Bethlehem bound

This foursome (one about to conk out from fatigue and the heat of a summer Sunday) is my beloved Reed family.

Just days after landing late last Saturday night in Tel Aviv from Atlanta, these Christian pilgrims — on their inaugural visit to Israel (with pit stops in Cairo and Paris before returning home for schools to reopen in 2008) are spending Christmas Eve in a special place, in a special way.

Today, Janet, Brian, Caroline, and Vivienne are in Manger Square, in the center of Bethlehem, the biblical town. Here, in the Church of the Nativity, in the Grotto where tradition says Jesus was born, they are celebrating the ancient Nativity birth narrative in lessons, carols, theatrical enactments, and liturgical services.

This evening, they rode an armored bus from the Anglican Church in Jerusalem to cross through the large IDF (Israel Defense Forces) checkpoint to Bethlehem, a short though security-conscious journey that the Reeds initially hesitated to make.

Their hesitation? In May 2002, Israeli-Palestinian fighting erupted when Islamist terrorists seized the Church of the Nativity, holding hostage dozens of Christian nuns, priests, monks, and pilgrims for weeks, and desecrating their holy site. For this and other reasons, many Western governments still warn against nonessential travel to Bethlehem. Yet new peace talks among the fighting parties encouraged my pals to join today's flow of pilgrims, tourists, families, and clusters of friends.

Bethlehem gets the green light(s)
Aviah, my cousin who recently completed three years' service in the IDF elite Paratroopers Brigade, relayed this message to the Reeds when I called him to inquire on safety conditions:

... Tell your friends the Israeli army will protect them.

Lisa Goldman, freelance journalist/writer, resident of Tel Aviv, and uber blogger, replied to my email:

... Bethlehem is quiet and safe, and there will be plenty of people around. I'm sure they'll have a good time.

* * *

Recently, here in Atlanta, as the guest of Stephanie (whose blog post on Finding Baby Jesus is a must-read) and her family, I watched the children, Bethlehem Bound in spirit, retell the Nativity birth story (that Angela directed) in their church.

Sitting behind these angels (waiting in their wings for the cue), basking in their sweetness and light, and relishing their wonder, I was moved to tears as they connected with generations before and those to come.

Reflecting on the same wonder I have felt since I was their age, listening to and retelling my family’s millennia-long Jewish history, tradition, and lessons, I remembered this:

We — the Reeds, Stephanie's and Angela's families, others', and mine are connected with generations before and those to come. We all experience sacred time, and we all observe sacred retelling.

Today, I am sending love to the Reeds in Bethlehem and to my Christian friends worldwide, among them Ute, Joe, James and Anissa, Danny, Marlene, Olga, Budd and family, Gary, Ellen, David and Hope, Faye and Jim, John, Madeline, Luther and Helen, and my virtual pals, bloggers Nizo and Bronze. And, I am remembering my Christian loved ones, whose memories are a blessing: Stella, Kathy, and Jean.

A Hanukkah gift for the ages

My cousin Gila decided to convene her sister, Miriam, and all their children and grandchildren to look at Gila's and Miriam's parents' photos that are bagged, piled, or in albums.

So, Tuesday night, the last night of Hanukkah, they did just that. At a holiday party in Gila's and Chaim's home in Jerusalem, they celebrated the eighth night of Hanukkah: first victory for freedom of worship.

And then began the viewing of the photos, mountains of visual documentation, each image a frame in the story: generations of family, people, nations — living, struggling in the crucible of local and global events.

Among these photos is the one in Gila's hands — an image that Chaim captured and sent to me, commenting, "thought you might enjoy this shot." Yes, Chaim, you were so right! You sent me a Hanukkah gift for the ages. Here's why.























Photo studio portrait of two sisters
In the photo, I appear to be about nine or ten years old and my sister, 15 or 16. To prepare for the photo session, I remember getting a haircut and choosing the dress I wore. Though I was pleased with how I looked in the photo, I immediately protested the false colors of my dress. Instead of rich reds, washed-out rose pinks appeared. I remember my sister’s dress, too — clearly more grown up than mine, with a waist unbounded by a tie.

I recall that my parents distributed copies of the photo to my maternal grandparents (also living in New York) and to my mother’s sister, Ruth, and her husband, Leo (in Connecticut). My Aunt Ruth and Uncle Leo were childless, and winning their hearts was the upside of the resulting lack of local cousins.

Until Chaim sent me the image this week, I had no idea that my parents also sent a copy to Gila’s and Miriam’s parents, my Aunt Sarah and Uncle Matityahu (in Haifa’s suburb, Kiryat Motzkin).

Me: part brat, part trooper
I am not proud that I felt I could practically wrap around my pudgy finger my Uncle Leo. And I am totally ashamed that I once hijacked my father into buying me a beautiful doll carriage (coach style), taunting, “Uncle Leo will buy it without requiring me to read Hebrew books.” What a brat! My father caved and bought the carriage, and I immediately felt guilty about my lip (though I loved pushing those fancy wheels along West End Avenue and Riverside Drive).

Yet I wasn’t all antagonistic. When I turned 12, I got a parakeet, which joined me on trips to visit my Aunt Ruth and Uncle Leo. The bird, traveling in a little carrying cage they bought for these journeys, rode the train with me from New York’s 125th Street and Lenox Avenue station to South Norwalk, Connecticut. There, my aunt and uncle met my parakeet and me and drove us home, where the guest room offered a bed for me and a standard-size cage for the bird.

