In The Presence Of My Enemies

The only thing December had going for it was Christmas. She liked the tree and its spicy smell and the ornaments and gifts. She liked the fat roast goose her mother cooked every year. She liked the break from school she got at Christmas and New Year's. And, of course, she liked the presents.

This year, though, she looked at Christmas in a new way. Up till now, it had always beenher holiday. If she was a Jew, though, it was someone else's holiday. Her family would still do the same things: she was sure of that. They would have to; if they didn't, people would wonder why not. But what they did wouldn't feel the same.

Then something else occurred to her. Jews had their own New Year's Day. They had other holidays of their own, too. She remembered Purim, when she'd found out she was a Jew. She asked her mother, "Do we have a holiday of our own that's like Christmas?"

Lise Gimpel was frying potato pancakes fragrant with onion in a big pan of hot oil. "Where are your sisters?" was the first thing she asked.

"They're upstairs," Alicia answered.

Her mother looked around to make sure Alicia was right. Then she answered. "We have a holiday at this time of year. It's called Chanukah." She told of Antiochus' war against the Jews more than 2,100 years before, and of the oil that burned for eight days instead of just one.

Alicia listened, entranced. Then, as was her way, she started thinking about what she'd heard. "The Persians wanted to get rid of us," she said. Her mother nodded. "And these Syrians or Greeks or whatever they were wanted to get rid of us." Mommy nodded again. Alicia went on, "And the Nazis wanted to get rid of us, too."

"You know that's true," her mother said. "They still do. Never forget it."

"I won't. I can't," Alicia said. "But what did we ever do to make so many people want to wipe us out?"

"I don't think we ever tried to do anything," her mother replied. "We just tried to live our own lives our own way."

"There has to be more than that," Alicia insisted. Her mother shook her head. She asked, "Well, why is it just us, then?"

"It's notjust us," her mother answered. "The Turks did it to the Armenians; the Germans did it to the gypsies, too; the Americans did it to their blacks. I think it's happened to us so much because we're stubborn about being what we are. We didn't want to worship Antiochus' gods. We had our own God. We didn't think Jesus was anything special. People made us pay for that, too. We want to do what we do, that's all-do it and not be bothered. We don't bother anybody else."

"It seems like…an awful lot of trouble," Alicia said hesitantly.

"Well, yes." Her mother managed a smile. "But we think it's what God wants us to do, too, you know."

"I suppose so." Alicia frowned. "How do we know that's what God wants us to do, though?"

"I didn't say we knew. I said we thought so." Her mother sighed. "I could tell you that's what the Bible says, but if you look through the Bible and pick out this and that, you can make it say anything under the sun. So I'll just say this is what we've thought for all these years, all these generations, ever since before the Maccabees, before Esther and Mordechai. It's a long, long chain of people. The Nazis almost broke it, but they didn't quite. Do you want to let them?"

"No," Alicia said, "not when you put it like that." She had a child's conservatism: things that were should keep on going. And she also had her own strong sense of order, one much like her father's.

"When all you girls find out what you are, we'll be able to do a little more for Chanukah," her mother said. "You'll all get some Chanukahgelt for the eight nights. You're supposed to light candles, too: one the first night, two the second, and so on up to eight. I don't know if we'll ever be able to try that, though. If anybody caught us, it would be the end."

Hiding. Doing what you could. Remembering what you were supposed to do but couldn't. Maybe one day your descendants would be able to. If they ever could, those were things they would need to know. A long, long chain of people. That was what Alicia's mother had said. Suddenly, Alicia realized she wasn't the last link on the chain. Others would come after her. One day, in the far, far future, there would be as many ahead of her as behind her-if the chain didn't break here.

"I understand," she whispered. "I really do."

"Good." Her mother flipped potato pancakes with an iron spatula. "We make these at Chanukah, too. That's not part of the religion. It's just part of the celebration. And the nice thing is, it's safe, because people make potato pancakes all the time. Nobody particularly notices if you do."

"Nobody particularly notices if you do what?" Francesca asked from the doorway.