What did the Holy Days mean to you?

It might be my age. It might be what our world has become. It might be weariness of the whole thing. This year’s High Holy Days had a whole different effect on me. I have written before that I was raised in a home that could be called “Not Jewish.” I didn’t celebrated my bar mitzvah until I was 40. My family never went to synagogue until I had children of my own.

It was, as I have written, my father. His father, my grandfather, was again, as I have written before, a dyed-in-the-wool Socialist. His father, that would be my great-grandfather, was a nasty, unforgiving and, according to family history, extremely religious. Now in some circles that is an “Oxi-Moran.” It is my understanding that because he lived under the czar, he could indeed be both.

So, my dad, who was not a Socialist, still kept Judaism at arm’s length when I was growing up. However, in 1948 that all changed. The State of Israel was reborn.

Suddenly Bill Shipley became a dedicated Zionist. He took positions in the Jewish community, we went to synagogue on High Holy Days. His mentor, when we moved to Cleveland two years later, was Rabbi Abba Hillel Silver (look him up).

I was a “communal” Jew. I went to a Reform Synagogue, fasted on Yom Kippur, ate lox, bagels and ham sandwiches along with rugalach and shrimp.

I married a girl who was raised in a religious home. It did not affect our home life — that is until we had children. They went to Hebrew School. We went to temple more regularly. We lived in Cleveland, I fit in with the Jewish community, when we moved to Orlando 26 years later there was no Jewish community. It was a small Central Florida town that exported oranges.

Until Mr. Disney showed up. As Disney World grew, the town exploded. We had moved there so I could build a radio station. It grew with the town. So did the Jewish community. We were active as a family of “Communal Jews.” Somewhat religious, but active within the community. I made my mark working against antisemitism and telling the story of Israel to community groups, synagogues and yes, even church groups.

We celebrated the High Holy Days, went to a Reform synagogue and fasted on Yom Kippur. Our sons had bar mitzvahs, our daughters had bat mitzvahs. Matter of fact, as the community grew, we helped create the first Reform synagogue.

When my wife, Rachel, died, I moved to New Orleans. Here in “The Crescent City” there is a small Jewish community. There is very little if any interaction with the gentile community.

So, on Yom Kippur I fast by myself. I find great solace and a feeling of peace in reading the service on both Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur. I do attend synagogue (kinda) by tuning in to Services at Park Avenue Synagogue in New York City (fancy!).

I find as I grow older, things “Jewish” mean more to me. I have long been an advocate for the State of Israel and the Jewish People. Rachel was raised Orthodox and we honored that in many ways — but above all, for both of us and our children our main focus has been on our People.

I have written before that the life changer for us was our first trip to Israel in 1968. Sorry if I repeat myself but it is a great story. It was barely six months after the Six Day War. Through our relationship with the Jewish Federation in Cleveland, we were given a wonderful guide by the name of Adi Ben Or. He was a WWII veteran before moving to Israel in 1946 (before the Second Commonwealth was formed). He was the first pilot in the Israeli “airforce” which, in 1946 consisted of one Piper Cub. In that little plane he would fly Ben Gurion from Jerusalem to the Negev where, as he told us, Ben Gurion stated “This will be the future of Israel.”

After an incredible 10 days with Adi, we went to his home for Shabbat dinner. There I finally said: “All right — you win! You want us to move here?”

“No,” he said. “But send your children just for a summer. Let them meet their Israeli cousins.”

We did.

Our eldest, Tracy went to art school there, moved to Jerusalem in 1970 and has been there ever since. Eldest son Tom, served in Special Forces in the IDF. Daughter Robin spent a year and became an active Jew. Youngest son, Adam, went but, well, three out of four is not bad.

So, with Rachel gone, I will continue to honor Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur and wish you, as my Bubbe would say “A gitten Yar.”