Students practice a ritual of Jewish High Holidays

"Whoa," said Scott Brown, 11, as he caught a glimpse through the thicket of a stagnant green pond.

"I hope we're not going there."

But they were.

His pockets full of bread crumbs, Brown and his classmates traipsed along a Cherry Hill sidewalk, headed for a sluggish stream that flowed out of that wooded pond.

There, the 22 fifth graders of Temple Beth Sholom's Hebrew school would practice the centuries-old ritual of Tashlikh. Through something as ordinary as a loaf of bread, they would explore atonement, forgiveness and new beginnings - core ideas of the Jewish High Holidays, which begin today.

"Why are we walking to a stream this afternoon?" teacher Paula Bennett had asked.

"To do Tashlikh," one girl answered.

"And what does Tashlikh mean?" Bennett asked.

Silence.

" 'To cast away,' " she explained. "We're going to take bread and cast it on the water for the sins we've committed."

Said to have begun in the 13th century, Tashlikh has been practiced customarily by Conservative Jews - such as Beth Sholom's congregants - on Rosh Hashanah, the first day of the Jewish New Year, and by some Orthodox Jews on the following day. This is the occasion, according to tradition, when God weighs each human's fate. He does not make his judgment final, however, until nine days later, on Yom Kippur.

During the interval, individuals may repent of their sins, ask forgiveness of those they have wronged, and pledge to do better in the year ahead.

Tashlikh (pronounced tash-LEEKH), or the casting of bread on flowing water, represents the atonement process. The bread symbolizes sin, which the water carries away.

Although Reform Jews used to not practice the ritual, "it's become nearly universal" during the last 20 years, said Rabbi Lance Sussman, senior rabbi of Reform Congregation Keneseth Israel in Elkins Park.

Tashlikh has become a "great family event," said Sussman, adding that some Reform congregations also connect it with concepts of ecology and nature.

"It's a chance to stand by a stream, in the woods," he said, "and give praise for nature, and to contemplate our responsibilities to the Earth."

A half-mile from their Cherry Hill synagogue, the children of Beth Sholom - most of them 10 years old - found themselves in a grassy clearing near Cohasset Road.

"Ooooh, this smells," exclaimed Lindsey Feltoon, wrinkling her nose at the dank, earthy scent rising from the wild geranium crushed underfoot. "When's the smell going to stop?" another asked.

But the odor was quickly forgotten as Rabbi Micah Peltz gathered them by the stream.

"What are we doing today?" he asked.

"Sending our sins away," answered David Golkow.

"What's an example of a sin?" the rabbi asked.

"Disobeying your parents," said Emily Serata.

"Fighting," said Drew Meklinsky.

"Whacking your brother," said Josh Block, which got his classmates laughing.

Peltz smiled. "You might laugh," he told them. "But we must put ourselves in the place of the person we have wronged. So I want everyone to think about what in the last year they did wrong, and what they can do better."

The children were quiet for a moment.

"OK," said the rabbi, reaching into a loaf of split-top white bread. "We'll do four kids at a time."

He led them to the top of a five-foot-high bank.

First was Scott Brown. "I already have bread," he said, and pulled two fistfuls from his pants pockets. "Should I throw them both?"

The rabbi nodded. Scott fired the wads at the stream.

For what was he repenting? "Not being nice to my brother," he replied.

Next up was Drew. He tore up his slice and dropped the pieces into the water.

"I'd like to get in not as much fighting with my brother, and be better to my parents," he said. "I'm not perfect."

Although most broke their bread apart, a few hurled slices intact, Frisbee-style, leaving sodden white squares to float downstream.

"Be nice to my family," said Marli Ehrlich.

"Be nicer to my sister," said Ally Lazarus.

"I'd really like to stop fighting with my brother," said Joshua Chazin.

Stephen Hoffman stood atop the ravine, carefully aiming tiny pieces of bread at the water.

He popped a few into his mouth.

The rabbi smiled and gave him a mock scolding: "You'll get a tummy ache eating your sins."