by Ted Roberts

Rivka was as Jewish as Judah the Maccabee’s mother. But for most of her life, she had never heard of Chanukah.

I had called her Rebecca the first time I met her. “No, no,” she said, “my name is Rivka - please call me Rivka,” she insisted. She was so proud to be in a new world where a Hebrew name had no bad consequences.

I’ve known 12-year old Rivka since she arrived last year from Russia. No Jewish schools –no Jewish friends, no Jewish books. She knew about Trotsky, Lenin and Stalin. But Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, Sarah, Rivka, Rachel and Leah were like strangers to her.

A person from such a background can certainly appreciate the liberating meaning of Chanukah, freedom and independence from oppressing alien control.

Rivka’s family wasn’t free to be Jewish. The Soviets squeezed them like clay into a mold called Russia. It wasn’t as bad as the old days where they’d deep freeze you in Siberia, but it still was hard to be Jewish. It wasn’t easy to be anything except Russian.

Rivka also had a major problem here in the U.S. She didn’t have a mom. Actually she had one, but she had to stay behind in Russia. Her mom was a scientist, so she couldn’t leave until a very special space project was over. Now, they would let her go, but there was no money for an $1,100 airline ticket. Her Dad who worked as a custodian in our building couldn’t afford such money.

Rivka had few friends in a society where 12 year old girls wear designer jeans. So she walked around with a sad look in her eyes that said, ‘I’m about to burst into tears any minute.’

Chanukah’s coming, but instead of Freedom, all Rivka heard about is presents. All day in school they discuss Calvin Klein jeans, Ipods and Gucci purses.

No mother. No friends, besides me. How can you make friends when you can’t talk the talk. Even “cool” comes out “cull.” Fine Chanukah she’ll have! Her dad will run to Walmart between cleaning the basement and taking out the first floor trash and buy her a wrong style blouse in horrible colors.

At school (where she was a charity student), kids with flushed cheeks and shiny eyes were anticipating a Jewish version of X-mas. One of the papas, dressed like Tevye the fiddler, visited school before Chanukah and handed out mesh bags of gold-covered Chanukah gelt, a mere warm up for the gifts awaiting the kids at home on Chanukah.

If you had explained to Rivka about the conflict between Hellenism and Judaism in the 3rd Century BCE, she would listen politely and then ask, “Did they give each other presents?”
I thought about Rivka those two weeks in latter November - motherless, friendless, and completely misunderstanding Chanukah’s true meaning.

I talked to the girls in her class, and to their parents. I told them what my teachers had taught us - that the holiday was about the freedom to be Jewish. The Maccabees cleaned our temple to put G-d back in our hearts. Chanukah is all about the right to be called Rivka instead of Rebecca.

That last afternoon before Chanukah, the Principal, Mr. Shindel, called an assembly. He announced that her classmates had given Rivka Malacoff a collective Chanukah present: A ticket from Moscow to New York. Now that’s a real Chanukah!

Syndicated in the Jewish media, Ted (shirlr@hiwaay.net) happily responds to reader’s comments.