they moved there from Poland in 1938. I grew up there, graduated from high school there, was married there— and buried both of my parents ther

Mrs. Edelstein’s honey cake is more than a recipe—it is a lifetime of memories. In reality, honey cake is not one of my family’s favorites, but I still bake it every year. It is as essential to my High Holidays as the prayers in the Siddur. It is on the dessert tray every Erev Rosh Hashanah, has a regular spot on the table at my synagogue’s pot luck luncheon after services and is delivered to a former neighbor who eagerly awaits it each year.

There is also another tradition that links me to New Castle each year—a letter or email from Mrs. Edelstein’s grandson Stephen, who has also moved away from our hometown. He checks in to see if I have made the honey cake yet, updates me on his life and shares any news he has of our hometown and its dwindling Jewish community.

The honey cakes are in the oven now. May it be a sweet year for everyone.