Just in time for the high holidays season, Molly Katz, author of Jewish as a Second Language, shares a CliffsNotes-style rundown of Rosh Hashanah customs and the symbolism (and humor) behind them.

Click here to read an excerpt from Jewish as a Second Language.

Rosh Hashanah is the Jewish New Year, which begins this year at sundown on September 8. For Jews it is the symbolic anniversary of the creation of the world–and the actual anniversary of having our celebration critiqued annually by an expert panel of relatives.

The celebration includes:

1. The sounding of the Shofar. This is the ceremonial ram’s horn that looks like the curled tentacle of a hungry octopus. It dates from ancient times, when making loud noises on the New Year was thought to scare off demons. Hence our Jewish habit of making loud noises in all situations.

Four specific blasts must be made, and in some homes 100 blasts of the horn are traditional. This insures a good year, and also excellent business for all the pulmonologists in our family.

The notes of the horn represent the sound of a King’s coronation, and the wailing of a Jewish heart. (Actually, many sounds may be compared to the wailing of a Jewish heart, such as a hedge trimmer.)

2. The sacred elements of the festive meal. A round challah bread is served, which symbolizes completion, as well as the waistlines of many of the guests. We eat the bread not with butter but with honey and apples; this represents a sweet New Year and serves the dual purpose of honoring our equally traditional lactose intolerance.

On the second night of Rosh Hashanah, we eat a “new fruit”–a fruit that has recently come into season but that we have not yet had the opportunity to eat. When we eat this new fruit, we say a special blessing thanking God for keeping us alive until this season (and warning Him not to let the fruit keep us up all night with the runs).

3. Many families follow the custom called Tashlich (casting off), in which they walk to flowing water, say a prayer, and symbolically throw their sins into the stream. Part of this custom is to warn one another not to accidentally cast our tennis bracelets into the flowing water, lest there follow an earsplitting live demonstration of the wailing of a Jewish heart.

If you’d like to participate in our celebration of the New Year, hint around to the Jews you know for an invitation. Remember that Jewish hints have all the delicacy of a cinderblock. So instead of saying, “I’m intrigued by your New Year customs,” try, “My doctor just put me on Prozac because I wasn’t invited to any Jewish New Year events.”

Enjoy, and Shana Tova (which means “good year,” and is also the name of the Hebrew Goddess of Overcooked Chicken).

With the High Holidays coming up, Judy Bart Kancigor, author of Cooking Jewish, shares some of her favorite holiday memories and recipes.

To read an excerpt from Cooking Jewish, click here or scroll to the bottom of this post.

When I was growing up, my large, boisterous family would gather in my grandparents’ tiny apartment in Belle Harbor, New York, for the festive Rosh Hashanah meal. Papa Harry, a carpenter who had emigrated from Russia in 1906, would extend the dining table with boards reaching practically to the walls. The arrival of the aunties with their foil-covered dishes signaled the beginning of the holiday feast, a menu that seldom varied:

For the forshpeis (appetizer) Aunt Estelle’s homemade, lovingly shaped gefilte fish served with Uncle Lou’s horseradish, hand-grated on the back porch to keep out the fumes;

Aunt Irene’s golden chicken soup and ethereal matzoh balls, followed by Mama Hinda’s roast chicken and brisket with oven-browned potatoes and Aunt Sally’s tsimmes (sweet carrot stew).

The centerpiece of the table was Mama Hinda’s grand spiral challah, round for Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, a symbol of the endless cycle of life. Only for this holiday would she add raisins, a sweet embellishment to enjoy a sweet New Year.

Sweet notes echoed from the beginning of the meal, as all assembled dipped apples in honey, to the dessert platters wedged onto Mama’s groaning sideboard: Aunt Irene’s dark, dense honey cake, Aunt Estelle’s mile-high sponge cake, Aunt Hilda’s chocolate chip mandelbrot (twice-baked cookies), and Aunt Sally’s apple strudel and taiglach, crisp cookie balls slowly simmered in honey.

Over at the children’s table, a gaggle of cousins, raised practically as siblings, chattered, spilled soup, shouted, squabbled, hiccupped with laughter, fought over drumsticks, dropped crumbs, clamored for seconds, and ran around, as far as one could run in such tight quarters, until a withering look from one of the aunties brought a temporary attitude adjustment, and then it was back to the merriment.

Or so I’m told.

We were never there!

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