“It might be a free country, Jacob, but you don’t want to rub your religion in their faces”

“M

iss Kohn said to light at the window.”  Ten-year-old Jacob stamped his feet.

“But we’ve always done it at the dining room table.” His mother sighed. She sensed the beginning of a tantrum. She turned to Jacob, trying to keep her tone even. “Y’know, when I was a girl, I remember riding the bus one day right after World War II…. There were two old ladies there, sitting and knitting. ‘Did ya hear what they did in Europe?’ one of them said. ‘Killed them Jews, millions of ’em.’ And the other one said, ‘Yeah, too bad he didn’t get over here to finish the job.’

“It might be a free country, Jacob, but you don’t want to rub your religion in their faces.”

“But maybe we gotta stand up for our rights, not just run and hide. Y’know, like my friend Jason. He’s always talking about Black Power, like, ‘Black is beautiful, man.’”

“Yeah, and you’re too young to remember the protests. You were only a baby when Martin Luther King was killed. It all comes at a price.”

“Well, we got pride, too. Miss Kohn told me about the Jewish Maccabees. They fought for their rights to be Jews.”

“Rose, he just wants to light by the window,” Hymie interceded, “and those candles don’t last more than half an hour. What could happen already?”