My father, Henry Hausdorff, z”l, had a very heavy and cumbersome menorah. Made of solid brass and estimated to be 200 to 250 years old, based on some research, it might be a museum piece. Over 35 years ago, I saw a display of similar ones in in Tel Aviv at the ANU – Museum of the Jewish People (formerly the Nahum Goldmann Museum of the Jewish Diaspora.) Back then, those menorahs were valued between $800 to $1,200! Current values begin at $3,000, with more intricate ones valued much more.
According to that display, the
menorahs were made in Poland. This makes me chuckle since Dad’s paternal family
was very proud of their German ancestry. (Actually, the family roots can be
traced to Posen, which was the Prussian name of the Polish town of Poznan, when
it was part of East Prussia – from about 1815 until after World War I.)
Back to Dad’s menorah: Following his
petira, I put the menorah on top of a tall bookcase in our house. We
never used it. Dad’s menorah stayed on the bookcase, slowly accumulating a
thick layer of dust.
Family Heirloom?
It is frustrating not knowing how
the menorah came into our family. I’ve come up with four possible scenarios
courtesy of my overactive and runaway imagination.
Scenario #1: My Dad’s father, Grandpa Joe
Hausdorff, z”l, was the second oldest of 12 siblings and the oldest male
child. Perhaps the menorah is a family heirloom to be passed down to the
oldest son. Dad would qualify as the oldest (and only) son of the oldest male
sibling, Grandpa Joe. Did it belong to Great-Grandfather Heinrich Hausdorff, z”l,
and generations before him? Did he and Great-Grandma (Oma) Laura Hausdorff, a”h, schlep it
to America from Prussia in the late 1880s? If so, it must have had special
significance to the family. Due to its weight, it wouldn’t have been an easy schlep!
Scenario #2: A more likely story is that my
grandmother saw it in a shop in New Jersey or New York in the 1930s or 1940s.
She loved buying tchotchkes (knickknacks). I can visualize her
seeing the menorah in a store window and just having to have it, thinking it
unique. And of course, she gave it to her only child, Dad. Then again, maybe
she first offered it to Grandpa Joe, and he didn’t want it.
Scenario #3: Or, perhaps Dad acquired it
through his business, Baltimore Stamp Company. He often traded or bartered
stamps for objects and/or services. Maybe it belonged to a Jewish customer who
didn’t use it and was happy to get rid of it to add to his stamp collection.
Scenario #4: It’s a replica! A fake! It’s not
an antique from the 1700s. And, it’s not worth much.
Whatever the scenario, how it got
into our family will remain a mystery.
The Menorah’s Nes
Until I was 11 years old, we lived
in Howard Park, a Baltimore City neighborhood centered
around Liberty Heights Avenue and Gwynn Oak Drive. We were one of two Jewish
families on the block. In those days, the 1950s and 1960s, we never displayed
lit Chanukah candles in the window. My father often recalled the antisemitism
he experienced growing up in Jersey City. He used to tell stories about being
taunted for being a “Jew boy.” When outside, he always wore a hat over
his yarmulke, even when we moved to Pikesville, in 1965.
Whether living in Howard Park or
Pikesville, setting up the candles in the menorah was “a process.” As you can
see in the photo, “regular” Chanukah candles are way too skinny. Today’s Shabbat
candles are too big.
Dad never used olive oil and wicks;
that was too messy. Instead, using the lit shamash, he’d melt the bottom
of each thin candle until enough wax melted to precariously hold it in place.
In Pikesville, Dad felt comfortable
placing our menorahs in the living room window for all to see. And that’s where
we experienced a nes gadol hayah sham (a great miracle happened there)!
You see, my parents didn’t have a
table in the living room on which to place the lit menorah, so they improvised.
Mom had acquired an ottoman with S&H Green
Stamps for the new
house. (For those who don’t know anything about S&H Green Stamps, I suggest
an internet search.) The ottoman was approximately 16? x 22? with a padded,
brown vinyl top. We rarely used it for our feet. Instead, it was a receptacle
for the ever-increasing mound of newspapers and magazines that accumulated in
the living room.
On Chanukah, the newspapers and
magazines were tossed onto the living room floor. Dad placed a folding metal TV
tray on top of the ottoman. (Remember TV trays? Mom also got them with S&H
Green Stamps.) The tray just about fit on the ottoman, with maybe a sixteenth of
an inch or less to spare on all four sides. On top of the TV tray went Dad’s
menorah, along with mine, my sisters’, and guests, etc.
And the nes? Dad and Mom
hosted a motzei Shabbos Chanukah party, inviting family and friends. At
least five lit menorahs were dangerously balanced on that tiny TV tray that barely
fit on the ottoman. During the party, the excited children made lots of noise,
stomping up and down the stairs from the playroom through the living room and into
the dining room, where they could gobble down Tov Pizza and Entenmann’s donuts.
(This was before the kosher Dunkin’ Donuts opened on Reisterstown Road.) Then,
clutching the rolls of coins Dad gave them, they’d once again cause a ruckus, stomping
and rushing downstairs to play dreidel. Every time they came up or down, the
entire house shook! I always held my breath until the last candle burned down.
Whew!
And our nes? That TV tray never
fell over, causing a fire, chas v’shalom. Truly a nes min
hashamayim!
A New Home
As mentioned above, my husband and
I were never inclined to use Dad’s menorah. It’s too heavy and not our style.
Besides, it needs thorough cleaning and polishing, as those cups have many
years of waxy build up!
About three years ago, I decided
Dad’s menorah needed a new home. I offered it to my nieces, nephew, and sons –
first come, first served. Appropriately, my parents’ oldest grandchild, my
niece Sarah, claimed it. Since she made aliyah a year ago, it now
resides in Eretz Yisrael, which would have made Dad so happy. From Prussia to
America to Eretz Yisrael! Hopefully, Sarah will pass it on to the next
generation.
And, while Dad’s menorah might not
have originally been a family heirloom, it has become one now.
