Circle of Light

In the veiber shul of the shtetl, there was an older woman who served as the “zuggerin,” which meant she said the tefillos aloud for everyone to repeat. She also gave instructions like “Du shteit men” (here we stand), “Du sitzt men” (here we sit), and “Du vient men” (here we cry).

With precious little understanding of the exact meaning of the tefillos, the women’s hearts understood the momentousness of what they were saying, and they cried.

My grandmother held on to that simple devotion and purity throughout her life. As a girl, I saw my grandmother cry over her lecht. I saw her do mitzvos carefully, full-heartedly. In one of the most predictable moments of the year, which sent shivers down my spine, she’d say the brachos over the “Yom HaKudesh” (Yom Kippur) candles, the circle of shining lights, and unfailingly, there followed a wave of emotion — hot, pure tears.

When I was a small girl, after my mother bentshed licht at home, we’d go out into the dark Friday night, walk around the corner, and climb four flights of stairs to my grandmother’s apartment, entering a circle of peace in the serene glow of the lecht.