I Remember Mama

As a child, It’s difficult to appreciate the hard work that our parents go through to make the holidays special, magical and wondrous. Today, as an adult, I can look back fondly and revel in the efforts that my parents endured- between work, keeping the house running and still finding time to make Hanukkah memories that linger.

My father was a jeweler and far too busy (especially during holidays) keeping food on the table and a roof over our heads to be burdened with magic, so the brunt of the “Festival of Lights” fell on my mom. She too, worked at my dad’s store during the busy times and was woefully overworked during the season, but undaunted in her task to create special times that my sister and I still discuss to this day.

We both complained bitterly that we were given “short shrift” during the holiday’s, since we were not blind to the Christmas trees, stockings and the heaping piles of gifts that our non-Jewish friends appeared to reap from the mystical Santa that never slid down our chimney, therefore my mother had to be more than creative in an effort to appease us.

Because Hanukkah is celebrated over a period of eight nights, we were told the story of Judah and the Macabees. We lit the Menorah faithfully and had the requisite potato latkes and chocolate coins, known as “gelt”. We made our gift wishes known and my mother would make a game out of each night, with notes strewn throughout the house, teasing us with clues as to the whereabouts of each hidden (single) gift every night. To make it more exciting, the gifts grew in size and desirability as the nights wore on. Clothing was always first on the list, I suspect because mom knew it was a let down. This way, the final night was anticipated greatly, with the fervent wish that we would get something we actually, truly, desperately desired!

One year, it was the coveted bicycle for each of us that unbeknownst to us, our parents- exhausted from working all day and long into the night, had to assemble.

Another year it was stilts. Ahhh- the stilts! My sister and I wanted them so desperately, we almost forgot the feeling of being cheated out of Santa when they appeared before us, with the warning that they were never to be used inside the house. Yeah, right. As soon as the parents were out of sight, we were very busy mastering the art of stilt walking up and down that grand staircase in our Victorian home (it’s a Hanukkah miracle that we didn’t kill ourselves) and walked to school every day on those stilts for months!

For quite a while, my entire life revolved around LEGO and my mother kept me well stocked through the holidays as each new piece came out on the market. I missed having “special time” with mom during the season and had little understanding of why the parents weren’t around enough, so I started writing notes to mom about my daily activities at school and play. I would write my thoughts down and then enclose them in a LEGO house, or barn, or school, or even a Temple (as I recall) constructed laboriously and with great detail, adding window boxes, lights, chimney’s and the like.


Every morning, without fail, I would awake to an entirely new LEGO structure that was built (By mom, of course) late into the night with a reply to my note, laden with what their day was like and responding to my carefully elucidated details of my fascinating third grade life. It wasn’t until many years later that my mom explained how grueling it was to take apart my LEGO house, read my missive, write a response- and then rebuild a new structure of her own design, replete with turrets, smokestacks and outdoor lighting from her own LEGO imagination.

This simple (or so I thought) tradition made Hanukkah magical for me. I had no clue how tired my parents were, nor how hard they had worked to make it all seem so effortless for my sister and I- but looking back now? Wow.

I even wrote the people at LEGO all about it once and I’m sure they were enchanted, but did not feel it necessary to bestow every piece of LEGO ever created upon me, as a peace offering of Hanukkah magic. That was my mom’s job and she still manages to make magic for me every day, one way or another.

If the LEGO people are listening....it’s not too late. That little boy is still alive with wonder deep inside the grown up man and I remember mama (and her Herculean efforts) with appreciation, a sense of Hanukkah magic and love- above all else- love. Thanks, Mom.

The Hanukkah Story......Still Illuminating After All!

I think I was five years old when the light bulb went on, eliminating any shadow of doubt....Christmas and Hanukkah were not the same! I guess it was Kindergarten that set the flood gates open. Until then, I had been either at home or nursery school, which was held at Temple Concord, so my only experiences were all based on being raised in a Jewish household.

Being exposed to all of my new classmates , out there in the “real world”, set in motion the many changes that take place as children begin the adventure of learning about the world around them. I came home filled with questions about Santa Claus, Christmas trees, Stockings filled with toys...even a few about Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Somehow, in the good ole’ days, my mother always seemed to be one step ahead of me. Ever prepared, she brought out a new ‘Golden Book’ which I vaguely recall being entitled “The Festival of Lights- the Story of Judah and the Maccabees”. I tried to find it on Ebay, but no luck yet.

