As I made my way home from the Seattle Library, the living cold slush was forming small puddles at my feet. It was one after the death of December 1940. I came to America a short while ago. Under my jacket was the book called Yeğil Damların Anne. I was getting this book from the library for the third time.
Although my English was not very good, I wanted to know how Anne was able to adapt to the new environment she was entering. His life was like a reflection of my new life in America.
My sub-world was just like these dim, gloomy streets. The little lights of the Christmas trees visible through the windows reminded me that tonight was the first day of Hanukkah. I stopped and thought about past Hanukkah nights and my now dismembered family, leaning on one of the streetlights.
Suddenly I was back to our apartment in Vienna. My parents, with a long beard My grandfather Mendel, with his blue silk clothes and pearl box, my grandmother Tova, did his hair make a bun? cousin Berta, all together silver? We were gathered around Hanukiya. My great-grandfather, a silver craftsman in Poland, made this Hanukiya for the dream of his eldest daughter. For generations, it illuminated my family's Hanukkah celebrations. This Hanukiya symbolized not only the victory of the Maccabees, but also the invincibility of their Judaism and the continuation of our family.
A hundred years later, six thousand miles away, I was filled with peace when I thought about the silver embroidery of Hanuki, recalling those sweet roses, rare leaves, and fragile branches.
A truck suddenly passed in front of me, soaking my trousers and interrupting my dreams. "Where did everything go?" I murmured to myself.
But I knew where everything was going. My grandfather was arrested on Crystal Night and sent to Dachau and killed there. My grandmother died of a heart attack shortly after the Nazis raided their apartment and patched their shops. Berta was captured by the British while trying to reach Palestinian land illegally, and sent to a prison camp. What about Hanukiya? The fate of Hanuki was still a mystery, as it was forbidden to take out any valuable handicrafts from the country.
It was getting dark when I got home. My father came back from the synagogue and my mother was peeling potatoes. She set aside one of the potatoes and started crushing the others. When I asked why he was taking a potato, he said to me, "This will be our Hanuki."
I shook my vineyard from side to side with sadness. With so many unique people and values missing from my life, that amazing family heirloom was replaced by a potato? Was this one of the new traditions in our new country? My mother punched two holes on both sides of the potato and placed the candles in them. Just as my father lit the second candle, the door knocked. When we opened the door, the postman handed my father a large package, said "Private mail", "Can you sign here?"
The package was covered with foreign scales. It was coming from Palestinian land. There was neither a name nor an address about the sender on the package. We were all overwhelmed. Who sent us a package from the Holy Land? could it be Excitedly, we opened the package. The first thing we saw was a letter to my parents. My father opened the letter in German and read it aloud:
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Schiffman,
Ms. Schiffman's mother died of a heart attack after the Nazis raided her apartment. The apartment clerk then entered the house and found a package hidden in the closet. The attendant was a Christian who knew the family. He took the peketi and gave it to Berta, who was going to the Palestinian land. On the ship to Haifa, Berta told me the whole story. We understood that if the British caught any of us, the other should mail the package to the address inside. After reaching Haifa, I was saved with Hagana's help. I had tremendous difficulties connecting. Therefore, I regret to state that I forgot the package. Yesterday I found the package again. Please excuse me for this delay.
Yours sincerely,
Berta's Friend
The three of us opened the package with curiosity and excitement. A black and white horse feather pillow, wrapped in newspapers, emerged from him. While my mother was taking it out of the box, we all wondered why the pillow, for which Berta was taking great risks, was so important. My father inspected, even sniffed and pressed the pillow all over it. It stopped suddenly.
He said, "Quick, Martha, can you get the scissors?" Mom found the sewing box and gave my dad the little scissors. My father carefully began to unstitch the stitches on one side of my fabric. Straw spilled from the pillow, and my father dipped his hand and took out the familiar Hanukiya, still shining brightly from the pillow!
I could hardly control myself. Our beautiful Hanuki had returned to our house just in time on the first day of Hanukkah. For a moment, we were all frozen. Then we all started talking in unison. How did he get out of Austria? Who could have risked his life to get this out of the country? In the pillow that Berta hid
We thought about it. He must have taken it to the border by train, then he was able to get on the ship. Later, he wanted to make sure that if he could not continue with his goal, someone else would complete it.
My father put Hanukiya on the table and placed the two candles on the potato where they should be, Hanukiya. He lighted? but? and sang? ehehiyanu Beraha in front of the Hanukkah candles. When he started to announce his acquittal for the first night, me and my mother happily joined him. For me, the prayer we said that night spoke much more than the conjunction of Hanukkah. The prayer was also sung for the miracle that tied me to my roots. I felt the feelings of hope blossoming in my face. I could think more positively. For the first time in a long time, life did not seem blurry. Something valuable had come back to me again. It was a special symptom that it reached us ...
Today, that silver Hanukiya is standing in our dining room. My elder son David knows that one day Hanukiya will stop at his home, then at his daughter Anna and the other generations that followed. We all know that flickering candles will forever symbolize both the continuity of our family and the unquenchable flame of Judaism ....