Last Spring, I was mesmerized by my first Waterfalls, a Chinese auction sponsored by Kollel Avodas Levi of Yeshiva Ner Israel. For several years, I had studied the Waterfalls catalog and purchased tickets from 700 miles away. I hoped I would win and wished that I could attend in person. Now, back in Baltimore, that wish came true – at least part of it. I didn’t win a prize – not the exciting ones displayed around the perimeter of the room. But something positive happened when I attended my first Waterfalls and gave tzedaka to a Jewish institution that I love.

My connection with Ner Israel began before my sons learned there. Growing up in Baltimore, I attended seventh grade at Garrison Junior High. One winter day, there was a fierce snowstorm that came down so heavily that we were let out of school early. Trudging through the snow on Garrison Boulevard in hopes of catching a ride home to Shirley Avenue, I remember walking by a huge mansion that was the Yeshiva’s first building. For a fleeting moment, I wondered what was going on inside.

Several years ago, T-shirts bearing the words “I Found the Afikomen!” were proudly worn by young children after the Seder nights. The shirt was a fad, which, like most fads, faded, but the sentiment lives on. The joy of finding the afikomen will never be lost. The customs surrounding the afikomen may be based on the Talmud’s statement, “We grab the matzot on the night of Passover, so that the children will not sleep.” Sometimes, the broken part of the middle matzah  is passed from hand to hand until the end of the meal, when whoever has it can bargain for a gift. And sometimes, the leader hides it, and the children must hunt until they find it.

Growing up in Baltimore in the late 40s and 50s, my afikomen gifts hold special memories for me. I remember Seders on Cylburn Avenue, which my Great-Aunt Cele, hosted. Although Aunt Cele never married, she was the matriarch of the family, who treated her nieces and nephews as her children.

Around her beautiful Seder table, sat my beloved mother, her niece, and my dear father. My brother and I sat across from them with Aunt Cele between us. As the aroma of simmering chicken soup wafted in from the kitchen and we listened to the words of the Haggadah, our eyelids would droop. That’s when Aunt Cele started whispering to us about when and where to search for the afikomen. She made it a mystery, an exciting game. My brother and I knew that if we found the afikomen – and every year we did! – we would get a prize.

“Do you want to be a banana?”

“We’re looking for pirate costumes.”

“Where are the ‘Where is Waldo?’ costumes?”

“There’s ketchup and mustard, kids,”

“Mommy, look, a unicorn!”

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These comments would certainly sound unusual in the aisles of a department store, but they were apropos at the pre-opening of the Keren Reva Costume Gemach on Sunday, February 10.

“Mishnichnas Adar marbim besimcha – When Adar comes in, increase happiness.” For six years, this has been the mission of Tzilah Raczkowski and her dedicated volunteers. “If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to bring simcha to the community,” said

After walking into Seven Mile Market on Sunday, January 20, I asked a cashier if I could borrow a pen. It wasn’t to write a check but to capture what was going on at Seven Mile’s Customer Appreciation and 30th Anniversary Event. While winds blew wildly outside, on one of the coldest days of the year, inside, the warmth among the customers, management, and product demonstrators was worth recording.

The store was filled with the joy that comes from sharing a simcha. “This isn’t a day to shop but a day to have fun,” said one customer. Adults and children walked from table to table sampling the many varieties of food being offered. Although some people with carts were actually shopping and experienced a few “traffic jams,” no one pushed, not even the children with chocolate and vanilla ice cream on their cheeks and noses.

Last month, Relief Resources of Baltimore sponsored One Crucial Night to Raise Mental Health Awareness. Before the program started, Zahava List, with a smile that could light up a room, stood behind a table in BJSZ’s foyer, displaying brochures for Chazkeinu and a sample gift for women with postpartum depression. She’s the president and cofounder of this two-and-a-half-year-old peer group of Jewish women. Chazkeinu’s aim is to provide empathetic support and positive connections to Jewish women coping with mental illness and to help dispel the stigma of mental illness. Zahava knows firsthand about that stigma. That’s why she readily shares

It’s 3 a.m., the night after Chanukah, and I’m sitting at the computer trying to recapture its spirit. Dreidels lie deep in my coat pocket, Chanukah paper plates float around the kitchen, and chocolate gelt glitters on tabletops, tempting me to savor just one more. A tall silver menorah, rescued from the Holocaust, still sits in the window. My husband lit it for the first four nights, then we were off to see children and grandchildren for the fifth, sixth, and seventh nights in Far Rockaway and the eighth in Lakewood. There were gelt and gifts for the children, a party with laughter and latkes, and memories to cherish. But, for me, what was special about this Chanukah began in Baltimore before the first candle was lit and kept inspiring and challenging me even when I thought it was over.