Ruth Cole, the president of the State Association of Jewish Federations, supplied the following information:

• There are two female executive directors, out of 12, of Jewish federations in New Jersey — Gerri Bamira of the Jewish Federation of Greater Middlesex County and Diane Naar of the Jewish Federation of Somerset, Hunterdon, and Warren Counties.

• In the country, there are 54 female executive directors out of 157. This number reflects the fact that there are, in some cases, acting co-executive directors. For example, in Washington, D.C. there is a female acting executive director.

• If the numbers are broken down by city size, the statistics are as follows:

Yanina Fleysher, named by Jewish Women International in December as one of 10 “Jewish Women to Watch,” came to the United States from Moldavia, then in the Soviet Union, when she was 12. Today, at 43, she runs a thriving custom-jewelry business based in Cedar Grove and was recognized in National Jeweler magazine last year as America’s best jeweler in the couture category.

How she got her start is a little bit sad and a little bit funny.

Barbara Kaufman, former president and now program chair of the National Council Section that will host Gloria Steinem Sept. 21, said the group is “always interested in finding speakers who share the same point of view we do — pro-women, pro-children, pro-families.”

She pointed out that the Bergen County Section, with some 1,200 members, is one of the largest contingents in the 100,000-member national volunteer organization.

Being a woman means bringing unique gifts to the table, says April Rudin, past president of Gesher Shalom–Jewish community Center of Fort Lee.

“We should really encourage young women to get involved” in synagogue leadership, said Rudin, suggesting that woman may “bring something more” to the role than men.

Contending that women convey a sense of “warmth and mothering, just as Golda Meir was the mother of her country,” the Fort Lee resident said that “people in general flourish under a mother’s watchful eye. We should embrace what it is that makes women different from men.”

High on the list of Jewish martyr stories still retold, or at least alluded to, every Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur is the terrible medieval tale of Rabbi Amnon of Mainz. For refusing to appear before the bishop of Regensburg, who had requested that Amnon become a Christian, he had his limbs hacked off. What was left of him was arrayed alongside his severed parts and returned home in time for Rosh HaShanah.

As the chazan reached the climax of services that day, Amnon interrupted with a beautiful liturgical poem, and was promptly transported to his heavenly abode. Three days later he appeared to the saintly Rabbi Kalonymos to teach him the poem and instruct him to spread it everywhere.

That poem, the Un’taneh Tokef, now is a centerpiece of the High Holy Days liturgy.

Even as I contemplate the seriousness of Yom Kippur each year, I am always struck by its incredible beauty. For me, the Kol Nidre service, with its powerful repetition and haunting melodies, is both a spiritual awakening and an opportunity to enjoy the richness of our millennia-old liturgical tradition.

There’s no question that Kol Nidre is an awe-inspiring experience. And yet, it also seems slightly perplexing. In English, the name translates to “All Vows,” referencing the core message of one of the central prayers: As we repent for past sins and look forward to a fresh start, we declare null and void any vows we might make in the coming year.

At a surprise 40th birthday party for a friend, her mother stood at their stove stirring a huge cauldron of simmering stew.

The chicken, flanken, potatoes, carrots, dried peas and barley in the pot emitted an aroma that made the offerings prepared by the caterer brought in by my friend’s husband pale in comparison.

“This is Lynda’s favorite food,” her mother said, dipping a ladle into the depth of the pot and asking me to take a taste.

I wasn’t expecting to swoon.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Cholent, a Sabbath stew,” she said. “But in our family, we eat it all the time.”

When I’m invited to a Shabbat or holiday meal in a Jewish home, I always bring kosher wine. Not just that, I try to make it Israeli.

It’s not because I keep kosher. And it’s not because the people I’m visiting necessarily keep kosher either. So if wine by any other name smells as sweet, why bother?

I know I’m not alone — plenty of Jews who ordinarily ignore the laws of kashrut buy kosher wine for Shabbat, stock their pantries with kosher-for-Passover food every spring, and pay extra for kosher catering at their simchas.