In appreciation
Aunt Ruth and Uncle Leo played central parts in my childhood. They took me to restaurants and the beach, and Sundays and holidays we rode in my uncle's grey DeSoto around their neighborhood — exotic haunts to a kid from Manhattan. In their grocery store (Friedson and Sons), I drank all the chocolate drinks I could swallow and munched on bags of Wise Potato Chips while I played with a steady supply of kittens my uncle kept to do a job I understood (thankfully) only years later.

My aunt, whose stock of Revlon nail polish seemingly included every shade of red, let me paint my stubby nails with abandon. She bought me red shoes, summer and fall outfits, and later, in my early teens, taught me to knit, even supplying wonderful yarns and pattern books and the occasional “kit” to knit slippers and a scarf that cleverly doubled as a hood.

Together, my aunt and uncle spoiled me rotten, which felt like sheer heaven (I suspect for them, too, for every child and adult deserves spoiling). My happy memories with them offset some of the pain of losing my father about the time my sister went off to college and then got married. The love for me of this childless aunt and uncle mitigated my losses partly, and probably theirs, too. And I am thankful, too late for them to know, for their care and affection.

So, when my cousins in Jerusalem went diving into their parents' photographs this week and then discovered and shared this image of me and my sister, I felt the warmth and tears the discovery triggered: memories of special times and missing important people from a childhood and youth vanished yet never forgotten.

A Hanukkah gift for the ages.

Hanukkah: first victory for freedom of worship

Hanukkiot in the window of the Greens, dear friends
in Jerusalem's Abu Tor neighborhood

Hanukkah, the eight-day "festival of lights" begins with the lighting of the first candle this evening at sundown, which is the eve of the 25th day of the Hebrew month of Kislev.

No matter how the Hebrew word חֲנֻכָּה is transliterated into English (Hanukkah, Hanukka, Chanukka, Chanukkah, [fill in your own]), no matter the era or place people celebrate it —

What is most inspiring about Hanukkah is that it memorializes the first clear victory in history for freedom of worship, a celebration that, as contemporary rabbis point out, belongs to all religious people.
From the Desire of the Everlasting Hills by Thomas Cahill

Hanukkah Q&A

What is the difference between a traditional Menorah and a Hanukkah Menorah (or Hanukkiah)?
The seven-branched Menorah is a candelabrum of Jewish historical and ritual meaning that can be found on ancient coins, gravestones, and synagogue decorations, and is today the seal and emblem of the State of Israel.

The nine-branched Hanukkah Menorah (or Hanukkiah) is a candelabrum with eight branches of equal size and height (one for each night of the Hanukkah festival) and a separate (ninth) candleholder for the "Shamash" (an attendant). We use the Shamash to light the other eight candles, in observance of the ruling to view the Hanukkah lights, not to use them.

What's the story?
The Hanukkah festival commemorates the (second century BCE) Jewish Maccabees' miraculous military victory over the Greek-Syrian army and the rededication of the Second Temple to the worship of God.

Why the lights?
The Temple purification began on the 25th day of the Hebrew month of Kislev in the year 165 BCE. According to the Talmud, the single-days-worth of pure oil found in the Temple miraculously burnt for eight days until more pure oil could be brought.

Victory's message?
"Not by might, not by power, but by My spirit." לֹא בְחַיִל, וְלֹא בְכֹחַ--כִּי אִם-בְּרוּחִי (From Zachariah 4:6, whom we read this Shabbat following the Torah portion.)

Where is the history recorded?
The First Book of Maccabees tells how, in response to religious persecution and oppression, Judah Maccabee and his four brothers organized a group of resistance fighters who succeeded to drive the far larger Greek-Syrian army out of Judea.

How do we celebrate this fun festival?
Lighting the Hanukkiah is the central observance. Whereas once all lights were oil lamps, using candles is a lot simpler. The first night, a single candle is lit, with an additional one lit each successive night.

As shown in the photo at the top of this post, we place the Hanukkiah by a window or door, fulfilling the commandment to "publicize the miracle."

While lighting the candles, we recite blessings, chant the ancient Hanerot Hallalu, and play dreidel games. We (over)eat oil-rich foods featuring potato pancakes and Hanukkah donuts called sufganiyot (shown on the right), commemorating the miracle of the oil that burned for eight days.

What about gifts?
The custom of giving Hanukkah gelt (money) in the form of gold-foil-wrapped chocolate coins to children once brought pure bliss to me and my older sister and to previous generations. (Shiny pennies, won playing dreidel games, were acceptable, too.) I recall the year we got pink gloves! Mine were angora, marking not only graduation from mittens but equally from practical plain wool! My sister's, on the minus side, were wool, while on the plus side, featured black velvet ribbon threaded through each wristband. Whose was the prettier gift? I still wonder.

Who am I remembering this year as I kindle the Hanukkah lights?
My childhood family: my mother and my father, my maternal grandparents, and my sister. My Israeli family.

And I am remembering all those children everywhere who desperately need light to shine on them. Children whose spirits are darkened by ignorant adults, unemployed or underemployed parents, poor diets, insufficient shelters, shabby clothing, inadequate health care, disinterested leaders, and misguided politicians. Children whose birthright is light, daily, and who require comprehensive support and services, steadily.

And I ask myself: What am I doing to help shine the light?

Happy Hanukkah!