Nu, asked a yunger mentch (young person), how was Chanukah celebrated back in the “Middle Ages”? I assured him that we celebrated Chanukah in the same manner that he currently celebrates the wonderful holiday. However, after giving his question some thought, it occurred to me that there were some unique features to celebrating Chanukah in the olden days.
We lived in East Baltimore, and a terrible war was raging around the world, known as World War II. Periodically there were “blackouts.” Nu, you may ask, voss hayst (what does it mean) blackouts? To involve the population in the “war effort,” certain days were designated as mock air raid sessions. They were initiated by three loud siren sounds. Lights in every building were extinguished, and special dark window shades were pulled down. Walking out of doors was prohibited with the exception of the air raid wardens, who sported white helmets with a triangular emblem. If they spotted someone that fifed on (ignored) the no-light rule they fifed (sounded) their whistle with a deafening sound. Nu, if the enemy could not see buildings, they heard the whistle!
Some clever entrepreneur invented and sold pens with a battery insert, a type of mini-flashlight. The idea was to be able to write in the dark. Who needed to write in the dark? However, the pens sold, and you can still purchase them!
So what did we do if the drill occurred on a Chanukah evening? you may ask. Iz der enfehr (the answer is) that we waited until the air raid drill ended, and we celebrated when we heard the long “all clear” siren.
Regarding placement of the menorah, only a few brave Yidden put their menorahs in their front window, as we do today. The problem was that, although the U.S. and the allied nations were combating the evil Axis (Germany, Japan, and Italy), we Yidden in East Baltimore had our own war. We were on the rogue list of some of the local nochrim, who did not hesitate throwing rocks in the windows of our shul, something that I witnessed. They also resorted to opening the door of the shul and yelling, “Christ killers!” and other profanities, before running away. Nu, the only thing that I killed was a mosquito or two, so who understood voss zay haken ihn kopp (what they meant)?
This anti-Semitic behavior continued until my brother David put an end to it by chasing and capturing one of the rogues and dragging him to the shul. He was shoved on a chair, and congregants surrounded and circled around him until the police arrived. Fearing that he would be slaughtered, he kept screaming that he would be a good goy and not bother us any more. The cops arrived, placed him in their vehicle, and probably released him soon after.
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My brother and I attended the Talmudical Academy, and during Chanukah, all Hebrew schools were invited to attend Chanukah entertainment at the Lyric Theater, sponsored by the Associated Jewish Charities. Various Chanukah skits were presented by the local Hebrew schools, and following the shows, each youngster was given a box of candy (sponsored by the Spector family). When Chanukah approached, we looked forward to attending the Lyric Theater presentation and nashing on that candy (which was probably consumed by the time we got home).
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Another highlight of Chanukah was the play presented by the Talmudical Academy. One year, the presentation was in Yiddish and titled “Doovid und Golyus” (David and Goliath). It was authored by Rabbi Joseph Samson, brother of Rabbi Hyman Samson, dean of the school. The scenery was interesting and prepared by students of the school. The audience consisted of relatives of the students, and when the huge TA-inscribed curtain went up, they applauded in unison.
After the singing of the Hatikvah and the national anthem, the TA choir began chanting: “Hear Judean mountains singing ‘Hail the Macabees!,’ ‘Hail the Macabees!’” (There were other words to the melody, and if you are a surviving TA graduate and remember them, please forward to me for future publication.)
The play began, and soon a young David appeared on the stage to face the tall armored paskunyak, Goliath, with a lively song. Goliath stepped forward, shlepping his heavy-looking armor, and suddenly began singing (in Yiddish), “Ich bihn Golyus, dehr groysir held, ich bin iber dehr gahnser velt! (I am Goliath the great hero, I am chief over the entire world!)”
The audience waited for David’s response – that Goliath was not the true macher (boss) of the world and that he, David, was speaking for the Ribono Shel Olam, (G-d). There was a dialogue between the two adversaries, which ended by Goliath shouting that he was not exactly a shlepper and that David was kahput, finished, oys mentch (obliterated). Is this correct translation??
