A deep silence reigned in the room, a heavy, oppressive,
pained quiet. They looked at one another in shock. The oldest
son adjusted his eyeglasses, studied the page of the will and
attempted to digest what he had just read aloud to the rest
of his brothers.
No, he had made no mistake. His father, of blessed memory,
had written down everything precisely. Not that he suspected
that his father had made an error, G-d forbid, but rather,
that he, himself, had made one. After all, he wasn't as young
as he had once been and... But his second glance told him
that it was true.
Of all things! It was the youngest brother, who had severed
himself from the family's rich heritage and aristocratic
Jewish lineage, the black sheep who had chosen to graze in
foreign fields and disgrace the family name of Gross by
modernizing it to Tzachi Merom, who, poor fellow, had to meet
his benighted relatives at occasional family celebrations,
and this after repeated reminders and requests on the part of
his wife -- he was the one who had inherited the splendid
silver menora, the article so precious and sanctified to
them. He and none other!
Why? Why? How avidly each and every one of them yearned to
possess it. The bafflement and disappointment were acute.
"Abba wrote `my son, Yitzchok', not Tzachi..." someone
attempted a weak protest, but the rest looked at him in
scorn.
"Our father knew what he was doing. And what do you say,
Tzachi?" the oldest brother asked him directly. Tzachi was
bewildered. This inheritance surprised him no less than the
others. He had been prepared to return to his home in Ramat
Aviv but had given in to the requests that he remain. He was
certain that he had no chance of being included in his
father's will. It was irrelevant, in any case, because he
didn't need a red cent of the money. He was a very successful
C.P.A.; he lived with his wife and three children in a
spacious villa, devoid of financial problems of this world,
to say nothing of cares for the World to Come, a concept that
did not even touch them or their consciousness. What in the
world was this son going to do with such a magnificent silver
Chanuka menora? Perhaps, a thought crossed his mind briefly,
he could sell it to some Judaica collector and invest the
money in stocks? Or he might simply donate it to some
religious institution that could make use of it. That way, he
could earn a rare mitzva. His train of thought was
broken by the babble of voices around him.
"Mazel tov, Tzachi!"
"You're surprised, aren't you?"
"You must surely be aware of the significance of this
inheritance! You'll be able to light Chanuka candles in it
this year!"
What? Me? Light Chanuka candles? he snickered to
himself, not wishing to insult them. He hadn't lit candles
for years; at best he had participated in Chanuka parties
with friends and there, occasionally, someone would take it
upon himself to light the colored wax candles. And then they
had sung the songs hailing the heroic Maccabees whose might
had vanquished their enemies. He, personally, despised those
Chanuka parties and only attended them to make his wife and
children happy. In his opinion, either you were religious, or
you weren't. Why borrow the religious customs when you didn't
believe in them?
So what was he going to tell them, now? They surrounded him
in excitement, eagerly waiting to hear what he intended to do
with Abba's menora. He didn't owe them a thing. He had the
right to do whatever he wished with his rightful property,
no? Sensing the conflict raging within him, his brothers left
him alone and allowed him to go, bidding him a weak
farewell.
Tzachi hurried off to his office. A lot of work had piled up
in his absence. He was happy he had given his secretary a
free hand in dealing with his affairs during the week of
mourning. Now he could not spare another precious moment. It
was enough that he had had to keep those religious practices
which he had abandoned many years ago. The truth was that
they had treated him kindly, glossed over his faux pas, over
the prayers and Kaddish on which he stumbled, the forgotten
practices that had long fallen into misuse. All this was
true, and he respected them for their consideration. But to
make the jump to lighting Chanuka candles, as they truly
expected of him, well that was going too far.
Me and a Chanuka menora? What a foolish notion! What a
weird match! He attempted to banish the whole subject
from his mind and concentrate upon the mountain of paperwork
piled high on his desk.
*
Several months passed and the menora seemed to have been
altogether forgotten. It was stashed carefully away, well
wrapped, in some closet. Tzachi had purposely hidden it away
from view lest people suspect him of the `wrong'
intentions... His wife had been rather taken by its singular
beauty and even became emotionally aroused by childhood
memories. She, too, had turned her back upon the rich source
of Torah life- waters to seek the broken cisterns of modern
society but deep in her heart there beat the hope that Tzachi
might agree to at least light Chanuka candles in this
beautiful menora.
