“WE WON’T DO IT.” Mrs. Leah Prager, a small and energetic woman, tilted her head back as far as she could, so she could gaze directly into the eyes of Mr. Henry Sax, bobbin-net manufacturer. “That menorah belonged to my parents, and my grandparents before them, may they rest in peace.”
Mr. Sax, a tall, stout, and quick-tempered man, looked over the head of the diminutive Mrs. Prager and spoke to the lady’s husband, Mr. Jonah Prager, greengrocer. “No disrespect to the dead intended, sir, I am sure. But times do change. We must change with them, or we shall be left behind.”
“I am not sure I understand what that has to do with my wife’s menorah, sir,” replied Mr. Prager. A man more accustomed to hovering at the margin of life than engaging it directly, Mr. Prager had summoned the wherewithal to answer the more-imposing Mr. Sax only after receiving a sharp nudge in the small of his back from his wife. “Surely, the Chanukah holiday is a testament to the Jewish people’s loyalty to our tradition. Is it not our refusal to change and turn Greek that we recall when we kindle the Chanukah lights?”
Mrs. Prager beamed at her husband’s unexpected eloquence, and shot a glance at their opponent, as though to say, “Answer that, if you can!”
However, Mr. Sax only glanced impatiently at his gold watch, which was attached to his waistcoat pocket by a heavy gold chain. In a few minutes the Evening Service at London’s Great Synagogue would begin. Already the male members of the community were streaming into the synagogue’s vestibule, glancing curiously at the threesome as they passed into the large hall that housed the sanctuary.
“I have no wish to engage you in a theological discussion, sir,” Mr. Sax replied, closing his watch’s gold cover with a sharp snap. “But your wife’s menorah is a disgrace to this congregation. It is high time it is replaced by one that is more dignified, and I intend to put the matter to a vote tonight.”
The wealthy manufacturer thrust his watch back into its pocket and strode into the sanctuary, taking his accustomed place at the front.
Mrs. Prager took her husband’s hand and squeezed it tight, hoping to impart another dose of determined courage to her spouse, who after his one sally had shrunk back into his own shadow.
“You will speak up, won’t you, Mr. Prager? You will make them see that our menorah should remain where it is, in the synagogue, next to the Holy Ark? That it should be lit on Chanukah?”
“Well, it is a little dented,” he said, avoiding his wife’s pleading eyes. He had never addressed a public forum before, and he had no wish to begin a career as a public debater at this late stage in his life. “That does not matter to us, knowing how we do its history, how your grandparents brought it with them from Prague. But to others, who are not so sentimental ...”
“We are starting, Mr. Prager,” said the synagogue’s attendant, Mr. Koch, who stood at the doors to the main hall, ready to close them. “Are you coming
inside?”
Mr. Prager, grateful for the excuse to end the uncomfortable conversation with his wife, pulled away his hand and said to her, “I will bring home a nice piece of herring for our tea.”
Mrs. Prager stood alone in the vestibule. A sudden draft made her shiver. She should go home, she knew, and sit by the fire in her small drawing room. She was susceptible to chills and colds. But she couldn’t bear to leave her spot, knowing as she did that the fate of her menorah was going to be decided that night.
“Is there anything wrong, Mrs. Prager?” a man’s voice inquired. “May I convey a message to your husband?”
She turned. Mr. Ezra Melamed, one of the community’s wealthiest members, had entered from the outside courtyard and was standing beside her.
“It is about the menorah, Mr. Melamed. You have grown up with it yourself, and lit it too. The synagogue would not be the same, without it standing in its accustomed place. You see that, don’t you?”
A muffled “Amen” could be heard through the closed doors. Mr. Melamed tipped his hat and said, “I beg your pardon, Mrs. ...
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