They were two sisters, close in age, Rachel and Feigie. They
slept in twin beds when they were little girls. They played
together, did their chores together and had mutual secrets.
They had many shared memories, happy and sad, Shabboses and
holidays and weekdays; The tunes of Shabbos songs, the taste
of the fish their mother made, the smell of the esrog
jam that was made in honor of Tu B'Shevat and Abba's voice,
reading the Torah portion on Friday.
Also the days of anger and transfer, the years of the
terrible Holocaust, they spent together. Together they stayed
in the small ghetto room with their entire family. Together
they were sent to the camps, together they left every morning
for the crushing labor and together they returned on weak
legs to the camp. Together they fought over a morsel of
bread, a bit of water, a little rest. And together they
welcomed the American soldiers, the faces of freedom.
Fatherless, motherless, without a brother or another sister.
Without uncles or aunts, cousins, neighbors or acquaintances.
Only the two of them remained from the entire family, from an
entire town. They had no more tears left to cry over all that
had been and was no more.
They couldn't bear to remain on the land drenched with the
blood of their family, everyone they knew and the blood of
the Jewish nation. Left with no past and an unknown future,
they decided to head towards the Holy Land, Eretz Yisrael.
Alone, they immigrated to Israel, with only the clothes on
their backs that had seen better days, and carrying one small
scrunched up bag containing little. Nothing remained of their
faraway home in Europe, except the candlestick. Yes, they had
one of their mother's candlesticks.
How they had gotten it, I don't know. Perhaps they had
managed to hide it before being taken from their home and
they only had to return and smuggle it out in secret without
someone seeing and attacking them for it. Perhaps they found
it hidden in the house emptied of everything that was once
their home. Or perhaps it was a rare moment of humanity that
seized one of their Christian neighbors and urged them to
return something of their rightful property. I don't know how
they got the candlestick but I do know that it was the only
object that was left as a reminder of their beloved family,
their beloved home, of the days that were gone.
The candlestick accompanied them faithfully on the long
journey from Europe to Israel. In moments of longing, of
yearning for their past, they would look at it and feel that
something still remained for them despite everything.
When the pain of the terrible loss of their entire family
overwhelmed them, the candlestick turned into a kind of
symbol of their mother and her love, and would provide some
comfort. They hid it deep in their bag, their only bag, so
that no stranger would covet it, so that it wouldn't, G-d
forbid, be lost to them. But when sadness overtook them, they
would closet themselves somewhere and take it out of the bag;
they would caress it with their fingers and feel warm from
touching it. Because the candlestick, which at the beginning
had symbolized their mother, slowly became a symbol of the
entire past, their home, their family, a mother, a father,
neighbors, friends, an entire town. Of days without hunger,
and warm nights under a caressing blanket and whole, clean
clothes. Once — they had had everything. Now, nothing.
And only the candlestick remained, a mute monument, a silent
witness to days that were and are no more.
Only the candlestick was left them. And they guarded it
well.
They immigrated to Israel and lived, of course, together in a
small room. The candlestick was in the room that they shared
as they shared everything. But after a few years went by, and
they each had found their soul mate and married, they had to
decide where the candlestick would remain. The rest of their
possessions were easy to divide and mutually agreed upon. But
not the candlestick. They weren't able to reach an agreement
about which one of them would get it. I don't know how it was
decided, but in the end, the candlestick remained with
Rachel, over Feigie's strong protests.
Feigie couldn't come to terms with the possibility that the
candlestick, so dear to her heart, wouldn't be in her home.
During nights of longing, when she didn't have the
candlestick to cling to, or in days of longing for what no
longer was without any keepsake, the pain rose up in her
heart. And after a time, when there had been more days and
more nights and more longing, the pain became bitterness
aimed, of course, at her sister Rachel.
At the beginning, it was a quiet bitterness. Then more vocal.
Later, it turned into anger that grew towards her sister who
had dispossessed her of the candlestick, the last vestige of
her mother's house.
And so, one day, when her anger overwhelmed her, Feigie
decided to do something. She went to her sister's home. There
without uttering a word, she went over to the display cabinet
where the candlestick stood, opened the door, picked up the
candlestick and took it home.
