LOST AND FOUND
A Hanukah Story
(For my family to read annually at our Hanukah gathering)

Way back in 1937 I acquired my first family car.  It was a 1932 Plymouth Sedan sold to me by a partner in the woodworking shop where I was employed.   Although I couldn’t afford it, he insisted that I should buy it, and that he would accept installments.  He wanted $45.00. The odometer read 35,000 miles, and he, feeling guilty for asking such a high price, threw in two new tires.  And a good thing he did as the world changed very radically in a short time.

I brought the car home with a good deal of trepidation, and a feeling of guilt.  It was insane to spend money that we did not have.  Yet this blue-black car soon became a member of our family.  We called her "Old Faithful", as this vehicle lasted us for 10 years; all through the preparation and entrance into the war, and through the entire period of the "Great War Number Two", commonly called: "WW II".

We were just emerging from the Great Depression; a time of hardship, unemployment, insecurity, and panic.

Our family condition was improving.  Papa worked full time, and he could pay the rent punctually.  I  had a secure good job with a great cabinet shop.  I was able to perfect my trade, the people liked me, and I even purchased our first real home for $5,500.00.  I paid $550 down and undertook a mortgage of $36.00 a month, which covered the principal, interest, and insurance.  All thanks to the "New Deal" started by the then president Franklin Roosevelt.

By then we had two children, Lila and little Bennett (Benji).  They were happy in their new home and their new bedroom. (Later Bennett helped me build a virtual apartment for him in the garage level of our home.)

Although the outside world was full of bad news; the Fascists in Italy, Spain, and mostly Germany roared with their threats against the Allies – U.S., France, and England  (even Japan tested the United States by sinking an American riverboat in Asia), we here in the Bay area prepared for a "World Fair", and even created a new island on the bay - Treasure Island.

Somehow we felt that everything would pass as the Great depression disappeared.  Little did we know about the magnitude of the approaching storm.  We would help England with the "Lend Lease" project, but we would not be directly involved.

Our Children were a delight.  Bennett, a smiling, curly headed bundle of energy,  was forever curious and inquisitive.  He wanted to learn all there was to know; to find out how and why things work.

Bennett loved our Old Faithful, and forever wanted us to drive on unfamiliar roads. 

"Lets get losted" (lost), was his cry, and I obliged.

The child was sitting on my lap, his little hands gripping the steering wheel, seriously looking out the window pretending that he indeed was driving this vehicle.

Whenever we could, we took the children out.  On some Sundays we would drive out to the beach, and then to the new Skyline Highway, all the way to where San Bruno is now,  and where an ice cream truck parked by the side of the road dispensed some of the best cones we ever had.

Later we took longer trips.  We went to Yosemite, and took all the narrow roads that lead into and out of this National Park.  I would pretend that we were hopelessly lost (and occasionally there was no need to pretend), and my little boy was delighted.

Once we drove along the roads of the Mother Lode area where gold was discovered and mined.  The state was still young, and held evidence of the mining camps.  Thanks to Bennett we got well acquainted with this area.

On one occasion  we were on a freshly paved country road that ended at a wide river.  We saw the road continue on the other side of the river, but there was no bridge to cross.

I gloomingly announced that we would have to turn back, but the adventurous child, observing the bottom of the shallow span of water, assured us all that it was safe to cross.  Gingerly, we drove running board deep through the rushing water and continued our explorations.

We never forgot this adventure, or the time when we came into a small city that was changing its name form "Hangtown" to "Placerville".  There was still a huge tree in the city park where a stuffed dummy was hanging by a rope, reminding those passing by why the town was first given this name.

We also found the way stations where the early Postal Service had a relay station for changing horses during the "Pony Express" days, and we located the Wells Fargo traveler stops that were so important before trains made the  the trans-continental journey far less dangerous.

We and children spent many weekends learning first hand about our early California history, but these trips did not last for long.  In 1939 Germany invaded Poland.  The War started!  Soon, on December 7th, 1941 the Japanese almost took over Hawaii by destroying our Fleet and pride.

Rationing began; from sugar to shoes, from gasoline to many groceries.  There were three categories of coupons for fuel, "A" for the Army and service suppliers, "B" for personnel who needed their cars in the war effort, and "C" for ordinary citizens.

I helped with the supply of shipbuilding and glider parts, and so I was able to obtain a "B" sticker for the car, and thus a (very) limited supply of gasoline.  We needed our meager number of coupons just for necessary journeys, but, with thrift (and the "Black Market") we saved up our coupons, and from time to time we drove across the width of the state all the way to Reno, Nevada. We would stop in Truckee at a hotel that belonged to my boss.  I also managed to get access to some extra illegal gas for our Old Faithful, and we took side trips in this part of the state.

The war went on.  Service people were everywhere.  San Francisco was the hub from which tens of thousands of personnel, and untold tons of supplies, were shipped overseas to the West, to the Philippines, and to the various posts, stations, and islands on the route to Japan.

All along the highways were designated stands where service personnel in uniform were congregating  and waiting for citizens to pick them up and help them get to their bases.  And so it was that one day, driving back from Reno, we saw a young soldier standing alone.  It was cold, and he looked miserable.  We opened the door and invited him in.  He was thankful that we were going all the way to San Francisco, as he had orders to report to Fort Mason by midnight to be shipped out.  He had been visiting some friends around Sacramento, and his time was now up.

