Hanukkah and the great latke debate
LEO LIEBERMAN
Jewish Times of South Jersey
I remember a Hanukkah in Israel, when everywhere, in every window, there was a chanukiah, a menorah with candles burning so bright that it seemed that there were a thousand fireflies in Jerusalem.
The grandchildren went from hotel to hotel, picking up treats in the lobby, mostly apple juice and sufganiot (doughnuts).
"Zaydie, Zaydie it's all for free," they exclaimed. "Even the guys on the street corners are giving away sufganiot. Here, Grandpa, I got one for you. Grandma won't eat it because it's got too much cholesta-cake, but I know you will."
That was a special Hanukkah, but the Hanukkah celebrations that I remember most dearly are much further back in memory. They centered around the "great latke debate," and took place when I was very, very young.
Back then, all the Hanukkah candles were orange, and the little chanukiah was made of yellow metal, and each night we had to scrape the orange wax from the base, so that the next night we could put in new candles, and we would all sing "Ma-oz tzur" or maybe "Me y'malel."
There were no sufganiot, no doughnuts with or without cholesterol. Instead, every night of Hanukkah, there were potato pancakes swimming in oil.
There were no ceramic dreidel tops, or porcelain ones. There was a little wooden dreidel with the letters Nun, Gimel, Hay, Shin, and we could spin it and gamble away our Hanukkah gelt (a batch of shiny pennies).
In the midst of all these festivities came the great latke debate.
Mama came from Russia when she was 3, and Papa came from Budapest when he was 5. She was a Litvak and he a Glitziyana, a mixed marriage, but one that held together for a little more than 50 years. So she served potato pancakes with applesauce, and he thought that the tradition argued for sour cream as the accompaniment.
Each Hanukkah, as Papa ate his pancakes (and even asked for a second helping) with applesauce, I could hear him mutter under his breath, "With sour cream would be better."
And Mama would give him another helping and smile sweetly, asking, "More applesauce? Fresh, I just made it. And the apples are so sweet. I never add sugar."
Each year the debate continued, with Aunt Pesha siding with Mama, and Fat Rosie From Apartment 3-C saying, "I don't want to inter-mish, but I know in my house, if you'll pardon my telling you, it was sour cream."
And so today, as we recite the prayers, light the candles, and sing the songs, and as the grandchildren all gather around, tearing the gift wrap from the boxes, I think that, if I close my eyes and listen very carefully, even as I wish all of you a happy Hanukkah, I can hear her saying, "applesauce," and him answering, quietly but firmly, "sour cream."
And although we serve applesauce, as our good rabbi would say, "Still, on the other hand ..."
This story is included in the new book "Memories of Laughter and Garlic: Jewish Wit, Wisdom, and Humor" by Professor Leo Lieberman. His column titled "Chalk Dust," from which this book was compiled, appears weekly in the Jewish Times of South Jersey. This story was distributed by Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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