The Candlesticks
| March 15, 2022What does she think each week as she lights candles, my daughter who is no longer married?
It was Shabbos again. Time to bentsh licht.
Following the stressful last-minute cooking, cleaning, and washing up, the special day arrives. It feels good to collapse on my gray leather couch after the short winter Friday marathon. I run my fingers along the smooth leather, finally relaxing.
Sara sits down near me and opens her siddur to Shir Hashirim. I’ve been asked to join groups of 40 women who say Shir Hashirim as a zechus for someone many times, but had always declined.
Not Sara. I don’t know who she’s doing it for this time. I don’t even ask. Though her siddur is open, her eyelids droop. Hashem knows how many people she helped today. There was Shimmy, the boy with Down syndrome, whom she took with her when she shopped for the family. She called Aunt Chany. She even made a batch of challah for our family and brought two loaves to the elderly Mrs. Spitzer.
And I, barely coping with all the thoughts buzzing in my head, look at Sara, my oldest. Sara, my kind, caring, good daughter. I see her big heart and her kind eyes. I may not say it often, but I know I’m blessed to be her mother. More than blessed.
Sara jolts awake. She smiles at me.
It can’t be easy to be in the shidduch parshah week after week, month after month, and come up empty. Another week. Another Shabbos. Another no. Another aggravation.
We’re in this together, yet Sara’s the one struggling.
Sara shares a room with my younger daughter, Chanala. She tells her stories, does homework with her. Oh, and she’s the one who gives up her room for her younger brother and his wife. She happily helps with the newborn, not hers, her younger brother’s. With not an ounce of resentment. With zero complaints to Hashem, expressing gratitude for all the blessings in her life.
Come candle lighting one Friday night, my teenage son Avrumi stares at his divorced sister as she davens.
“Good Shabbos,” he says. I can see he’s thinking.
“Good Shabbos,” I answer as I walk him to the door.
Another week passes. And then it’s Friday again. We rush through Erev Shabbos preparations, make the beds for the new young couple who are joining us for Shabbos.
“Did you remember to tear paper towels?” Raizy asks.
“Please turn off the eggs. They’re boiiiiiling!!” Menachem yells from the back of the house.
It’s another hectic Erev Shabbos. After my husband prepares the candlesticks and the house is ready, I get the matches and light the candles.
And then I see them. Two brand-new silver-plated candlesticks, standing tall.
“What are these?” I ask.
Avrumi appears.
“I bought them for Sara,” he says. “I feel bad for her. Every week she bentshes licht on two little candlesticks. I decided to buy her a present.”
“Wow. How much were they?” I ask.
“Eighty dollars,” he responds. “I used my money.”
I’m shocked. Firstly, I didn’t dream 15-year-old Avrumi had that big of a heart to think about his sister and her situation. It’s heartwarming. But I also worried how Sara will react. Would she feel like she was welcomed permanently to bentsh licht here? Despair of ever having a home of her own?
But I need not have worried.
She thanks Avrumi, a tear rolling down her cheek.
“Sara’s happy to have her own candlesticks,” Avrumi whispers in my ear.
Sara spreads out her arms to welcome Shabbos with closed eyes and a prayer on her lips.
These days, she uses those two candlesticks — for her two wonderful children. Hashem has blessed her and her husband, and she continues to thank Him when she lights the candles each week.
(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 785)
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