Anatoly Sharansky’s Hanukkah Menorah was confiscated in 1980 before the holiday was over. So Sharansky began a hunger strike. KGB Major Balabanov declared, “A camp is not a synagogue. We won’t permit Sharansky to pray here. He will not have it returned to him.”
Major Osin, the camp director, heard of Sharansky’s strike. “Please stop,” he begged. “In the future, no one will hinder you from praying.”
“Give me back my menorah, as tonight is the last evening of Hanukkah. Let me celebrate it now, and I shall end the hunger strike.”
“What’s a menorah?”
“Candlesticks.”
But as documents had been drawn up; confiscation had taken place, Osin could not be seen to back down.
As I looked at this predator, sitting at an elegant polished table and wearing a benevolent smile, I was seized by an amusing idea.
“Listen,” I said, “I’m sure you have a menorah somewhere. It’s very important to me to celebrate the last night of Hanukkah. Why not let me do it here and now, together with you? You’ll give the menorah. I’ll end the hunger strike.”
Osin thought it over, and promptly the menorah appeared from his desk. Osin took a pocketknife and cut me eight candles (in fact, I needed nine, but when it cam to Jewish rituals, I was still a novice). I arranged the candles and went to the coatrack for my hat, explaining to Osin that “during the prayer you must stand with your head covered and, at the end, say Amen.” He put on his major’s hat and stood. I lit the candles and recited my own prayer in Hebrew. Inspired by the sight of Osin standing meekly at attention, I added: “And may the day come when all our enemies, who today are planning our destruction, will stand before us and hear our prayers and say, Amen.”
“Amen,” Osin echoed back.
He sighed with relief and removed his hat. I returned to the barracks in a state of elation. Our kibbutz made tea and merrily celebrated the end of Hanukkah. Naturally, I told them about Osin’s “conversion,” and it soon became the talk of the camp. –Natan Sharansky
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