The dramatic moment arrived as David fired a sling shot aimed at Goliath’s groyseh kopp (big head). Goliath was a goy, so he probably did not utter “oy vay.” Some say that he uttered “Mah goodness, another headache!” Anyway, Goliath clutched his kopp (head) for a few seconds and then dropped to the floor. The audience cheered and David made like he removed Goliath’s kopp which brought the curtains down amid cheering and applause.
Following the play, the menorah was lit, and the TA choir sang some popular Chanukah melodies.
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At home my father lit the menorah and sang the brachot. It was always a special treat to listen to his beautiful voice sing the wonderful tunes of Chanukah.
My mom prepared a delicious meal, and we were joined by my Uncle Mordechai Lichtenstein and family, my sister Hilda and family, and my brother David and family. In addition, there were other guests who joined in the festivities. For desert we had latkes and latkes and more latkes (what else?).
Following the meal the elders shmoozed (talked) while the table was cleared for Chanukah games. In those days, draydels were made out of lead, and spinning them was an interesting skill. Occasionally, the draydel would continue twirling after it fell to the floor. Some draydel mumchim (experts) could spin it upside down while trying to predict the outcome (which was rarely accurate).
There are four letters on the draydel: nun, gimmel, hay, and shin. Each player placed a coin in the center, called the “pot.” The draydel was spun and upon ending its spin, if it landed showing the gimmel, you became a knocker (big shot) and won the entire pot. However, if landed on a shin, you were oys knocker (no longer a big shot), and contributed a coin to the pot. Landing on the hay meant that you acquired half of the pot, while landing on the nun meant that you gained nothing, but at least you did not lose a coin.
Sometimes the game lasted for an hour, depending on the interest and the amount of money in the pot. If adults were in the game, they usually distributed their coins. There were various other games, some popular and others not so popular. It was wonderful to communicate with one another, and hopefully that’s not a lost art.
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On a few occasions we added to the celebration by visiting Carlins Park, an amusement park that was located at Park Circle in Baltimore. In addition to lebedik (live) rides, such as the mountain speedway, there were rides that would make your kishkes (intestines) shokel (shake), rattle, and roll. One ride, called the Bumper Ride, had small metal cars bump into one another, and many necks were fahrzetst with pain because of the collisions.
Carlins also had unusual stage shows with tsutumult (confusing) themes, such as a human with the hands of a lobster! He opened and shut his claws to prove that they were real. Nu, the youngsters just did not understand how that was possible and argued about narish (silly) possibilities.
One of the presentations included a girl who appeared to have no arms. She demonstrated unbelievable skills, such as combing her hair with her feet! To top that feat, she typed with her toes! Of course, it may have been an act, and her arms may have been hidden. Vair vais (who knows)? But regardless of whether true or faked, her skills were hard to fathom.
There were rides there, too, such as the Scary House ride, which included illusions of various creatures that suddenly popped up as your mini-car whizzed towards them. When the ride ended, folks needed time to kum tsue zich (revive).
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Over the years, we had some interesting Chanukah parties. One that I vividly remember was when my sister Hilda joined her friends at a Chanukah-birthday party. Why she shlepped me along gedenk ich nisht (I don’t recall), but it was a first and last time. Fahrvoss (why)? you may ask. Iz azoy (that’s the way it was). The group sang a few Chanukah songs and ended their fest with a tune entitled “Three Jolly Fisherman.” (Have you heard of it?) Bekitsur (in short), had the fisherman been named Shmerel, Chezkel, and Berel, there would not have been a problem. However these fishermen were named Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The group sang about each fisherman, and as they began singing about Isaac, they pointed at me and yelled “I, I, zik, zik zik”, Nu, for some reason it shocked me, and as mentioned, it was the last time I attended such a party.
The years went by “quick as a flash,” and every year, Chanukah was a wonderful delight and added warmth to the cold winter months. And now, when Chanukah arrives, in addition to the delicious latkes, I enjoy walking in our neighborhood in the evening and observing dozens of menorahs facing the street, their beautiful glow radiating the message of Chanukah: Hanairos hallalu kodesh hem – These lights are holy!
Baruch Hashem for the freedom to celebrate Chanukah!
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