Todays Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

[Guest guest]

Connecting the Generations

By Klonoff

A cold drizzle was creating puddles around my feet as I made my way

home

from the Seattle Public Library. It was an afternoon in December 1940, soon

after my arrival in the United States. Under my coat I was protecting a

copy of

" Anne of Green Gables, " which I had just checked out for the third time.

Despite my limited English, I was determined to discover how Anne met the

challenge of adapting to an unfamiliar environment, mirroring my own new

life in

America.

The dim, gloomy street reflected my mood as the faint lights from

Christmas

trees, already visible behind the windows, reminded me that tonight was the

first night of Hanukkah. I stopped and leaned against a wet lamppost

recalling

images of past Hanukkah nights and of my now fragmented family.

I was back in our Vienna apartment. My parents, Grandfather Mendel

with

his dignified beard, Grandmother in her blue silk dress and pearl

necklace,

and Cousin Bertha, her raven hair pulled into a bun, were all gathered

around

our silver Hanukkah menorah. My great-grandfather, a silversmith in Poland,

had

crafted it for the marriage of his eldest daughter. In every generation

since,

it had brightened my family's Hanukkah celebrations. It symbolized not only

the

victory of the Maccabees, but also the invincible spirit of Judaism and the

continuity of our family.

A hundred years later and six thousand miles away, I still delighted in

the

thought of its rich silver patina, with lovely rosebuds and exquisite leaves

and

stems engraved on its nine branches.

A dump truck pulled up and splashed me from the feet up, shattering my

reverie. " Where did everything go? " I mumbled to myself.

But I knew where everything had gone. Grandfather had been arrested on

" Kristallnacht " and taken to Dachau, where he was killed. Grandmother died

of

a heart attack soon after the Nazis had looted their apartment and destroyed

their stationery store. Bertha, arrested by the British trying to escape to

Palestine on an illegal boat, was interned in a detention camp. But the

Hanukkah menorah? Since it was forbidden to take any valuable artifacts out

of

the country, its fate was a mystery.

It was dark by the time I arrived home. My father was already back

from

the synagogue, and my mother was peeling potatoes. She laid aside one large

potato and began to grind the others for latkes. When I asked her what the

extra potato was for, she answered, " That will be our Hanukkah menorah. "

I shook my head in sorrow. With so many people and things vanished

from my

life, was our precious heirloom to be replaced by a potato? Was that to be

another new custom in our new country? Mother hollowed out two shallow

grooves

on opposite ends of the potato and pressed a small candle into one. Father

was

about to light the second candle when there was a knock on the front door.

When

he opened it, a mailman thrust a package into Father's hand. " Special

delivery, " he said. " Sign here. "

The package was covered with foreign stamps, which turned out to be

from

Palestine. There was no return name or address anywhere on the box. We

were

dumbfounded. Who could have sent us a package from the Holy Land? With

unsteady hands, we tore away the paper. The first thing we saw was a sealed

envelope addressed to my parents. Father opened it and read the letter

aloud in

German.

Dear Cantor and Mrs. Schiffman,

After the Nazis looted Mrs. Schiffman's mother's

apartment, she died from a heart attack. The concierge

went into her apartment and found a package hidden in

the closet. The concierge was a Christian woman who

knew the family. She took the package to Bertha just

before she left for Palestine. On the boat to Haifa,

Bertha told me the story. She said if the British

catch one of us, the other must mail the package to the

address inside. I was lucky to escape after we landed,

helped by the Hagganah. I had plenty of trouble in the

beginning and I am sorry to say, I forgot about the

package. Yesterday, I found it. Please excuse me for

this long wait.

Respectfully,

Bertha's Chavarah

The three of us pried open the box. Inside, wrapped in torn tissue

paper,

lay a black and white horsehair cushion. As Mother lifted it out of the

box, we

all wondered, 'What was so important about this cushion that Bertha had

risked

so much to ensure its safety?' Father examined it from all angles, even

sniffed it, and pressed his hands into the bristly cloth. He stopped

suddenly.