“After all, you can read now” my mother reminded me, “I think you’ll find the story illuminating” she added. “Let me know if you have any questions”

I ran up to my room, excited to know that there was a great big book, filled with illustrations, that would provide the answers to all of these new and perplexing queries. Until that moment, I had assumed that every family on every street was lighting the candles, one at a time, and speaking Hebrew. It was the same year that the concept of giving...and receiving gifts, really started to take hold.

I read that book over and over again. I was entranced with the very idea that a small but determined group of people
led by Judah Maccabee and his brothers, could band together and find like-minded individuals, who all believed that they had the right to choose their God.

Jerusalem had been under siege by Antiochus Epiphany, who dreamed of being as powerful a ruler as Alexander the Great had been over 100 years earlier. In his ignorance of the Jewish faith, coupled with his desire to change and dominate the people who lived in the land he had seized control of, Antiochus began the destruction of the Jewish Temples, and drove those who would not obey, into the hills.

It was hiding in those hills and knowledge of the land that allowed the Maccabees to build their resistance and and become a tiny faithful group that, after months of planning and praying, began to fight back- winning battles that seemed impossible to the great Syrian army that had been sent to destroy them originally.

Against all odds, The Jews were able to finally reclaim Jerusalem and Judah found a Temple that had been defiled, but not destroyed. Knowing that his first task was to rededicate the Temple, he gathered the holy men to help. Traditionally, in the days before Antiochus, all sacred temples had oil lamps that continuously burned, as a symbol of the peoples faith and their dedication to Judaism.

Finding only enough oil for one night was a blow to Judah and the Maccabees, as they needed more time to spread the word that the fighting was over- and that the hundreds of others who had been in hiding could safely return and rejoice.

Judah knelt before the altar and prayed that the lamp would remain lit, allowing them the time they needed.Miraculously, the oil continued to fuel the flame for eight nights. Some say that it got even brighter with each day. The Temple once again glowed with the symbol of the Jewish Faith. Those eight days and nights came to be celebrated with an annual festival and ever since then, Jewish people all over the world have celebrated this event.

Suddenly, the menorah made sense to me. The gifts exchanged, one per day, over the 8 days also had new significance. I don’t remember being sad that I didn’t have a Santa Claus, or midnight mass. What I remember is a renewed sense of what it meant to be Jewish and that people all over the world had many different beliefs.

I remember my mother filling in the gaps and explaining diversity and faith. I remember feeling special that our family had different traditions than my friends up the street. I remember going to a neighbors to see them light their tree and their family coming to our house for latkes and the ceremonial lighting of the menorah. I remember reading about Judah and The Maccabees. As I remember, it’s still a pretty good story.

Let My People Go

Well, Pesach in California was fine, sort of a mellow, laid back, somewhat jovial homage to enslaved Jews the world over. The scene in Florida, not so much.

ACT ONE:

MOM has long ago given up the desire to be scraping gefilte fish off the ceiling for months following the event, so she (quite smartly) has long since passed the baton to younger and stronger relatives. The performance this year took place at a theater I have attended before- the Boynton Beach Playhouse located in the southern region of the always charming (I mean sweltering) southern tier of the Florida panhandle.

Even though MOM is seventy-five years old, still works for a living and has a loving-but-not-always-with-it HUSBAND, AUNT had no qualms about asking MOM to prepare somewhere between nine and fourteen traditional holiday dishes. Never mind that MOM has a bad back, a bad arm,a bum leg and difficulty breathing (I mean smoking) and barely has the time to apply her usual parrot-green eye shadow- AUNT , who has a state of the art kitchen, grown children (BOY and GIRL COUSIN) of her own and UNCLE to assist (I mean complain about) .......still asked MOM to cook. (WTF?)

Maybe it has something to do with this particular holiday (I mean Passover). If you require someone to act like a slave, enlightenment will follow.

So MOM does what is asked of her, saving the discussion (I mean complaining) of same for me; The ne'er do well son who can't be bothered to get on a plane & haul his ass to Florida to see his MOM on this all-important holiday, even though it "could be her last, God forbid"

The Kugel is made, the tsimmis is cooled, the chopped liver sprinkled ever so lightly with a dusting of boiled egg....the stage is set!

