Steven Lebow

No Hanukkah in Hell

 

 

It is said that there is no Hanukkah in Hell. That only the host of the heavens above know how to feast on a festival delight.

But the truth could not be further from that, that even in the darkened depths of the human heart, menorahs burn bright against the light, illuminating the darkness of December days.

 

If truth be told, there are no ghosts, no spooks, no tortured souls that make their home in Hell. Every Jew knows that Hell is only real if you will it to be so.

 

Hell is not the home of sinners, but simply the resting place of those not quite ready to sit at the heavenly Hanukkah table where God himself is both caterer and king.

 

So this is the story from Moinesti, a little town in Moldova, Romania; about my great grandfather, Leib Zalman (Louis) Rudick.

 

Imbued with the love of Judaism and desire to live in the land of Israel , Leib Zalman set out for the Holy Land, in that unpropitious year , 1898- exactly 120 years ago.

 

Leib Zalman Rudick only wanted to do the work of God and to be a better man. And so he gathered up his kith and kin and set out for Jerusalem. 

 

One wife and eleven children went on that trek with him. But when they were only a few hundred miles from Jerusalem, somewhere in a small village of the Ottoman Empire, my great grandfather's family was struck by bandits, who killed two of his children and his wife and who stole all of his property.

 

So Leib Zalman Rudick turned back from his sacred journey and returned to Romania, limping home with what little he still had.

 

My great grandfather was a wealthy man, by the standards of his time, and hence he was respected and revered in his little village.

 

But when he returned, now penniless and pauperized, the townspeople shunned him, for fear of being tainted with his failure.

 

Whereas before he had been the light of his people, he always claimed the best seat of the synagogue, the seat closest to the ark.

 

But fate is a fickle and a changing thing, so now that he was poor someone gave him a broom and told him his new job was sweeping out the shul, after all the worshippers had left for home.

 

And so, Hanukkah came and went that year, then the next year and then the next and then the one after that. My great grandfather refused to kindle the Menorah lights, because of his anger against our ancient God, blaming God for all of the misfortunes that had plagued him and his house.

 

 From 1898 on there was never again any Hanukkah for him.

 

But strange as it may seem, his children still kept the ancient Jewish ways, and so when Louis (Leib Zalman) Rudick was laid to rest his children did something odd, if nonetheless, strangely holy and symbolic.

 

Before the casket was laid into the ground they opened up the box and placed within nine candles and a Hanukkah menorah to light his way, that his soul might soar above and then safely traverse the halls of Heaven.

 

But because of his apostasy, his refusal to endorse our God, or even to share in our ancient teaching, Leib Zalman (Louis) Rudick did not go to heaven immediately on the December day his body was laid to rest in that simple house of dirt we call the earth.

 

Now every Jew knows that there is no Hell, nor devil, nor damnation, but there is a kind of purgatory down below where tortured and tormented souls spend time contemplating the lacunae of their lives.

 

And so it went for months and even years that Louis Rudick was not exactly suffering, but neither was he allowed to enter into the gates and palaces of heaven.

 

There was many a dark night and many a cold day when there was no light, and no menorah kindled for my great grandfather down in Hell below.

 

But then the strangest thing occurred. My great grandfather had a son, my grandfather Joseph Rudick and my grandfather had a daughter, my mother, Rita Rudick. My Rudick relatives lived in Toledo, Cleveland, and Akron, Ohio long before I was ever born.

 

But sometimes way leads on to way, and the children or grandchildren are more religious than their ancestors. 

 

It is said by scholars, is it not, that the second generation tries to remember what the first generation tried to forget?

 

Over the years my great grandfather down below had tears in his eyes when looked up above and he saw his children and his grandchildren remember to keep the Jewish customs, the ancient rites and rituals of the Jewish people.

 

And who knows how it all occurred, but at some dedicated and some desultory time my great grandfather found his old menorah and began to light his candles, one after another for all eight nights of the holy holiday.

 

And then at the appointed time it is said that God above takes care of those below. And even though the Lord is busy he took notice of the tears that nested in my great grandfather's eyes.

 

After 120 years my great grandfather made his peace with life and fate and with our God above.

 

It is said by some, is it not that, that God in his heaven’s height raises up the souls of those who have returned?

 

And so my family's menorah now faded and stained with age became a beacon of light and hope, showing the light and way, for Leib Zalman Rudick’s soul to finally ascend and for him to come to peace at last and to eternal rest now, knowing that all is not necessarily right in this world where we live, but not a one of us can afford to live without the holiness of kindling Hanukkah lights.

 

My grandfather Joe Rudick, the son of the disappointed pilgrim, Loui Rudick, brought back the custom of lighting a Hanukkah menorah. He taught it to my mother and then my mother taught it to me and so I have taught the blessings to my children and, dear Lord, may they teach it to the ones who come long after I have shrugged off the boundaries and the bonds of the material world that we all live in.

 

And so now as I come to my timely end and to my holy recitation, I remember that each one of us has a purpose in being alive each and every day.

 

And so it is that I have that purpose too, but most of all I think that my purpose here was to tell you this simple story.

 

And when, dear Reader, when you light your Hanukkah menorah this year, think kindly of Leib Zalman (Louis) Rudick.  

 

His eyes are filled with tears when he sees your flames below.

 

 

 

Rabbi Steven Lebow stumbled across Danse Macabre when he was looking for something fun filled, but weird. Or something weird, but full of fun. He can't remember which. He has published stories in Scarlet Leaf, Penny Shorts, Literary Heist, Down in the Dirt, The Argonaut, Flash Fiction Online, Bitchin' Kitsch, Literally Stories, Aphelion Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, and Infernal Ink. He leads a Reform Jewish congregation in Atlanta, Georgia.