NEW YORK SONG

Roger Gemelle

Excerpt: New York Song:

Chanukkah

It was the beginning of Chanukkah and my mother had lit the first two candles on a beautiful little silver menorah. It wasn't very big and the candles looked suspiciously like regular birthday cake candles. But it glowed beautifully in our little kitchen.

Over at my Grandpa and Grandma's apartment they had a larger golden menorah, that was set out in the dining room area.

The word Hanukkah (either spelling is correct) means dedication, and it is the festval of lights. We were told the story of the siege in which, a quantity of one days oil for keeping the temple menorah lit .. lasted for eight days. Such were miracles in those days, they didn't have color TV.

Apparently the Greeks wanted the Jews to follow their customs rather than beleve in God (ooh, what a surprise) but against all odds a small band of Jews led by Judah the Maccabee (whoa) beat one of the mightiest armies on earth, and retook the Holy Temple in Jerusalem.

Well yeah, we do have a record of kicking ass, but when a huge bunch of assholes is going to do to you, what you know they're going to do, you tend to fight with a motivation the other troops may lack.

So yeah, the Temple's menorah burned for eight days. See the thing is … they had more oil, but it wasn't properly prepared (kosher?) so maybe somone slipped in a little of the other stuff when no one was looking? A little hamburger helper for the menorah?

“Saul, just hand me the other oil, what? Who's to say? C'mon Saul ...”

Nah! Anyway, close enough!

Now, we stuff all sorts of delish fried foods into our face, in honor of the oil miracle, so we should be grateful either way. And thanks for that.

It seemed to me that every year the prayers got either a little shorter or someone around the table would yell, “Skip that one!” And sometimes my Grandfather would. Well, ya gotta keep the show moving.

The natives would start to get restless as the smell of my Grandmothers cooking wafted in from the kitchen and the prayers were still moving forward at a snails-pace!

This may be the reason Mogan David was invented. A very sweet, very strong, wine ... it was served in my grandparent's finest wine glasses, and as a prayer was read, you drank a very little bit as a toast.

I noticed that the glass needed to be topped up more frequently as the prayers continued:

“We thank God for delivering the strong into the hands of the weak, the many into the hands of the few … the wicked into the hands of the righteous.” I'm not sure how the Greeks felt about this, but the bible was clear. And it did not escape my attention that my aunts and uncles were getting a little toasted as well.

My uncle Jay was smiling now and maybe his yarmulke was a bit off center and just maybe his nose and cheeks were a little redder. And my Aunt Flo was laughing loudly, as she made circles in the air with her cigarette, and my Aunt Sylvia was weaving a tad.

But all good things must come to an end, (Thank God) and with judicious skipping ahead, as the adults grew louder and hungrier, we finally got to the good stuff! Yum! We would eat fried foods to honor the miracle of the oil.

Latkes, potatoe pancakes, garnished with applesause or sour cream, and jelly-filled doughnuts. Oy Gevalt! The heavenly scent as these steaming, hot beauties, were placed before us.

After diner the kids spun dreidels and got gold and silver-foiled, chocolate coins as Hanukkah gelt. And it was fun.

But, while this went on, as almost all Jewish kids in the US know …

All our Christian friends were celebrating a different sort of holiday, climaxed by a fat man with a white beard stuffing cornucopias of loot under a tree!

While the Jews were spinning dreidels ... their Christian friends were tearing gloriously colored wrapping papers off boxes filled with the television-visions that had been hawked for months, ripping into these toys like rapcious predators, leaving a trail of mangled, red, green, white and sparkled papers everywhere.

In this one thing I considered myself the luckiest kid alive. I got both! And why not? I am a true Jewopy! Half Jew – half Wop. Christmas and Chanukkah … Jeez!

If all I had during these winter months was the anorexic festival of lights, I would have been envious, but in this one thing I was rich. I got the Christmas tree, the cherry-cheese kinishes, the Chanukkah gelt, the Christmas Carols, the potatoe latkes, the Kasha Varnishkes, and Santa, and tons of toys under the blinking lights!

Mind you I paid for this blessing all year long, as the weird kid without a God, who went neither to Church or Temple.

But you know, in hindsight, I would have to say ... the freedom from religion was the best gift of all!

As the years past, the family Hanukkah moved to my Uncle Jay and Aunt Anne's home in Westport.

I didn't know this would be my last family Hanukkah, until I would arrive a few years later with the woman this book is dedicated to.

But what a Hanukkah it was! All day the kids were running helter skelter all over the place, through the kitchen and living room, and Anne was having quite a time just to keep from tripping over them, as we helped her prepare some of the fruit salad.

We had come up early to enjoy as much time as possible, and my Uncle had already taken Wendy and I to see his newly opened store, The Record Hunter. The store was in the middle of the main street shopping area, and my Uncle was the manager.

He had given us each some albums that we wanted and we spent some time looking through the racks of records. We also walked around the business district looking at the various store's Christmas displays. It was a cold but brilliantly sunny day and the brisk air was enjoyable as long as you kept moving.

We went over to the Macieski's for a visit and found the usual mayhem in full swing! Aunt Flo and Tom were there too and Barbara and Ford looked slightly worn out. Duh! But they kept moving.

I took all the kids out into the yard where we played their favorite game: “Let's jump on cousin Roger 'til he suffocates.” Jeez, and they were getting a whole lot bigger and stronger now!

Of course it wasn't too long before one of the littler ones was crying. So back inside we went. They had set up a gigantic tree in the large living room and it glowed with soft golden lights. On Christmas morning you would barely be able to walk in this room after Santa had dropped his bundle. I suspect he kept a C5 Cargo transport just for the Macieski's run.

Then we walked back over to the Flaman's home as it was nearing sundown. We needed several tables to get this motley crew squeezed in and Wendy and I joined the kids at their table. But of course that's where all the fun was anyhow. The pungent smell of cloves and cinnamon was in the air as we put on our yamulkes. We lit the menorah as soon as dark fell.

My Uncle waited patiently until we were all seated and then he picked up a glass of wine and held it up as he began the prayer. The ritual prayers were said over a glass of wine but we at the kids table had grapejuice, which I prefer to this day.

Uncle Jay really tried to do the holiday traditions faithfully, but in a chaotic, and quickly changing world, this was a tall task. Somehow the diversification of families was evaporating many previously rigid traditions, and so, like his father before him, the sliding, the skipping pressures built.

But he did give it a shot. And it was beautiful and spiritual for a length of time. As they length of time increased, so did the frequency with which the adults offered advice like: “Go to the next prayer after that. That one is not critical! No … not that one, the one after that one!”

As the Mogen David worked it's magic we managed to wend our way through another Hanukkah.

And then Anne brought the food! Oh my God! She outdid the Jews in Jurusalem. The diner was an unbelievable feast of turkey done to mouth watering perfection and courses of mashed potatoes and gravy in white porcelain gravy-boats and salad and fruit salad and cranberry sauce and offerings to numerous to count.

We dug in like Kings of old, and it was scrumpcious!

Belts were loosened as were tongues, and we had such a joyus time, with the occasional screaming outrage from a younger brother or sister, (usually Wendy … just kidding Sis) and we watched as the adults slid down in their chairs.

When Anne brought out the cake and coffee, we had to concentrate, and when all was done … we were really done!