I LIGHT MY MENORAH ON EVERY SABBATH INSTALL

We all stood around entranced, transfixed, each immersed in his own thoughts. What, though, could be our menorah? I took out my spoon, and within moments, we were lighting the Chanukah 'candle,' reciting the blessings. And wicks? We began to unravel threads from our uniforms. One fellow offered a small bit of margarine he had saved from his daily ration. While we talked and dreamed, we were all suddenly struck, as if at once, by the same resolution: We simply must discover a way of doing the seasonal mitzvah. How happy we would be, we mused, if only we could light Chanukah candles. Here we were, in a camp where our lives were constantly in danger, where we were considered sub-human and where it was virtually impossible to observe the most basic practices of Judaism. And we remembered how God helped them resist and rout their enemy, enabling Jews to freely observe the Torah and mitzvot once again.ДЄnd then we looked around ourselves.

We recalled the great heroism of the Jews at the time who risked their lives in order to keep the Sabbath, practice circumcision and study Torah. We remembered how we could never seem to get our fill of watching the flames sparkling like stars, how we basked in their warm, special glow, how they seemed to imbue us with a special sanctity.ДЄnd then we got to thinking about the origins of Chanukah, about the war of the Hasmoneans against their Greek tormentors, who were intent on erasing Judaism from Jewish hearts. During a few minutes' rest break, a group of inmates and I began to reminisce about how, back home before the war, our fathers would light their menorahs with such fervor and joy. Having always kept mental track of the calendar, I knew when Chanukah had arrived. Despite the horrendous hardships we suffered daily, however, we tried whenever possible to remember to do a mitzvah and to maintain a self-image as God-fearing Jews, despite all the dangers that involved. By then, we had been transferred to 'Camp Number Four' in Kaufering, a camp more similar to Auschwitz in its daily ordeals. When winter came, though, my spoon became involved in an additional mitzvah. Now I was regularly called upon to use my spoon-knife to help avoid disputes and maintain relative peace among the prisoners. This was useful because we would often receive one chunk of bread to divide among two or three people, and without a knife it was difficult to apportion the bread fairly. Now I could use it both to eat my soup and to cut my bread.

With my new access to tools, I brought my spoon to work and filed down its handle, making it into a sharp knife.

I LIGHT MY MENORAH ON EVERY SABBATH INSTALL

Having had some experience in the Lodz ghetto as a mechanic, I helped the electrical technician install the camp's lighting. There were no labor details in this new camp, but we inmates were ordered to help in its construction, which was still underway.

It wasn't much, but it was mine вЂ“ and it would come to play an important role in my Jewish life and in those of some of the 500 or so other prisoners there. One of the items I smuggled out of Auschwitz, when the Nazis moved me into 'Camp Number Eight' вЂ“ a quarantine camp, for those suspected of carrying typhus вЂ“ was my spoon.

I light my menorah on every sabbath