When I was a very young child on Loyola Southway in Lower Park Heights, every night, my father held me in his arms and slowly danced around our living room singing “La La Lee.” One day, he went to visit his parents in Atlantic City, where they owned a boarding house. That night, I wouldn’t go to sleep. “I want ‘La La Lee,’” I cried over and over again. The next morning, my mother packed our bags, and we boarded a bus to join my father. Eventually, I outgrew “La La Lee,” grew up, married, and moved to Atlanta, Georgia. But I still feel the warmth of my father’s arms as he danced and sang to me.

Both my beloved parents died in Cheshvan, four years apart: my mother in 1986 and my father in 1990. Since my mother was nifteres first, I observed her yahrtzeit by hosting a group of women in my home to speak of her virtues. Sometimes, I sponsored a class in her memory as part of Bena, the women’s division of the Atlanta Scholars Kollel (ASK). But what to do for my father?

What do people do once their grown children are on their own and they’ve retired from their jobs? Travel, of course. Seniors have always been well represented in foreign and domestic travel. Now, Jewish seniors can also take advantage of an ever-expanding array of farflung – even exotic – travel experiences.

“In the good old days, seniors packed a peckalah, got in their car, and took off for the day. Now seniors can travel anywhere,” say Dave Broth of Caves Travel. He and his wife Nancy have been booking trips for clients and themselves for over 27 years.

During these years, the Broths occupied the familiar Caves Travel office on Reisterstown Road. At the end of 2017, they sold the property and moved the agency to their home on Shelburne Road. There, they continue to book trips by phone, email, and  fax.

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.