A Time of Miracles

In 1945 my 4th grade class was responsible for creating the annual Christmas Play. I decided to
try out for the role of Baby Jesus. What could be better than lying on a soft bed being adored.
When I went home and told my father, his response was quick and clear. “No daughter of mine
will play Baby Jesus.”
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“But Dad,” I pleaded, “Jesus was a Jew, like us.” He was adamant. I had no chance of
changing his mind. I wondered: if I couldn’t be in the Christmas play, maybe we could do a
Chanukah play though I’d never seen one.

The next morning, I asked my teacher if we could do a Chanukah play as well as the
Christmas play. She didn’t know what it was. I explained as best I could. She looked dubious but
said, “If you can find a play that’s appropriate for 4 th graders, and classmates are willing to be in
in, I’ll agree to let you do it.”

That was a lot to consider. I might find a play but my classmates didn’t like me. When I
asked why, a few of them showed me their catechism where it said: The Jews killed Christ. I told
them Jesus was a Jew. Why would Jews kill a Jew? Their response: “No he wasn’t.” Oy!
After school I went to the library to look for a Chanukah play. I loved the librarian. Since
2 nd grade my library card had been stamped Adult Privilege, which meant I could read any book
in the library. She often greeted me with a book she thought I’d like. When she saw me, she
smiled and asked what she always asked me, “Do you need assistance?” She knew I liked big
words.

“I need to find a Chanukah play appropriate for 4 th graders.”

“I’m not sure we have one,” she said thoughtfully, “but I’ll help you try to find one.” We
looked through the card catalog and a few anthologies. No Chanukah play. I was ready to give up
and find a book to read when she said, “Why don’t you write a Chanukah play. If you do, I’m
sure it will be appropriate.”

Me? Write a play? Intrigued, I asked, “How do you write a play?”
She was matter of fact. “You write the characters on the left side and whatever they speak
on the right side.” That didn’t sound so hard. “I’ll give you a book of plays so you can follow the
form.” I thanked her and agreed to show her the play I wrote.

I spent the weekend writing, erasing, writing, erasing . . . it was a lot harder than I
thought but on Monday morning, I had a play to show my teacher.

After reading it she agreed I could share it with the class. If anyone wanted to be in it, we
could do the play. I read with a heavy heart. Kids didn’t like me. Much to my amazement,
enough kids volunteered. My play was going to happen.

While most of the class rehearsed the Christmas play, my group worked on the Chanukah
play. Since they knew nothing about Chanukah I told them the story, how we lit candles, and best
of all, ate delicious homemade latkes (potato pancakes fried in oil) with homemade blueberry
jam and applesauce.

I told them this was my first play and if they didn’t like the words I wrote they could
change them, which they did. We talked about the story and created dialogue we could all agree
on. They asked about latkes. We rehearsed. Together we figured out how to use small flashlights
to create the eight lights. Together we created a play we felt good about. The differences between
us disappeared.

The day of the plays I was a nervous wreck. What if people didn’t want to watch a
Chanukah play? What if what I wrote wasn’t good enough . . . enough worries to fill a garbage
dump.

The Chanukah play was first. I held my breath. After the last words were spoken, the
cast, deciding on their own, held hands, bowed, and yelled, “Author. Author.” I got pushed up on
to the stage and out of nowhere, a bouquet of flowers appeared. Dazed, I gave each cast member
a flower. One of them teased, “We made the play. You keep telling us how good latkes taste. We
should have a chance to eat them.” All I could do was nod.

When I told my parents about my cast’s interest in latkes, my mother said, “Let’s have a
latke party. Invite your class. I’ll send a note to the teacher.” When I asked my mother how my
class could fit around the small table in the little dinette off the kitchen, she shrugged. “They’ll
find a way.”

The next morning the teacher read the note, invited the class, and began the day’s
assignment. In those days kids walked to school so getting to my apartment would not be a
problem.

The afternoon of the party I was miserable. What if no one came? What if there wasn’t
enough room? What if they didn’t like latkes . . . Suddenly my worries were interrupted by the
sound of knocks on the door. About half the class happily squushed around the table, watching raptly as my mother lit the candles of the menorah, humming along as my father and I sang
Chanukah songs.

First miracle: Despite not knowing how many kids would come, my mother made enough
latkes for everyone.

Second miracle: Despite not knowing how many kids would come, my father made
enough cherry soda for everyone.

Third miracle: Unbeknownst to me, my parents had bought enough little bags of gold
foil wrapped chocolate coins, Chanukah gelt (money), for each kid to take home.

Fouth Miracle: The next day in class, lots of kids told me what fun they’d had and how
much they loved the latkes. I was taken aback when one girl told me, “I’m sorry my parents
wouldn’t let me come. Everyone said they had a great time. Nice to know there are good Jews.” I
mumbled something about maybe she could come next year.

Fifth Miracle: Before the latke party, I had no friends. At recess, I was always ignored.
Then came the big change. The day after the latke party, when it was time for recess, the girls in
my class invited me to play jump rope with them. Not just turning the rope, but jumping as well.
They even told me how good I was at Double Dutch (a way to jump through two turning ropes).
Who could envision kids eating latkes with homemade blueberry jam and applesauce
would change foes into friends?
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Can you imagine what might happen if there was a worldwide latke party? Homemade
blueberry jam and applesauce highly recommended.

What choice have you made that changed how people responded to you?