He was from the East coast, sounded Jewish, and was quite obviously homesick.  He told us that he especially missed his family that evening because it was Hanukah, and his parents would be having the family over for dinner, and they would all be eating lots of good "latkes."

We talked a great deal and Bassya felt sorry for this lonely young man.  We assured him, that indeed, he would have latkes this night.  We were going to have dinner with my parents, and he was most welcome to join us.

We arrived at my parents’ house on Central Avenue.  My mother was happy to feed a lonely Jewish boy.

My father lit the Hanukah candles.  My mother had plenty of delicious food. 

"Eat, eat." She commanded – "More meat, it’s kosher – more latkes."

The young man was happy and grateful.  It was apparent that he felt at home, and he even played dreidel with Benji.

It was finally time to drive this young soldier to the place of embarkation.  We had tears in our eyes knowing what awaited this man.  In a moment of high emotion, he took off his wristwatch and gave it my father.

My father had never worn a wristwatch, but the soldier insisted.  He said that he would get another watch.  He did not need such an expensive one where he was going.

Then it was Bassya’s turn.  She motioned to me and I nodded "Yes".  My wife removed  a silver chain with a very small mezuzah from around my neck.  I had worn it for many years as she had given it to me before we were married.  We handed it to my mother.  She kissed and blessed it, and then fastened it about the neck of this young man.

So much emotion!  The soldier promised to write.  We left him at the entrance of the Fort. We went home misty eyed.

The war went on.  We had more soldiers spending time with us, and with my parents.  We also had our own share of service people.  We worried about many.  The four Rosenbaum sons, my first cousins, were in the uniforms of all the branches of the service.  One was a Marine, one a soldier in the Army, another was a sailor, and the youngest was in the Army Air Corp (which later became a separate branch of service).  A son-in-law was in the Merchant Marines.

We never heard from the "Hanukah Soldier".  Papa put away the wristwatch, and the whole incident was forgotten.

Thirty-five years passed.  The war was long over.  There were other "Police Actions", wars, and "Limited Actions" – Korea, Viet Nam, and a few smaller ones.  Many people, too many people, were killed.  There were good times and bad ones – prosperity and depressions.

I became a father again.  A daughter, Debra, was born.  Little Lila and Bennett got married to very good spouses.  They too became parents.  I built, and then discarded, a very good woodworking shop.  My parents died.  Later Bassya also died, and many friends passed away.

I found a good position as a furniture salesman in a prestigious store.  I occupied the front desk, and thus I was able to choose my customers.  I had many customers and clients, and made friends with more than a few.  I liked what I did, and life went on.

One Saturday a young couple came in to check out the merchandise.  Being nosy, I quickly found out that they were from New Jersey, and were newly married.  She had found a job with a large insurance firm, and he, a doctor, became a Resident  in one of the city hospitals.

They had bought a home on a cliff overlooking the ocean near San Bruno.  They needed to completely furnish it.

I was the man to help.  I sold them a bedroom set with box spring and mattress, living room furniture, and I  helped them select some paintings.  Later  I sold them a dining room set and cabinets as well.

They came in often.  We got along famously.  One day she telephoned me to say she was having some trouble with the cabinet doors.  They would not close properly.

I diagnosed that it must be the magnetic catches, and I promised to pass by sometime and either adjust them, or if they were defective, to replace them.

No big deal.  One Sunday, on the way to see Bennett, I stopped over the young couple's home and replaced the catches, had a short visit with this lovely couple, and on my way out I noticed a large photograph of a man in a army uniform with a lot of medals on his chest.  I asked them who this distinguished looking man might be.

"Oh, that's my father," she answered.

"He passed away right after our wedding.  He was very happy to hear that we were coming to live in California, especially in San Francisco.  He had a warm spot in his heart for that city."

"Oh, that’s right, San Francisco is a great town" I said.

As I was taking leave, she continued to tell me about her father.  She recalled that he had told her that a Jewish family had befriended him one night.  It was the last night before he left for the war.  I stopped.  Something stirred in my mind.

If I was writing fiction, I would stop here, smack my forehead and exclaim,

"I remember your father."

But this is not fiction.  Similar occurrences are possible.

I must have turned pale.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Nothing" I lied - "Something that I just remembered."

"One more thing I recall," she went on.

"My father, entering the military as  plain recruit, distinguished himself in the service, and made the army his career.  After a posting in Japan where he served under General  McArthur, he returned with him to the Philippines.   Later, he served in Korea, and came home when President Truman recalled the Great General.  My father  fought in many campaigns and was wounded slightly several times, but never seriously.  He attributed his good luck to a talisman; a good luck charm that this lady in San Francisco gave him with her blessing that Hanukah night."

Again, if I were writing fiction, she would have taken out the little mezuzah that was mine originally.  But even fiction writers could not come up with such fantastic antics.  Nobody would believe it.

And no, she did not hand me the mezuzah.

"Describe the charm piece," I pleaded.

Yes, this was the same Mezuzah that my then future wife had given me.

Thirty five years came back in a rush.  A gift given had come home.  The wars, the people, all those living and dead, all the intervening days and nights, were recalled in moments of time.

And this is not a fictional story.  It happened because of Hanukah, and because of love.