In the light of the HanukkahThe holiday which celebrates the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem following its conquest by the Syrians in 165 BCE. The holiday is celebrated by lighting candles in a hanukiyah oon each of eight nights. Other customs include the eating of fried foods such as latkes (potato pancakes) and sufganiot (jelly donuts), playing dreidl (a gambling game with a spinning top), and, in present day America, gift giving. candles,
I see myself at age seven
holding the shamash with a shaky hand,
my turn to ignite the little flames
in our brass Hanukkiah.
I stay by the candles
watching their rainbow colors
dancing in the front window’s reflection.
In my memory, there was always snow outside.
In the light of the candles,
I see my mother
inviting our school friends
to come over for latkes,
wrapping extra presents for everyone,
sending them home with little net bags of chocolate coins.
I see her hands,
younger and softer than my own are now,
scraping the wax off the menorahThe seeven-branched menorah stood in the Temple, and many present-day synagogues feature the menorah. Titus' arch depicts the Romans' sacking of the Temple and theft of the menorah. A nine-branched menorah called a Hanukkiyah is lit on Hanukkah to symbolize the miracle of the oil that burned for eight days. each night.
In the purple blue center of the flames,
I see my grandmothers,
their stories once again animated, alive–
their love for me pulsing,
their guidance, that I desperately need,
flows to me easily.
They say: We are here, darling, not far away.
In the light of the candles,
I may find my great-grandmothers, too:
Sara, who came to this country with her sisters and made a life;
Molly, who feared the Klan that marched through her town and died young;
Ethel, whose name was not that but a Yiddish version of it that no one knows,
who died in childbirth in the old country;
Olga, my heart, killed in Sobibor at the age that I am now.
I listen quietly to what they may say–
Love, whispers, pain.
In the light of the candles,
I catch their words in my hands,
transform them into this poem.
The ShekhinahThe feminine name of God, expounded upon in the rabbinic era and then by the Kabbalists in extensive literature on the feminine attributes of the divine. dances, too,
in the candle flames.
the Great Mother,
holding us all–
mothers going back and forth in time.
Thank you for this portal, I say to her.
Thank you for this light,
for my blessings, for my life.
I tell her my hopes and wishes–
for my own dear children,
for the children suffering across this world.
In the light of the candles, I wait and listen.
The flames melt down to wax.
I scrape it away
with the hands of my mothers
and theirs and theirs going back.
