That was where I learned to correctly pronounce so many of the then unfamiliar words that are now my buddies

W

hen I was a young teen in Cleveland, Yavne High School was housed in the large and imposing Taylor Road Synagogue building. Our day would begin on time with (mandatory) prayer at nine a.m. in the small chapel — a narrow, pretty wood- paneled room that accommodated about 50 and housed all of us with seats left over. Because most of us walked to school, we all arrived at various points of on time.

That rather modest mini-sanctuary was on the left as you entered the building through the impressive heavy wooden main doors — which no one did because we all came in through either the side or back doors.

A maroon, velvet gold-fringed and tasseled curtain, with embroidered donor names prominently displayed, covered the arched ark in the front of the room. They matched the theater-style seating with the maroon-cushioned hinged seats that would automatically close as soon as you stood up.

The wall of windows on the right overlooked the beautiful foliage of Cain Park, right next door.