Lynn Pollack is a board member of "Jewish Voice for Peace," who lives in Obamaland, Chicago. She wrote this piece Latkes and
Laments, and kindly shared it with Adam Horowitz:
Some 25 friends had said they were coming, desserts and veggie dishes in hand to complement my offerings. I’d asked that people bring alternate Hanukkah songs or lyrics. I was determined that we wouldn’t be singing anything that glorified military victory. And I didn’t want to laud God too much, either, lest we offend the devoutly non-religious among us.
But the news that Saturday morning was stunning. Israel had launched a devastating attack on Gaza and already nearly 200 were dead, many hundreds wounded. (This on top of a year that had already seen – or not seen — more than 400 people in Gaza killed by Israel, including 75 children, according to B’tselem.) [emphasis Mondo's]
My phone started ringing as friends in Jewish Voice for Peace, at the American Friends Service Committee, the Arab-Jewish Partnership for Peace and Justice in the Middle East and others called in shock. Was the party still on? I told people that we might as well get together and eat. That’s what Jews do when tragedy hits. We’d turn it into a shiva/wake, I said, craft press releases between courses and make signs for a demo after dessert.
In a bit of a daze, I called up Al Jazeera on my laptop, pulled out my great grandmother’s latke smasher, and began peeling potatoes.
People drifted in, old friends and complete strangers, and we cheered ourselves up with the plentiful and inventive food offerings. The latkes, I was told by two different guests, were even better than their mothers’. My mother’s, not so much.
Two menorahs, ready to light, sat on the dining room table. We riffed on the game of dreidel, spinning the words to mean “A great tragedy is happening there” instead of “A great miracle happened there."
We discussed lighting the menorahs. Some suggested we omit it, that we not disturb the darkness on this awful day. But ultimately, we decided to light the candles. One by one, our guests lit a candle and spoke of their hopes for peace, for an end to the suffering of the people in Gaza, hopes for a true miracle. Some gave thanks for the comfort and support of like-minded friends.
One Jewish woman spoke of her relief and gratefulness in finding other Jews equally appalled at the situation.
Toward the end of the evening, two friends, newly acquainted, a Jewish-American woman and a Palestinian-American woman put on some dance music and spun around the room in their own orbit, grasping at some joy on a bleak day. In another room, new signs were crafted from old ones. Stop the siege in Gaza became Stop the Massacre in Gaza. And we were ready, fed and united, for a demo the next day.