MOM loads the all purpose dolly with enough food to supply a third world nation and loads the Jew Canoe (I mean car) in only three trips from the eighth floor of her condo, stopping between trips to catch her breath (I mean smoke). She straps HUSBAND in (after explaining for the fifth time that they are going to AUNT and UNCLE's) and silently prays that he doesn't pee before reaching their destination.

ACT TWO:
MOM and HUSBAND arrive at the "planned community" (I mean prison) that AUNT and UNCLE call home and ring the bell. DOG barks. HUSBAND asks if they are at the bank. DOG- delirious to see new people who aren't screaming at each other (I mean yet) knocks the bundt cake right out of HUSBAND's hands, sending him and GRANDMA's antique platter to the floor. (somehow, no hips are broken in the process)

As MOM huffs and puffs to the kitchen laden with dishes, BOY and GIRL COUSIN ignore her and continue bickering over which of their BABIES is taller/cuter/smarter- BABY BOY or BABY GIRL.

AUNT, meanwhile, is spied in the kitchen, inspecting her nails and checking out her reflection in a butter knife. As they sit to begin the solemn Seder service, BABY GIRL begins to shriek. Apparently, an alligator has smelled children (I mean brisket) and has ambled up to the lanai to check it out, wreaking havoc in the dining room. Clearly this is all too much for GIRL COUSIN (who immediately begins to cry) and she races out of the house to collect herself (I mean snort coke)

By the time GIRL COUSIN returns (sans appetite) they are already on the third glass of wine (I mean vodka) and AUNT is still hollering at UNCLE to get rid of the alligator (who isn't taking "no" for an answer).

BOY COUSIN has a (possibly LESBIAN) WIFE who refuses to eat a thing, reminding everyone that she is a vegetarian. MOM points out (tearfully) that she slaved (there's that word again!) over several dishes prepared especially for LESBIAN (I mean vegetarian) and can't understand why the words 'Chef Boyardee' mean nothing to the WIFE- if anyone understands meatless, surely it's the world famous chef, himself!

UNCLE takes a break from drinking the traditional twelfth glass of wine (I mean vodka) to step out to said Lanai and smoke. BOY COUSIN ( who only smokes in secret) demands that he stop immediately, lest BABY BOY inhale the noxious fumes and AUNT takes BOY COUSIN's side. This upsets GIRL COUSIN, (who once again breaks down in tears) and she runs out of the house to locate BABY GIRL's pacifier (I mean snort coke)

After the smoke clears it's time for something extremely fattening (I mean dessert) and the search for the Afikomen (I mean a piece of matsoh wrapped in a napkin that smells slightly of cat urine).
Although the youngsters in the house are the "chosen one's" to tear the house apart looking for the urine-soaked unleavened bread, GIRL COUSIN doesn't feel that enough attention is on her, so she quite naturally begins sobbing and flees to the bathroom to fix her makeup (I mean snort coke) -meanwhile her own HUSBAND has long since retired to the extra bedroom (I mean den) to watch baseball and MOM"s HUSBAND decides this would be an excellent time to pee- forgetting altogether that he is sitting on the divan (I mean couch)

ACT THREE:

MOM gets out the inhaler so that she can breathe (I mean smoke) and declares that this is absolutely, positively the last time she works like a dog (who is still licking cake off the floor) to be faced with the drama that is her (I mean my) family.

She collects HUSBAND (while quietly flipping the couch cushion) , declares that not only can they call a caterer next year, they can also kiss her flat white ass and marches (I mean hobbles) out the door, swearing under her (labored) breath.

UNCLE smiles and waves, wondering aloud if there is any wine (I mean vodka) left, while flinging a piece of brisket to the alligator. GIRL COUSIN violently blows her nose, oblivious to the fact that blood is coursing down her cheek. LESBIAN (I mean WIFE) checks her pant suit to make sure there is no meat on it- BOY COUSIN measures height of BOY BABY one last time and AUNT touches up her nails.

MOM and HUSBAND zoom off at seven miles per hour and the curtain falls. Like all Jewish Holidaze, the story needs to be told. After all, It's a classic.