Isaac Bashevis Singer is far from your typical Newbery Honor author, a citation he earned three times (Zlateh the Goat and Other Stories, 1967; The Fearsome Inn, 1968; When Shlemiel Went to Warsaw and Other Stories, 1969). He won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1978, and also took home two National Book Awards. Singer's vaunted literary reputation is undoubtedly highest among adult readers, perhaps making him most comparable to Esther Forbes, Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings, Randall Jarrell, and Neil Gaiman when it comes to Newbery authors. Additionally, Isaac Bashevis Singer is known to have written his books first in Yiddish, then translated them into English, and I think it's safe to say there aren't many American children's authors who have taken that creative route. Here in The Power of Light: Eight Stories for Hanukkah, we see a departure from Singer's collections of silly folk stories for kids. While still meant for young readers, the book's tone is more serious, and Singer's respect for Hanukkah is evident in the attitudes his characters show toward the holiday, particularly old Reb Berish, equipped with more Hanukkah parables than any one person will probably ever hear. In these eight short stories of light and hope in the Hanukkah season, of blessings dispensed when needed to believers and unbelievers alike, one feels the deep meaning of Hanukkah to the Jewish people, the historical act of God's faithfulness it commemorates to remind us that there are still better days in the future of mankind. God does not abandon those who choose to live for him, and sometimes when night is darkest and no clear pathway to redemption is apparent, the LORD has ways of showing his protection with great miracles.
"Some people think that in olden times miracles were more frequent than today. That is not true. The truth is that miracles were rare in all times. If too many miracles occurred, people would rely on them too much. Free choice would cease. The Powers on High want men to do things, make an effort, not to be lazy. But there are cases when only a miracle can save a man."
—Reb Berish, The Power of Light: Eight Stories for Hanukkah, P. 35
In A Hanukkah Evening in My Parents' House, we receive an introduction to how Hanukkah is celebrated in many moderately observant Jewish households, complete with a pious father figure who can't seem to resist sermonizing to his children. A short moral narrative about a boy named Zaddock motivates a young boy of the present time to give alms for the less fortunate, a miracle of its own sort. Following A Hanukkah Evening in My Parents' House is The Extinguished Lights, a harrowing tale of an unnaturally brutal winter and its supposedly supernatural causes. A Hanukkah ghost story, for those inclined to believe in the spectral, The Extinguished Lights tells of a sick little girl whose last Hanukkah wish went unfulfilled the previous year, and the town that goes to great lengths to appease the apparently wroth spirit of the girl to alleviate the terrible winter that has fallen upon them. Even the most intransigent of scoffers can change their minds when ghosts enter the stage. A Yiddish-speaking bird calls upon an observant Jewish family on Hanukkah's eighth night in The Parakeet Named Dreidel, and it feels as if more than mere coincidence is at work when the parakeet's involvement in the family's affairs leads to numerous blessings down through the years, not the least of which is the happy marriage of its new and previous owners. God's hand in the lives of his people can show itself in mysterious and unexpected ways, if we have faith to discern its wise maneuverings.
"Those who deny God always try to explain all wonders as normal events or as coincidences".
—Reb Berish, P. 40
Menashe and Rachel is the story of a blind boy and girl seemingly destined for a life together from early childhood. Menashe is a vivid and imaginative storyteller, capable of weaving spells over his listeners' hearts with the power of his words, and Rachel more than anyone loves to hear them. Menashe's creative artistry is a window to a world Rachel has never seen, for she was born without sight, unlike Menashe, whom disease blinded at age three. But though the two have never beheld the sight of one another, their love is strong and eternal, and neither could endure for long if they were permanently separated. A love this special is reason for the whole world to see and have hope. Next comes The Squire, narrated to a small crowd of kids by old Reb Berish, about a man named Falik and his family. Once blessed with good health and material comfort, the family fell into desolation after being struck down by disease and poverty. Reb Berish takes a moment mid-story to chide the current generation for its stinginess, saying, "Nowadays people are selfish, they don't care about others, but in former times people helped one another when in need." Yet despite the charitable spirit of neighbors and friends when Falik's family hits their rough patch, the proud young man won't accept help...until the day a Hanukkah miracle surprises them all, and Falik's health and monetary resources are suddenly restored. Who can question the presence of a miracle at the perfect time, and not sound boorish? But Reb Berish reminds us that there's always room for unbelief, if that's what one chooses to cling to. Faith and unbelief, opposite sides of the same coin, each able to be held onto with or without logical reason.
