Chanukah is a holiday of joy and triumph, mixed with the knowledge of how many lives were lost in achieving the victory. It is the realization that all through the ages this same fight, to light the candles, had been replayed again and again. Truly, the light of that one candle sung about by Pete Seeger, has aways been endangered. It is a fight which we must not ignore for in ignorance, it rises to record heights - or depths of depravity. Ugly choice, but there it is.
For too many years Chanukah, the fourth candle - tomorrow night- has been laden with overtones of grief, along with a poignant bittersweet memory, a comforting one. Seventeen years ago, my dad died on the fourth candle night of Chanukah after a too long time of pain and grief. To watch the life seep from him was also to watch the life, the joy of life, seep from my mom as well, for the two have always been one.
It was the end-of-life on this earth for a wonderful, beloved man, known for his generosity, his caring, his firm adherence to the ways of the just, the right, the legal and moral. Straight as an arrow, no shortcuts. It was those tenets he worked hard to instill in his children. He was a great patriarch of the family, always concerned, always there; however, it was for his wife, my mom, for whom he lived, for whom he struggled to overcome illness, never ever wanting her to be alone, without him. He promised her he would never abandon her, yet despite the hardest struggle, he could not keep that promise - at least at that time.
Several years later, as my mom, unable to sit up by herself, eyes always closed, never speaking any longer, was propped in her favorite spot, watching the birds, in her favorite chair, suddenly sat up straight, opened her eyes, bright and shining, and spoke - "Natie, you came," and thereupon died. Once again, my dad had kept a promise made, a tad delayed, but nevertheless, kept.
His last cognitive moments of life were spent in typical manner for him. Together with members of his family, including myself, scheduled to return home that night, gather needed items and return the next day, my mom, my sister, my oldest daughter, the wonderful aide who had been with them for some time, we lit the fourth candle of Chanukah. My dad loved Chanukah, the traditional rites, the singing the songs, family together, the warm sounds of his grandchildren and great grandchildren lingering in the air. Always a proud Jew, adhering to the precepts of Judaism, it was gift, a blessing that he could be there for this holiday, the fourth candle awaiting being lit.
He too could not truly move any longer. He was in great pain. His eyes were always closed, nor did he always respond any longer. But we knew he was there. We just knew it. As we lit the candle and began to sing and recite, his arm rose and he began to gently wave in tune with the singing, the blessings, a smile on his face. It was a moment of bittersweet joy, tears and a smile on everyone's face.
That was the last moment that I had with my dad, for I had to leave immediately, only to receive a call as soon as I walked in my door. My beloved, admired, feared and respected father had left us, gone to the upper regions to argue for greater justice, right and compassion in the world.
His funeral service was mobbed, diverse in the people who came to show their last respects to him, and my mom was even stunned at how many people came, even to the point of standing in the street to hear the words spoken inside.
Still and all, I wish he were here. I wish we had him for more time. I miss my talks with him, sharing our love of writing, of protesting injustice. I sorely miss his advice and knowledge. Simply still miss him, a deep aching pit never to be filled or sated, at least not on this earth.
Yes, the light of the fourth candle lit the path for him to find his new world, though its brilliance faltered greatly at the task of lighting up our world as it should have. Bittersweet indeed. The memory always there, the bittersweet feeling always there - but not my dad.
Chag sameach, Happy Chanukah, Pop, and to you as well, Mom, for I know you are together, singing joyfully as the menorah above is lit. I love and miss you both - always and forever, and always keep your memories alive.
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