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NOTE TO MYSELF: ONCE UPON A TIME I HAD A DREIDEL

THE CHANUKAH KING
by Eleanor Tylbor


There was the usual sense of excitement among students attending the Chavarim Afternoon Hebrew School a couple weeks before the onset of Chanukah. Throughout the school spinning dreidels whirled around the floor surface in anticipation of the annual competition held on the first night of Chanukah. Even then practise was no guarantee of a successful outcome of deposing "the dreidel king" who was defending his title for the fourth year in a row.

If there was anyone who personified the ideal qualities in a student it was Zelig Bornstein. At ten years of age he could do no wrong. A brilliant student academically he was also blessed with the voice of an angel and it was a given that he would sing the part of lead candle in the annual Chanukah concert. As if that wasn't enough to cause jealousy and rivalry among classmates, he ALWAYS won the annual dreidel competition.

Among the students of Mr. Meldrum's class there was the general belief that his cobalt blue dreidel with gold lettering on the sides possessed magical properties. There could be no other explanation to account for his perpetual dominance other than a mysterious and powerful outside source was at work, unavailable to his classmates. A few brave participants had come close to deposing him but somehow Zelig always managed to win out in the end. To further undermine his competitors confidence "The Dreidel King" did nothing to dispel the air of mystery surrounding his acumen.

"It's all right here," he would boast when asked the secret of his success, pointing to his wrist and flicking his fingers one-by-one to demonstrate his unbeatable technique, "and my magical dreidel, of course."

He never divulged any background information on how it was acquired and neither would he allow anyone to touch it much less give it a spin, further adding to the mystique.

"He" doesn't like leaving my hands," he would proffer in the way of an excuse, speaking of his top as if it was a living thing or a pet.

Externally, I professed animosity towards him as did the others, but internally I adored him from afar. However, this did not diminish my desire to win and I practiced fervently in the hope of improving my spin. I longed to emerge victorious if for no other reason than to make Zelig aware that I was alive, or at least be aware of my presence. It wasn't considered socially unacceptable to acknowledge the existence of the opposite sex, and even if he did harbor some stirrings of romantic feelings, he hid them well from me.

It would be fair to say that nearly every student in Mr. Meldrum's class dreamed of wresting the title away from him. We discussed the situation amongst ourselves, plotting a course of action that could de-throne him. Dreidel tossing techniques were assessed including "spit-shots" in which the "toss-ee" would spit or lick fingers to acquire more control of the toss, disallowed by Mr. Meldrum for hygienic reasons. Finger exercises were evaluated in addition to the benefits of knuckle cracking workouts before the competition, all of which were eventually discarded as ineffectual. Deep down inside we knew that the end result was out of our hands in the true sense of the word, and in those of the fates. There was always the glimmer of hope that perhaps the fates would smile on one of us. Anyone of us except Zelig.

Like a conquering hero "King" Zelig took center-stage tossing his dreidel from hand-to-hand as he walked, attempting to psyche out the participants. It was a piece of pure theatre as he produced a blue satin drawstring bag and reaching in, retrieved the cobalt blue dreidel smiling all the while. We took our places around the table, our hands clasped around the dreidels, waiting for our turn.

As the reigning champion he spun first, achieving the "gimel" and winning the first round. Dreidel competitors fell one after the other until it was time for me as the last competitor to

One by one he knocked out of the game until finally it was my turn. All eyes were upon me as I opened up my hand, gently allowing a cobalt blue object with gold lettering on the sides to drop on the surface of the table. There was an audible gasp from my fellow students accompanied shortly thereafter by excited whispers.

"D'ya see her dreidel?" they asked each other. "It's the same one as Zelig?s!"

At tournament time a large table was set up in the middle of the classroom and dreidels distributed to students. King Zelig tossed his dreidl from hand-to-hand, smiling smugly and acting self-assured. As the reigning champion Zelig spun first, achieving the letter "g" or "gimel", which meant that he won the first round. One by one we took turns and I landed on "hay", acquiring half of the pot composed of chocolate coins and other goodies, which pleased me no end. For the next few turns the dreaded "shin" turned up denoting a loss, accompanied by groans of disappointment from fellow students. Like many of the stories we were told focusing on unsurpassable victories over adversity, things turned in my favor. The king was dethroned and long live the new champion. Me. Jubilant cheers broke out among fellow students as they savored the moment for which they had all waited. My adversary, meanwhile, appeared stunned and in shock. Consumed with laughter and staring triumphantly into his eyes, I couldn't help but notice his were brimming with tears. It was bad enough being dethroned but having it done by a girl, was more than his young ego could handle in one day.