"It's such a moving ceremony," she tried in vain to convince
him. But he refused. He would get nervous and angry and when
she saw how stubborn he was about it, she stopped talking to
him about the subject. Marital harmony was of far greater
importance to her.
The brothers, however, did not forget for a moment about
their father's precious menora, held captive in hostile
hands. Slowly, a plan began to formulate in their minds: to
surprise Tzachi with a visit on the first night of Chanuka.
They all longed to see the light in the beautiful menora
burning in his home. Perhaps it might yet illuminate the
darkness of his life? Surely there was no happenstance in the
world. If the menora had come into Tzachi's possession, there
must be a reason for it. They could not conceive of any other
possibility. They knew Tzachi and his stubborn ways but with
such a magnificent menora in his possession, at arm's reach,
how could he not light it? And so, their plan took on
flesh and substance.
*
Tzachi's winter break began two days before Chanuka. "This
year we're going to spend our vacation in Turkey," he
decided. This decision had a personal motive behind it. This
way he wouldn't have to contend with a pesky fly disturbing
his peace of mind and needling him to light the menora, after
all. They would spend Chanuka in Turkey and forget about any
wishy- washy pangs of conscience.
The plan was carried out without a hitch. The family locked
up their villa and went to stay in a five-star hotel. Tzachi
savored every minute of his vacation. "A person has to know
how to enjoy his money and get the most out of life," he was
fond of saying. "I have friends who don't have the good sense
to drop everything and have a good time. They slave day and
night and begrudge themselves a minute of leisure," he
explained to his wife. "A person has to get away and relax."
And that's what they did.
On the first night of Chanuka, after lighting the first
candle, the members of the Gross family met, according to
plan, at the corner of Tzachi's street. None of them knew
that Tzachi was absent. They had not come emptyhanded,
either. Each brother brought along a sample of the
traditional delicacies prepared in his house. With broad
smiles, they discovered that they had brought between them
several dozen sufganiyot, oil-drenched potato latkes,
two cheesecakes and other goodies.
Encouraged by this joint effort, they proceeded towards the
private house with its verdant lawn, expecting to meet Tzachi
by his heirloom menora. Would that the little flame he had
lit succeed in illuminating the Jewish spark flickering
within his heart!
A strange sensation suddenly gripped them. A dancing light
here and there aroused their suspicions. Why wasn't any room
lit up? They had no idea that wily thieves were gathering up
the loot... The latter worked unhampered, secure in the
knowledge that the owner of the house was very far away. How
surprised they were, then, to hear unexpected knocking at the
door. At that very moment, the thieves were busy stuffing the
menora into their sack of loot.
"Who's knocking there?" one of them grumbled in a hoarse
whisper.
"Let's hurry up and get out of here. It might be a neighbor.
They might discover us here."
"We'll have to make our getaway from a window. What a pity;
it'll be that much harder."
"We've got no choice."
Meanwhile, the knocking stopped and voices were heard by the
door.
"I hear strange scuffling inside."
"There's something fishy going on."
"And it's too dark..."
In a flash, it came to them. Burglars! Who knows what had
happened to Tzachi! He might be in danger!
They called the police, who came just in time to nab the
burglars as they climbed out of the window, and clap
handcuffs on them.
When Tzachi returned home two days later and heard what had
happened, he was beside himself...
"How did you know to come at just the right moment?" he
asked.
"It was Divine Providence," they explained to him repeatedly.
"We were homesick for the family menora. We wanted to see you
light the first candle."
"I had no intention of using it. I... I even ran away from
it!" Tzachi confessed in a choked voice. "But now... after
this miracle..."
"After this miracle," his wife finished up for him, "you're
all invited here to celebrate candlelighting on the last
night of Chanuka."
*
Deeply moved, Tzachi recited the blessing over the candles,
his voice hoarse with suppressed tears. His face glowed by
the candlelight. An aura of holiness filled the room,
enveloping all those gathered there.
As they sat together, later, conversing genially, they could
not help feeling that their father's will had been done; it
had served its purpose. Their father's will had saved their
lost brother.
