When I was 6 years old, my family moved from Moscow to alittle town in the center of Israel. There was a park with apond in it not far from our new house. My brother and I spent many hours playing in the park, but the pond, we were told, was off-limits. Once, on a really hot day toward the end of the summer, we climbed the wooden fence that surrounded it—anxious for a refreshing dive—but suddenly an old man, one of the park guards, appeared out of nowhere and ordered us out.

"The pond," he frowned," is for the Holy Fish only! "The old man refused a further explanation. "You'll see," was all he was willing to say. "Soon they'll be here."

So we began a pond watch, convinced that some magical fish family, complete with wish-fulfillment kits, would rise out of the pond. We lasted a week, finally admitting our boredom. Nothing seemed to swim in that miserable pond, and we soon forgot about the whole thing.

A few weeks later, Rosh Hashanah came. We didn't grow up traditionally Jewish, and didn't know much about the holidays, but at school they told us it was the Jewish New Year—a good time for new beginnings. For the first time in my life, I went to a synagogue on the first day of the holiday. Afterwards, my family went to have lunch with the Katz family, new friends who lived a few houses away. When lunch was over, Mr. Katz stood up and said, "Well, I suggest we all gather up the leftover challah crumbs and go over to the Holy Fish Pond."

My brother and I looked at each other stunned, then stared suspiciously at our host, and at everyone else around the table. Everybody was excitedly collecting crumbs from the left-over bread and putting them in paper napkins. My mother noticed our excitement and confusion and turned to Mr. Katz with a shy smile. "What are you talking about?" she asked. He burst out laughing. "Don't you have holy fish in Russia? Haven't you ever heard of Tashlich?"

We all looked at him like he was crazy. "Don't worry," he said, "it's fun. Come with us to the park and you'll see. "I  never saw the park as crowded as it was that day. Hundreds of people crowded together around the usually desolate pond. Chasidic men in full black garb, women with kerchiefs and babies and children everywhere. Everyone was facing the pond, holding prayer books and mumbling. People took breadcrumbs from their pockets and threw them into the pond, still mumbling. When done, they squeezed their way through the crowd, leaving someone else to take their place at the pond's edge.

I tugged at my brother’s arm and we crawled through the throngs to our spot. There they were! Big, silvery fish—dozens of them—swimming in a frenzy, trying to gulp down every crumb thrown in. The Holy Fish! The old man hadn't lied. But I wondered—why were they holy? What did they have to do with Rosh Hashanah? So many questions buzzed through my head that afternoon. I didn't know it at the time, but I had witnessed one of the oldest Jewish rituals. On our walk back from the park, Mr. Katz explained that this ritual was called Tashlich, which in Hebrew means "throwaway." Traditionally done on the first afternoon of Rosh Hashanah, Tashlich is an act that symbolizes throwing away our sins so that we can have a fresh start for the New Year. Usually one throws away bread crumbs into a natural bodyof water, preferably one with fish that will eat the "sins" and make them disappear.

"So what happens to the fish?" I asked. "Don't they die from eating everyone's sins?" He laughed again. "It's not REALLY sins, you know, and they are just ordinary fish. Don't take it so seriously, it's just a ritual."

Over 20 years have passed since that Rosh Hashanah. We moved out of that town shortly after that day and I never visited the "Holy Fish Pond" again. I have celebrated many Rosh Hashanahs since then, and every time I go to Tashlich I remember Mr. Katz's words: Don' t take it so seriously, it's just a ritual.

So are rituals serious or are they just a game? Do rituals have any special significance below the surface? If so many people throw crumbs representing their sins, maybe it does work and Mr. Katz is wrong.

I starting researching the history and meaning of Tashlich, which led me into the world of symbolism, Jewish mysticism, and many unanswerable questions. Tashlich, I've discovered, is indeed a mystery. Nobody knows for sure when, how or where the custom developed.

During the High Holidays, we are involved in the verbal process of acknowledging who we are, and how we wish to change ourselves for the better. But beyond the words we use,we "do" many things and experience the season through our bodies, and not just our minds. We eat certain foods, like  apples and honey, and remember the taste and the mood of the holiday. We hear certain sounds, like the shofar, and were-experience something inside that goes beyond words. The sights, the smells and the feelings all amount to one thing: an integrated awareness, in our bodies and our minds, of the New Year.

Just as our holidays would not be the same without their special foods, they would be very dull without the other "acts" we do—anything from spinning dreidels, wearing masks, or throwing bread crumbs. Very often, the things we do, rather than the things we say, are what we remember most.