I could have chosen to ignore him and savor the moment of victory, since it was a long time coming and it probably wouldn't happen again. Instead, upon realizing that he had been humiliated in front of his male friends, a final showdown was suggested to determine the final victor. Needless to say, he amazingly emerged victorious.

He never did acknowledge my presence or reach out to thank me for my selfless gesture, in all the years of our attending Hebrew school together. He did allow me to spin first in a subsequent re-match the following year, presumably as a good will gesture on his part. In my mind I would always be queen to his king be it only for one occasion and that was better than nothing. That's life. Sometimes you win and sometimes you gotta lose.

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First things first, there are three additions to the blogrolls, one to each. I decided to put Bittersweet under "Bookish Blogs" because Molly tends to write about books more than anything else. YA readers, keep an eye out for Miss Molly. Trust me.

Also, Diversey Grand is back to blogging, so she'll go on, because she's cool.

AND! Working with Diversey and some other cool women, my new project is Puffery. We talk about toiletries and stuff. If you think I have opinions on books, don't get me started on bubble bath. And really, the bathtub is the best place to read books, right? It's still in its infancy, but I hope you'll check us out.

Next week Saturday, I'm going to Books for the Beast, a YA lit conference up in Baltimore.

There are two small group lit discussions, each with a 5 title reading list. I should, uh, probably get cracking on that, shouldn't I?

OK, that's a little disingenuous, as there were a few items on the list I've already read. (Private Peaceful was reviewed here and Revenge of the Witch which I blathered on about recently here. Also, Kampung Boy which is part of my reviewing backlog.)

Earlier this week, I finished two of the books. So that leaves 5 to go. So, basically, this is a read and blog weekend. I'm considering myself in training for next year's 48 hour challenge. But with a paper to write for school. And a bunch of reviews to write that aren't for the blog. And a bunch that are. My "to review" pile is staggering up. Not to mention the list. I have about 64 unblogged books right now. Aiyo.

Anyway, the ones I've read so far are... (hopefully, by the time I'm done posting, I'll know if I want pizza or Chinese for dinner and will have stopped craving sharp cheddar cheese. I don't want to go to the grocery store. It's raining. Finally.)

Anyway...

Double Helix by Nancy Werlin

There's always been something special about Eli. Something he can't quite put his finger on. His mother is dying a horrible, prolonged death from Huntington's. His father his pushing him to get the genetic test. Eli doesn't want to know. What would he do if the answer was yes and he knew what would happen when he reached middle age?

On a drunken impulse, Eli writes an email to Dr. Wyatt, a father of modern transgenics, asking for a job as he takes a year off between high school and college. By some miracle, he gets it. Eli's father is dead set against Eli taking the job. Eli knows his parents knew Dr. Wyatt when they were students, but what is the mystery?

How many basements does Wyatt Transgenics have?

This book raises many of the basic questions about medical and bio ethics. The twisty ending is fairly predictable, but it's very well written and a good read.

I'm just not entirely sure why it's in the suspense/horror category. I guess it's kinda suspenseful. Overall though, a good read.

No Shame, No Fear by Ann Turnbull

This is for the historical fiction section.

At the beginning of the English Restoration, Susanna Thorn leaves her rural home to find work in the city. Her father is in prison and the government has taken their cow, bed, and loom to make up for the tithes to the Church that her Quaker family hasn't paid.

William Heywood is the son of an alderman. He's just finished studying at Oxford and at the end of the summer, will start his apprenticeship to a silk merchant in London.

William and Susanna meet by chance and can't stop thinking of each other. Risking scandal, William seeks her out at meeting. They fall in love. Parliament passes the Quaker Act and meeting is outlawed. With the tumult and chaos of all the adults in their lives going to jail, William and Susanna cling to each other even more.

Told in alternating points of view, Turnbull writes a gripping and terrifying account of Quaker persecution. She works in an amazing amount of detail and history without it ever stepping over the story.

My only problems lie in the love affair. Will turns to Quakerism and leaves the values he was raised with behind at the drop of a hat. It seems really sudden. He never really questions turning away from his family and the luxury he was raised in.

Also, they go a lot further than you usually see in historical fiction. (Seventeenth century petting?!) I'm wavering on this. I know what was "proper" in the context, but hormones are hormones, and I've also wondered if there is a research gap between the proper ideal and the practice of real life.

That said, the Chinese food is on its way I need to go find out What Happened to Cass McBride?

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