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Dec. 23, 2005
The magic Chanukah parade
How a family heirloom was saved, just in time for the holidays.
SHARON MELNICER
My sweet grandmother was a small woman, barely five feet tall.
Her two-foot-tall candelabra was more than just a candleholder.
It was a family symbol, a magnet that brought us all together. Today,
it sits on my mantle, right in the centre, holding the position
of honor. I polish it daily, making sure that it gleams, like she
so lovingly did all those years ago, before it came to me.
On Shabbat evenings, Baba would don a special Shabbat kerchief,
a white, linen square with a border of delicate lace. With great
fanfare, she would light each candle. When she finished lighting
the last candle, she stood in front of the candelabra and closed
her eyes. Tears ran down her cheeks. She prayed for her husband,
her married children and her grandchildren. She spoke in Yiddish,
"Her mein tier tata, hiet oif mein man, kinder un di eyniklach...."
("Dearest Father in Heaven, watch and protect my husband, children
and grandchildren. May it be your will that they grow up to be good
people who are loyal to our religion. Please grant my dear husband
a livelihood and patience. Watch over us all.")
We all stood by the Shabbat table in awe. Baba looked like a queen
speaking to the King of Kings, to almighty God himself. When she
finished her prayer, we began our Shabbat.
As our family grew, my grandmother spent more time with her candles.
By the time she reached her 90th birthday, she had many married
grandchildren, who also had children of their own. There were five
generations in Baba's family. When lighting the candles, she prayed
for each family member, never omitting one.
Her candelabra was made of solid silver with a heavy silver base.
All year, it had three branches of two candlesticks. In the middle
was a stem for another candle. The traditional custom for Shabbat
eve is to light one candle each for the father, mother and children.
As each child is born, another candle is added to the Shabbat lighting.
Throughout the year, Baba's candelabra was fitted for six candles.
During the week of Chanukah, she added another branch of two candlesticks
each, making a total of 10 candles. The candelabra was built in
such a way that the candleholders could be removed and oil cups
could be inserted for the special lighting on Chanukah. Our Shabbat
candelabra was thus transformed into a menorah.
During the week of Chanukah, she gave her prized candelabra to my
grandfather to light candles for the holiday. Chanukah was our happiest
time. All the children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren came
to Baba and Zayde to receive Chanukah gelt and join in the menorah
lighting.
Imagine the two-foot menorah with 10 candles shining in all its
glory. Zayde stood proudly like a kohain, a high priest in
the Temple, when he lit the menorah.
When my Zayde died, my grandmother sold their two-storey house on
a leafy boulevard in Winnipeg's North End and moved to a tiny, one-bedroom
apartment a dozen streets away. Though she couldn't pack up and
take all of her cherished things, of course she packed her precious
candelabra. She wrapped it in a large piece of worn, cotton flannel
and then wrapped it again in tissue paper, before placing it gently
into the box she had made a special trip to get from California
Fruit on Main Street. Before every Shabbat, Baba would shine the
silver candelabra and pray, "May my mazel (luck) always
shine!"
All this came to an end when the moving van drove away that day
in September 1965, after Baba piled the cardboard boxes containing
her things in the middle of her living-room floor in her new apartment.
The box holding the treasured menorah was missing. Her first thought
was that it accidentally got left behind in the back of the truck,
or that it was still at the house. After a telephone call to the
moving company and a visit back to the old house, it was clear someone
had stolen her menorah. Baba was livid. Her small body shook like
a willow in the storm as she spoke about her most prized possession,
her candelabra. How could anyone take it? How would she light her
candles?
She believed the menorah would return: "I have prayed that
the menorah would protect us, and I'm sure that the menorah has
done just that," she said. "Now I pray that the menorah
protect itself and be returned to me."
With silent determination, she prayed and prayed. The family did
not know what to do. Unexpectedly a childhood friend from Austria,
my grandmother's birthplace, came to visit her one day. They had
been friends for years, both in Winnipeg after they married and
before that, as young girls in the old country. She announced, "I
never saw another menorah like yours until today. My mouth fell
wide open when I saw a menorah just like yours in the window of
a pawn shop I passed as I was walking down Main Street to your place."
Baba phoned my mother and her siblings immediately, while Mrs. Stern
sat listening in the kitchen. We were dumbfounded. Could it be that
Baba's guest had actually seen the stolen menorah? Baba was geared
up and ready for action.
"Let's get my menorah!" she declared. "It soon will
be Chanukah and I need it back."
Baba, my parents, Aunty Tzeril and Uncle Simcha, Baba's friend,
Mrs. Stern, and a policeman from the north-central precinct made
their way down to the pawnshop. Her eyes sparkling, and with a shout
of confirmation and sheer joy, Baba pointed to her menorah. With
a quick movement, she bent her head toward it and softly spoke to
it like an old and trusted friend. In Yiddish, she whispered, "Yes,
you have done well. You have protected us and now you have protected
yourself. Come back home with me. Kim a haim mit mere."
Before anyone could say anything, Baba grabbed the menorah off the
shelf and held it close to her heart. Nobody could stop her. Aunty
Tzeril stayed behind with the policeman and pawnshop owner to do
the paperwork.
By this time, the commotion had attracted quite a crowd. Neighbors,
Jewish and non-Jewish, joined my grandmother in her triumphant walk
home. The closer she neared to home, the more people joined her.
Diminutive Baba, still wearing her apron and slippers, marched loudly
home, the menorah that she was carrying almost as big as she was,
followed by a procession of excited family and friends. What a sight
to see! It truly was a grand Chanukah parade.
Sharon Melnicer is a Jewish writer, artist and teacher
living in Winnipeg.
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