Brett Stephens. Just about my favorite opinion writer from the New York Times. He hit it right on the head again and did not spare the words or emotion. Love it!! He deemed Trump the most loathsome hypocritical individual ever to occupy the White House. Uh-huh - and will all those in agreement raise your hands. Bum bum bum bum bum bum bum. Watch those hands go up. But I have had it with him right now. His faces. His snide remarks. His nasty attitude His selfishness. His filthy lies.
So today. I'm leaving him alone. Except for the paragraph above, that is. Today is my day to write of that which is of utmost importance to me. An importance that will never diminish. Not ever. Always to remain in my heart. Never to be forgotten or stray far from my thoughts. It is about Chanukah but not in the way you are thinking. In fact, other than lighting the candles, I have banished this holiday from my home. And at an appropriate time, (ad meah ve'esrim), I will have my discussion with the Lord Above as to why he has ruined this Chag, this holiday of light, I so loved.
The attack in Bondi Beach. The attack on the subway train. The stabbing in the street. The raucous violent demonstrations. The calls for the death of Jews, among whom I number, are bad enough. Especially, as we can see no end to this. Certainly not anytime soon. These beasts of hate have no fear, no concern. Why should they? The heads of numerous governments speak hypocritical words as another terrible act is perpetrated upon the Jewish people. Again, and again. Words mean nothing unless there is solidity within. And force and consequence behind. Apparently, the current Heads of Government are just a bunch of wimps. They count for naught for they are hot air and nothing else. Sometimes not even that.
The rest of this posting is about five special people who are greatly missed, where scabs have not yet formed over the most recent wounds let alone the ones more distant in time, but hurting just as much, leaving an ache in our hearts and throats.
This holiday, usually in December, this year added yet another arrow to the heart. I lost my beautiful sister, my friend for life, with whom I never fought, with whom I shared a room for 15 years, to whom I owe a debt of gratitude for tuning me on to the oldies, and a lifelong appreciation of them.
Six months ago, we lost her, after a hard and brave struggle against a nasty illness she did not deserve. All these months later I still reach for the phone to call and share whatever was on my mind. Several times a day, in fact. Her birthday is December 15, and what a day to try to think of her, to remember and keep her close, when horrific violence, a massacre again, was perpetrated upon our people.
I love you, Tzip. And always will. You'll always be with me. And if I can't talk to you on the phone, I'll talk to you in my head. Keep Mommy and Daddy close. Take care of our Zaydies and be sure to hug our Yitzy several times a day.
I love you, my big sister, forever.
The deaths of my two Zaydies bookended Chanukah. I was a little girl when my first Zaydie passed. But I saw my father cry. I had never seen that before. And it helped me to understand that I was never going to see my Zaydie sitting in his rocking chair by the window. Asking me if I was a good girl. And taking out his little purse and giving me a few pennies or a nickel. My other Zaydie died when I was older. in high school. There is no connection stronger than the connection of grandparents to grandchildren, unless it's with great grandchildren! Now when we get together, we tell our children stories about grandparents. The traditions they set up. Funny things they did. And each and every one of us benefited from his paper hanging skills. I miss them both and wish I had known then all that I should have asked them, all the family lore and background. Stay close with all the members of our family who have preceded us. Be it in peacetime, or war. A natural death or by the scummy hands of the Nazis and their collaborators. Give Tzipi hugs. Make her feel at home and safe. Make sure Mommy doesn't go around 'justing', cleaning all the clouds up there, and that Daddy doesn't argue with G-d too much. And please, my Zaydies, take care of Yitzy, a little boy taken from us too soon.
As for you, Pop. I can remember you on your last night of Chanuka, when you signaled to us somehow that you wished to be in a chair for the lighting of the candles. We did just that, as you wished. We lit and said the brachot, the blessings, and there you were, Pop. You always loved the tunes of the tefilot, the prayers, and with your eyes closed, no strength to even open them, you waved your hand to the rhythm of the brachot and the Maoz Tzur. We were smiling and crying at the same time.
You were such a good man. A man who would not stray off the righteous and honest path. Not one bit. A man who gave so much charity to so many, mostly anonymously. I believe that people knew how good you were, Pop, because your funeral was standing room only. We certainly had a service for an audience that spanned the gamut of ethnicity and religions, colors and gender. You were beloved by all. Especially us, especially me. Everyone loved you. Everyone respected you.
I miss our conversations, sharing of letters that we wrote. I remember how you worked with me so that I could hang with my friends, the group of boys and girls that we were from school, Mommy never knew, till much later!! Our own conspiracy!
You were a good son and son in law. A great and awesome Pop and you took care of all the relatives. I know you will continue to do so and you will take the same care and love for Mommy up there, as you always did. Just as you will take Yitzy in hand and discuss the "New Shulchan Aruch" and whatever else the two of you get up to, both of you with the same vein of mischievous pranks. Join together in love and friendship.
My Pop. 20 years on and I still miss you. That hole in my heart when I want to ask your advice. 4th Day of Hanukkah - you were taken from us. And on the fifth night our little boy, who had fought so hard, who was so brave, who bore that pain like a hero - was gone from among us. He could be so mischievous and would make us laugh. I had to convince his mom that chocolate was not candy; hence, he could chow down on it and load his pockets up because it was not candy!
Yitzy was the beloved pet of all within the family. He was that special. A super athlete. A serious boy who loved to learn. Who delved deep into nature. Who wrote an article about birds, and tried to scare his grandmother with his ugly lizard. Not an Angel. Just this special boy, everybody's best friend. Just Yitzy.
His family turned themselves inside out trying to ease his year of pain. His mother spoke "doctor talk" better than most doctors in her steep and devoted efforts to learn all she could and perhaps find that magic cure that we all wished for. Both his parents were by his side every second and he took walks with his dad as he could into his beloved park behind their home.
In his final months, he amazed all who knew him. Even the medical staff of the hospital, with words of wisdom far above a typical almost 13-year-old boy. Words of acceptance, his only concern that we remember him, and he would remember us. That we should not be angry at Hashem, for he wasn't. For obviously, he believed, he had been sent here for a purpose and his purpose was completed, and so G-d was taking him back home.
His last wish? To have a Torah written in his name? So special was he that within three days we had more than enough for that Torah. So special. that the new campus of the school was named for him. This year, his second-year gone from us, will be commemorated by special classes and prayers using the Torah written in his name.
So, tell me. How could I possibly be happy on this holiday? No way. And I am so glad that you can't see me or hear me cry as I soaked the keyboard with my tears.
Yesterday, today and tomorrow - for as long as I am able, I will love all of you. And miss all of you. And be grateful for having had the time that I have had with you. Would it had been more.
No, I am done with Chanukah.
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