Keeping The Flame Alive By DOUG COTLER Like so many others, my grandmother's first step in America was on Ellis Island. It was 1905. She was 15. She had left her parents in Russia, in a shtetl just outside Slutsk, now a major industrial city, but then a small community not too far from Minsk and Pinsk. When I was a boy, these were just funny sounding names; the hardships and pogroms that had driven my grandmother's family out of their homes were rarely spoken of. She was strong, hard-working, resourceful and, as a mother, totally dedicated to her family. She carried within her an embrace of Judaism that was directly out of Sholom Aleichem. I have always seen her as one of Tevye's daughters. In her later years, she lived in her daughter's home, and each Shabbat she would light the candles in a softly whispered ritual that was Doug Cotler a private, reverent moment for her. Three grandsons, of which I am the youngest, ususlly ricocheting loudly from baseball diamond to refrigerator as sundown approached, would see the shawl on her head and instantly go silent and motionless. Her hands would circle in the air the candles, and then cover her face as she said the Shabbat blessing. After the special dinner she had prepared was eaten, we would all go to temple. My father was the cantor. My grandmother loved him. We all did. He was my inspiration. As I listened to my father stretching the notes and pulling the emotion out of every prayer, I remember thinking it remarkable that my grandmother knew them all by heart. She could read and understand Hebrew, but these days, most congregants repeat them word-for-word ... usually with little understanding of what they really mean. But I'm not criticising. Ritual is supposed to get you in the mood, to center you, to get your mind off the world outside the service. My job, as a sweet singer of Israel is to help the worshippers do that, to lead them through the words and into the heart and spirit of what the ritual is all about. Judaism requires emotion; it demands passion. Embrace it, as my grandmother did, and it will envelop and protect you just as she enveloped and protected it. She lit those candles every week. For me, a boy growing up as one of the only Jews in a small farming town in 014 de4 California, she kept the flame alive. To her and to the father who showed me how to sing the sky, I say: To all my loved ones here in my heart Breath of my breath, part of my part You're always with me. Your love burns bright. God bless and keep you on this night. Where there is light Justice grows And flows like a river of wine All will be safe and free Under the shade of the vine Under the shade of the tree This is how we survive We remember and keep the flame alive from The Flame by Doug, Lanny and Steve Cotler and Jeff Marx @ 1990 Grammy-award-winning artist Doug Cotler will perform Saturday evening at 7•15 p.m. at the Agency for Jewish Education in Southfield, in cooperation with Jewish Experiences For Families and The Jewish News. A Menorah Passes To Next Generation By MARY KORETZ We each lit our aygeneh menorah, my 18-year-old aynikl and I. She iz gekumen to live with me some months after the death of my husband. It was eingenemin having her companionship and sharing the Chanukah ritual with her. I had never had to do it alayn and did not look forward to a ayntsiker-person performance. The tsirtlech glow of the lit menorahs dispelled the finsternish with a strength that belied the small size of the candles. We hobn geshtanen momentarily lost in the enchantment of seeing the velt transfixed by the tiny lights. We had prepared a milchig meal, so that we could enjoy smetena with our bulbe pancakes. Laura Beth had set the fish with the good china and stemware. Following the moltseit we exchanged gifts in AAAA A A I A an atmosphere of warmth and festivity. Noch three years my granddaughter left to resume her lebn in California. She hot gebetn oyb she could take one of the menorahs. It was the old one, gemacht of brass, depicting the two laybn of Judah guarding the Holy Ark. I was pleased that, of aleh the things in the hoyz, it was the one she prized the most. Especially so veil it was a tayl of my yerushe from my mother-in-law, so that it was passed on to still another generation. I loved the feeling of continuity. When Chanukah rolled around vider amol, I anticipated an elent experience. As I lit my menorah, I realized az I did not feel alone. I hob gevust that Laura Beth in California was also lighting a menorah. The feeling of being connected to her through this ritual let me to derkinen the fact that I had always felt, subconsiously, connected to andere, particularly at Jewish holidays. I had always felt at one with farshidene members of my family; with my fellow shiler in shule; with my sister, mitglider in Na Amat; with my students and co- workers in Arbiter Ring. I also felt a kinship with a host of Jews I had met through my Jewish geshichte books and finally, a mistish relatonship with Jews yet unborn. Being alayn was not being lonely. Thanks to family practices and a Jewish education, I possess a comforting sense of identity and continuity. Vocabulary aygeneh own aynikl iz gekumen eingenemin alayn ayntsiker tsirtlech finsternish hobn geshtanen velt milchig smetena bulbe tish moltseit noch lebn hot gebetn oyb gemacht laybn aleh hoyz veil a tayl yerushe vider amol elent az hob gevust derkinen andere farshidene shiler shule mitglider Na Amat Arbiter Ring geshichte mistish alayn granddaughter had come pleasant alone single gentle darkness stood world dairy sour cream potato table meal after life asked if made lions all house because part inheritance again lonely that knew recognize others various students Jewish school members a Jewish/Israel organization Workmen's Circle history mystical alone Mary Koretz of Oak Park has taught both children's and adult classes in L3 Yiddish at Workmen's Circle.