As I begin the eight days of Hanukkah with my family, and I clean off the previous year’s wax from our Hanukkah menorah (called a Hanukkiah), I am reminded of how I came to own this symbol of the Festival of Lights. It was 1970 and I was a  aptain in the Army stationed in Belgium as the social work officer forthe 196th Station Hospital at SHAPE (the Supreme Headquarters of the Allied Powers Europe) located just outside of Mons, Belgium. My wife Phyllis and I were spending the weekend visiting Heidelberg, Germany. On a narrow street almost hidden behind the beautiful Heidelberg cathedral we came upon an antique shop.

We entered the small, poorly lit, cluttered shop to explore.

The owners were Jewish and when they found out we were, we started sharing histories. They were two of only six families from Heidelberg that survived the war and the Holocaust. They had a daughter who now owned an antique store in Israel. This couple went around Heidelberg and the surrounding area in search of Jewish religious objects that had found their way into the homes of non-Jewish Germans. The items were either taken by Nazi officers as they took Jewish families from their homes, collected by German neighbors from the deserted dwellings or found among the belongings of the Jewish families that were piled in the street. The Hanukkiah I am holding in my soapy hands to-day was among the items in their antique store.

The owners of the antique store told me they send their daughter most of the Jewish artifacts they repurchase from non-Jewish owners, to sell in her store in Israel. They said the Hanukkiah I was looking at was around 70-80 years old. The top and stem were obviously hand-molded brass, and the bottom had been replaced by a machine-tooled base years later. It wasn’t a fancy piece, and they said it most likely belonged to a family of modest means for a very long time. The couple’s story was sparse but conjured up poignant images and feelings of sadness in me; just as it does now as I reflect.

The Hanukkiah was just over a foot tall and weighed 5 pounds. Even though the shop owner only wanted $25 for it, my wife and I agreed that we both already had Hanukkah menorahs of our own. Mine was from my childhood and even had a music box in its base that played Hatikvah, the na-tional anthem of Israel. We bid farewell to the shop owners, thanking them for sharing their personal commitment to reunite these religious artifacts with Jewish families.

On the five-hour trip from Germany to our home in Belgium, I couldn’t stop thinking about that Hanukkiah. Phyllis and I discussed the experience we had in the shop and decided to go back the next day, making a 10-hour round trip to purchase the Hanukkah menorah. The owners of the shop were so pleased by our decision to give this Hanukkiah a new home to shine in, that they lowered the price to $20. It has shone brightly in our home for 51 years.

— By Bernie Busch

Bernie Busch lives in Edmonds