You can imagine Rachel's anger at Feigie's act. She wasn't
successful in returning the candlestick to her home, but she
cut off all communication with Feigie, her only sister.
Yes, sometimes, anger makes people do illogical things. And
how heartbreaking it is to see siblings become strangers,
because of an object. Why didn't Rachel and Feigie realize
that the memento and continuation of all that had been was
not only the candlestick but also and mainly her sister? How
could they give up the connection with a sister, their flesh
and blood, just for a candlestick, no matter how dear it was
to them?
Sad, so sad to see two sisters who had lost the rest of their
family now also willing to lose each other. All because of a
candlestick. And their mother in Heaven was probably in pain
watching her two daughters, the only ones left alive, cutting
off all connection to each other.
The years passed, but unfortunately, the rift between the
sisters remained. Many probably tried to arbitrate between
them, to affect a truce, forgiveness. But it was in vain.
Feigie worked as a secretary in a large chessed
organization. The story of the rift between the sisters
passed from ear to mouth and reached Chaya, one of the
volunteers at the organization. Like all the others who had
heard about it, Chaya also sighed and her heart constricted
when she thought of the sad rift between the two sisters.
But, unlike the others, Chaya couldn't let it be.
For an entire week, Chaya looked for a way to try and make
peace between them. She considered the merits of various
ideas and at the end of the week, late one evening, she had a
new idea and it seemed to her that it had a chance. She
decided to try.
On Monday, her regular volunteering day, when Chaya arrived
at the building that housed the organization, she approached
Feigie.
"I've heard," Chaya said, "That you have a very special
candlestick that belonged to your family for a long time. I
would very much like to see it. Could I come over to your
house and have a look?"
"With pleasure," Feigie answered her.
They scheduled the visit and Chaya went back to her work.
At the agreed upon time, Chaya knocked on Feigie's door.
Feigie opened the door and let her into the living room and
served her refreshments. They spoke of one thing and another
and then Feigie brought the candlestick over and placed it on
the table. Chaya exclaimed over the beautiful candlestick.
Before leaving, Chaya asked Feigie if she would lend her the
candlestick for a week. Feigie, who was surprised by the
request, refused at the beginning. But after more than a few
entreaties, Chaya managed to get Feigie to agree and she took
the candlestick home.
The next day, Chaya took the candlestick, wrapped it up
securely, left her home, and took the bus to a silversmith.
When she arrived at the workshop, she asked to speak to the
manager who was in charge of production. Because she didn't
have an appointment, she had to wait until he was free. She
took out a Tehillim and began to pray for the success
of her mission.
In the manager' s office, Chaya removed the candlestick from
her purse and unwrapped it.
"Would you be able to make an exact duplicate of this
candlestick?" Chaya asked the manager with a prayer in her
heart. The manager took the piece, examined it and looked at
it from every angle. Chaya waited tensely.
"Yes, we can create an identical candlestick," he answered
finally and Chaya breathed freely. She had money for charity
which this time she donated to this worthy cause. A week
later, the new candlestick was ready, having also undergone a
special aging process which made it look antique, like the
first candlestick. Chaya thanked him warmly, paid the
required amount, took the two candlesticks and went home.
That evening, Chaya knocked on Feigie's door, with both
candlesticks wrapped securely in her bag. Feigie opened the
door and welcomed Chaya in.
Chaya opened her bag and in front of Feigie's astonished
eyes, took out the identical candlesticks and put them on the
table.
"One candlestick is yours," Chaya said. "The other one is for
your sister. Please, bring it to her. Make up with her,
Feigie. There is a vessel of beracha that Hashem
created and it is peace. Don't keep that blessing from your
home. Don't miss the opportunity to have it!"
And Chaya turned to the door, took her leave of the stunned
Feigie and close the door behind her.
I don't know how it happened, what Feigie said to Rachel when
she brought one of the candlesticks to her home — or
did she bring the two to give her the choice — or how
she explained it to her. Did she apologize? Did she express
her regret about their separation or her longing for her only
sister that was left her?
I only know that peace returned to dwell between the sisters,
to Chaya's joy. And I have no doubt in my heart that their
mother, in Heaven, also rejoiced.
[And so, too, may our hearts sing with the rejoicing of
Hashem in His children and the rebuilding of the Beis
Hamikdosh, speedily, in our days!]