" Quick, Marta. Get me some scissors. " Mother found her sewing basket

and

handed him her small scissors. Father carefully began to snip open the

stitches

along one side of the cushion. With a mass of straw littering the floor, he

reached in and pulled out the still shining, so familiar, silver Hanukkah

menorah!

I could barely contain myself. Our beautiful menorah had returned just

in

time for the first night of Hanukkah in our new home. For a moment, we were

stunned, and then we all started talking at once. How did it get out of

Austria? Who would have risked smuggling it out of the country? We assumed

Bertha had hidden it in the cushion, taken it on the train across the border

and

onto the boat. Then she made sure that, in the event she could not carry

out

her intentions, someone else would.

Father put the menorah on the table and transferred the candle from the

potato into its rightful place. He lit the shammas, which he held up high,

and

recited the b'rakhah over the Hanukkah candles. When he began to sing

" Sheheheyanu " in honor of the first night, mother and I joined in with

fervor.

For me, the blessing that night applied to more than just the beginning of

Hanukkah. It also acknowledged the miracle that had reconnected me with my

roots. I felt a surge of hope and optimism. For the first time in a long

time,

things did not look quite so bleak; something precious had come back to me.

The

fact that it had arrived when it did was a special omen.

Today, the silver Hanukkah menorah stands on the sideboard in our

dining

room. My older son, , knows that one day it will stand in his home,

and

later, in that of his daughter, , and then in that of one of her

children,

and down the generations. Its flickering candles will symbolize the

continuity

of our family, as well as the inextinguishable flame of Judaism.

[Guest guest]

Jill

How very heart-warming this was, especially as we are facing our first

Christmas without our beloved son.

Betty

Todays Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul

> Keeping the Connection

> By Chasse

>

> As a mother grieving the loss of a child, the road ahead stretches

long

> and

> difficult. Not having had the opportunity to complete your child's life

to

> adulthood breaks a mother's heart over and over again. You wonder every

day

> what he is doing. Is he okay? You pray that he is happy.

> My first Christmas without my son, , was a painful struggle. I

> just

> couldn't find the strength to decorate a tree with all the beautiful

> ornaments

> and my daughter, , had made over the years. Instead, I

> decorated my elderly mother's tree and my family shared Christmas with

her.

> It

> helped us survive the first year.

> The next year, I summoned the courage to put up the Christmas tree

with

> lights, but once again and 's precious ornaments remained

> packed

> away. That's as far as I got, but it was a major step.

> had loved Christmas, and for the sixteen years of his life he

> had

> always helped put up the tree. In fact, since had been away at

> college, he'd taken charge of the decorating. He always assembled the

> nativity

> scene under the Christmas tree, a job he especially enjoyed. My father

had

> made

> the manger out of barnboards from my grandfather's barn, and I had painted

> the

> figures in a ceramics class, so it had a very special meaning to our

family.

> By our third Christmas I felt stronger. I needed a connection to the

> Christmas times past when had been alive. This time I put up the

> tree

> and lovingly decorated it with the children's ornaments. Then I went to

get

> the

> box containing the nativity manger and ceramic figures, which had not been

> touched for three years.

> As I looked inside the barnboard manger, I discovered a tiny little

> Christmas card. The front of the card showed a picture of a little boy

> carrying

> lots of Christmas cards to be delivered. I opened the card and read the

> inside

> verse:

>

> " If I could just pick up and leave

> I'd start this minute, I believe

> To be with you on Christmas Eve. "

>

> At that moment, I knew I'd make it - not only through the holidays,

but

> also through the long journey ahead of me without . I never found

out

> how

> the card got into the manger, but I viewed its presence there as a gift

from

> my

> son. In my heart, I knew the tiny card with its message of wanting to be

> together for Christmas Eve was my much-needed connection to . It

> would

> see me through that third Christmas, and ever after.

>

>

>

>

>

[Guest guest]

Betty,

I can not even imagine how difficult this time of the year must be

for you. You and your family are in my families thoughts and

prayers. May this season remind you of your wonderful son and

remember he is always with you!

Merry Christmas,

Jen