My father was a Holocaust survivor. He was the only one of his family to survive. Growing up, for as long as I can remember, he told me about the Menorah his family had before the war. It was silver, with palm trees and lions. He lost that Menorah of course, when the war came, along with his parents, brothers, sisters, everyone and everything else.
He never stopped looking for another one like it. And then one day, decades after the war, he happened upon something while browsing a flea market in Warsaw. It was his Menorah. Not one that just looked like it, the genuine article, with his last name engraved in the back. Just like him, by some miracle, the Menorah had survived. It seems so unbelievable, but at the same time it’s true.
I simply wanted to share this story with all of you and yours and to wish EVERYONE (regardless of what traditions you follow) joy and happiness and most of all PEACE. And remember that miracles can happen.
Source: Eva Tenenbaum-Kirshenblatt
