A miracle in a time of miracles should not be a
surprise and Chanukah is a time of miracles.
Chanukah, the story of battles won, of Yehuda Macabee
and his sons, but also the story of an oil lamp. It is
written that the lamp shall remain lit without
interruption before the place where the sacred Torah
sleeps. When the oil for the lamp in the great Temple in
Jerusalem was desecrated and the nearest supply was a
journey of four days going and four days return, a great
miracle happened in that place. The small lamp burned on
without cease for the whole eight days.
So what is this new Chanukah miracle to which I
refer? It concerns a Chanukah menorah. Such a menorah
with its nine branches--eight candles for the miraculous
eight days and nights and one more to stand above the
others as a leader--is usually a family treasure.
The menorah of our story had been a family treasure for
more than two hundred years. It grew from the hands of a
great silversmith. It was commissioned and given as a
wedding present by a wealthy man whose daughter was
matched with the son of a well-respected rabbi. These
two children--the bride was 14 and the groom had just
entered his 17th year--received many treasures, but
valued the silver Chanukah menorah from the bride's
father and a pair of silver Sabbath candlesticks
presented by adoring admirers of the groom's father,
above all else. The Sabbath candlesticks remained with
the bride until she departed from this earth. The
Chanukah menorah brought light and joy to the household
for eight winter nights every year until the couple's
oldest son--himself soon to become a rabbi--was given
the daughter of a rabbi as his wife. The menorah,
polished until it shone like wisdom itself, stood on the
table covered with gifts for the newlyweds.
So it was that the menorah, revered by all who owned it,
passed from parents to children or, as it is described
in the Hebrew liturgy, l'dor v'dor--from generation to
generation. The menorah was blessed by so many different
voices and brought its light into many different homes.
Once, during a cycle of pogroms with their ransacking,
looting and burning, the menorah, along with several
other valued items, was saved by being tied in a sack
and lowered by rope into a well. Another time, the
menorah was recovered from the unconscious body of a
thief whose head had encountered a watchman's cudgel as
he was climbing out a window with a bag full of loot. In
that incident the menorah acquired a distinctive dent in
its smooth, silver base.
L'dor v'dor--from generation to generation the menorah
traveled.
In 1941, German troops, cheered on by their nazi
leaders, ravaged a path across Europe. Avram, eldest son
of Moshe, the chief rabbi of the shtetl that sprawled
over one half of the town of Narodny, dug a deep hole at
the base of an old tree and buried the menorah wrapped
in a linen sheet. He went to tell his family where he
had hidden the treasure. From the edge of the woods he
watched as his father and mother and several of his
neighbors were lined up and machine-gunned to death. He
saw his brother, Micah, and his sister, Rachel, along
with many other children, loaded into a truck and driven
away.
Avram, a partisan, a refugee, and a ghost of a dead
world, lived in the woods. He ran and fought and hid. He
starved, he was wounded and he was cold. He crossed
forests and rivers. He crossed mountains and borders. He
kept moving. When safety was near, he was denied safety.
He was betrayed and several times came close to death or
capture, but he escaped. He escaped and escaped and
escaped.
The war in Europe ended, but Avram's wandering went on.
He entered the tumultuous territory that was soon to be
born as the land of Israel. Again he fought. Again he
was wounded; this time seriously enough to spend months
in a hospital far from all battles.
When he was healed he wandered again; this time to
America. In America he settled down. He met a woman who
had seen some of the horrors he had seen. Her heart knew
some of the pain his heart knew.Before they married,
Avram traveled once more to Europe. He wanted to give
his bride a gift like no other in the whole world. He
traveled by airplane and then by train and by bus until
he came to the place where he had been born.
Narodny was still there, but its name had been changed.
The shtetl was no longer there, but what use is a shtetl
when all the Jews are gone?
The people who lived in the house that had once been so
familiar to him watched suspiciously as he went to an
old tree and started to dig. They did not try to
dissuade him since he had a letter from the authorities.
They feared the authorities. Besides, they were glad he
had not asked them to explain the convoluted means by
which what had once been his had become theirs.
He dug until he saw rotted, tattered cloth. Then Avram
reached down into the hole. He lay flat on the ground
and scooped away earth with his hands. When he stood up
again he was holding his treasure. The silver was black,
but to him it glowed like nothing else he had ever seen.
He clasped it to his chest and he cried."Blessed
one," he said in Hebrew, "ruler of the
universe, we thank you for having carried us safely to
this time."
The Polish peasants who watched him didn't understand
his words, but they could comprehend the situation. They
awkwardly crossed themselves and muttered, "Praise
God."
Avram's bride wept when she saw the gift he had brought
back with him. She had heard its story and she knew it
meant his lost family and hers as well would be
represented at their wedding.
The story of the menorah does not end here. In some ways
this was just another beginning. Avram and his wife had
children. Their children became young adults. When their
oldest daughter was about to marry, the menorah,
polished to silver splendor, stood in the center of a
table laden with gifts.
After the ceremony at the synagogue and before the
wedding supper was served, an elderly woman walked
toward the gift table. She was the beloved friend and
neighbor of the groom's mother. Her eyes were fixed on
the menorah. Her steps became slower as she approached
it. When she stood by the table, she lifted her bony
arm. A blue, tattooed number glowed on her white skin.
She put one thin finger in the dent on the menorah's
base. Then she burst into tears and fainted. The father
of the bride saw her fall and rushed to her side. He was
leaning over her when she again opened her eyes. She
stared up at him and in a voice that whispered as if it
were afraid of its own words, she said, "Avram."Avram,
whose American friends called him "Abe," had
not heard that name in many years. He nodded as if in a
trance. The whispering voice came again, "I am
Rachel. I am your sister."
They wept. All the guests wept. The angels wepts. One
might say the young couple's life together was launched
on a sea of joyous tears. Their journey was started with
joy and illuminated for many years to come by the lights
of a truly miraculous Chanukah menorah.
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