"That glimmer of light, surrounded by so many shadows, seemed to say without words: Evil has not yet taken complete dominion. A spark of hope is still left."
—The Power of Light, P. 45
The Power of Light, the short story for which this collection in its entirety is named, thrusts us right into the aftermath of the horrors perpetrated by Nazi Germany on the Jews of Poland, destruction ravaging a land and people, with so much suffering all around. Two teenage survivors of the Warsaw bombing, David (age fourteen) and Rebecca (thirteen), cling to life in an abandoned building. There's no light to be had at night, except for the Hanukkah menorah David rescues one day and brings back for Rebecca, but his best efforts to keep the two of them fed and relatively healthy won't be sufficient much longer. The light of the Hanukkah flame seems to ignite their spirits, as well, to take a crazy chance on escaping war-torn Poland, though Nazi captors lurk everywhere and chances of eluding them all the way to a land of safety are remote. Can a young boy and girl with no one but each other evade death and make it into the loving arms of fellow refugees in the nation of Israel? Is such a flight from the dark even possible without miraculous assistance? Reb Berish is back after The Power of Light to regale his young listeners with Hershele and Hanukkah, about a wild fawn come to the house of honest Reb Isaac and his family. The fawn acts as if it belongs with them, and surely it does: its coming is a sign from God expected by Reb Isaac's barren wife, a sign that the couple is not to be without child forever. Reb Isaac and his long-suffering spouse will know the joy of having a son, as well as the happiness of their communion with the fawn who heralded his coming, two gifts from the LORD under whose dominion they lead their lives.
The eighth and final story in The Power of Light is Hanukkah in the Poorhouse, which I easily consider the best of the entire collection. I would give The Power of Light as a whole at least two and a half stars, perhaps even the full three, and that's mostly because of this final tale. Jacob, an old man in the poorhouse with no one beside him and only his fellow unfortunates to listen as he explains his life story, relates the ordeal he survived in Cossack-occupied Russia, where many young Jews were deported from their homes and forced to live in violation of their most sacred religious beliefs. Just days before teenaged Jacob is to marry young Reizel, the love of his life—a wedding planned to prevent the Cossacks from drafting the boy for military service—Jacob is seized from his home and forced into indentured servitude far away. His dear Reizel cries out that she will wait for Jacob's uncertain return no matter what, but it turns out to be decades before such an option becomes possible. When finally Jacob escapes from his cruel overlords after twenty-two years of exile apart from the girl he dreamed of marrying, he returns home to find a village much different from the one he lived in as a youth. His parents have changed, and so, too, has changed his situation with Reizel, the only girl he would ever want to marry. But the ugliest scourges of evil cannot restrain a heart from loving, even if they can destroy the object of that love. Jacob's past, present, and future may have been stolen from him, but his love for his worthy Reizel is not gone. Even all these years later, as an old man, he looks to the lonely night skies and imagines her as comely and loving as the day they last parted, and knows he will always be close with his Reizel in the memories of his heart, where no man can thieve away and no plague ever kill. As Jacob's rabbi tells him when he speaks of seeing Reizel in the starry sky, "Love comes from the soul and souls radiate light." There is no greater truth among mankind than that. When the only place you hold one as beloved as Reizel is in your memories, there's no where else you care to be.
The Power of Light is a powerful book, especially Hanukkah in the Poorhouse. Isaac Bashevis Singer possesses a rare ability for spinning meaningful stories. The words of Menashe (from Menashe and Rachel) come to mind, where he describes the curious way his own storytelling talent works: "When I'm asked to tell a story I begin to talk, not knowing what will come out. But somehow a story crops up by itself." Similar I suppose it must be for the internationally renowned and admired Isaac Bashevis Singer, who understood equally the depravity and wonder of the human heart, and knew how to speak to it in ways that make universally profound sense. The Power of Light is a keeper, and so is the book's author. In midst of the holiday season or not, I recommend it for anyone.