Sholom Aleichem
Tablet, Oct. 9, 2020
“I took stock of all the other flags, then looked back at my own. What a contrast. Theirs weren’t even fit to hold a candle to mine. My flag was the most successful of all, for who had as much wax as me?”
When I was a little boy, owning a flag for Simchat Torah—and I mean a real flag in the full sense of the word: a lit candle in an apple and the apple on top of the flag—was such bliss, such joy, I hardly dared dream about it. There were other things to dream about! There were some boys in school who had money for penknives, purses, and little canes. There were those who ate candy and cracked nuts every single day. Not to mention bagels and latkes. There were even those who ate challah not only on Sabbath but on weekdays too.
But me, Kopel, I never tasted challah on weekdays. I was happy if I had my fill of black bread, for we were—God spare you such a bitter lot—a bunch of paupers, despite the fact that everyone in the family worked his fingers to the bone. Father, may he rest in peace was the assistant shamesh of the basement prayer-room annex of the Butchers Synagogue; Mother, God rest her soul, was an expert at baking honey cakes; and my sisters mended socks. And me, I never had the feeling of being full. Believe me, there wasn’t a meal which I couldn’t have begun all over again.
I’m not even talking about having a kopeck in your pocket, a kopeck to call your very own. Of that I never even dream. But once I suddenly became rich and got 44 kopecks to do with as I pleased. … Source