The Mystery of the Third Candle one Yom Kippur Long Ago

Lulu, whom I called Ma, loved to light the candles. Every year when sweater weather came and the leaves weren’t so green anymore, Lulu would pull one of our scuffed wooden chairs right up to the kitchen counter. She would make sure the chair was steady before she climbed on it because our kitchen floor wasn’t even. Then she would open the cabinet that hung over the sink and slowly take out two short cloudy glasses and hand them to me one my one.

“Be very careful”, she would say. These aren’t regular glasses. They’re candles. Candles for ma and pa. Your grandparents”

After she climbed down, LuLu would take the glasses out of my stiff hands and put them on a plate. “So they won’t burn the countertop”, she’d say. I didn’t tell her that there were already burns, mostly from cigarettes, and lots of stains on the ugly linoleum countertop and that the scratched silver edges were sharp and falling off too. No, I didn’t say that. I just watched her as she took a clean white cotton dishcloth and a book of matches out of the top drawer. She put the dishcloth on her head and opened the book of matches. I loved it that the tips of the matches were the same red as the nail polish on the tips of LuLu’s fingers. She struck the matchstick against the scratchy black rectangle on the bottom of the matchbook and, as if by magic... created fire.

“I’m starting with the prayer for ma. Pa never had a happy day after Ma died.” That’s what LuLu would say.

“Baruch atoh, adenoids, yish kah dahl, yish, kah dahsh”...

I whispered the words to myself as Lulu said them out loud.

She didn’t want to hear me say the words and I didn’t want her to get mad at me. Lulu, was not a person you wanted to get mad at you. Sometimes you didn’t even know what you did.

“Well, if you don’t know, then I’m not going to tell you!” she would yell.

Sometimes she would get so mad at someone that she would never talk to that person again. Never again in her whole life! That’s what she did with daddy.

“Get out! I’ve had enough of you and your gambling. Get out and never come back”, she yelled.

And he did.

Lulu had a brother named Uncle Abe. I liked him. He was nice. We went to visit him once in California where he lived. He took us to Disneyland. I had never been to a place like that before. Peter Pan was my favorite ride. Even though the line was very long, we went on it twice. Uncle Abe took us for a ride in his car too. Up high in the mountains. Mountains! We didn’t have any mountains in Chicago! There were real cows grazing on them and everything. The roads were skinny and cut right into the side of the mountains. Uncle Abe pressed down very hard on the gas pedal, laughing all the way.

Lulu yelled, “Stop it Abe! You’re going to kill us!”

It was so much fun!

Uncle Abe had a wife named Aunt Isabelle. I had never known anyone with that name before. I loved the way it sounded Is-a-belle, like a melody to a song. Except when Lulu said it.

“That shiksa Isabelle”, she would say. “She’s fat and lazy and nothing is good enough for her. Why doesn’t she get a job if she wants to be so fancy?”

Lulu was right. Aunt Isabelle was fat. I saw it with my own eyes, I could feel it too when she put me on her lap. Squishy. I liked Aunt Isabelle. It was fun having an aunt.

One day Lulu got very mad at Uncle Abe. I don’t think she told him why and he didn’t know.

Uncle Abe died before he and Lulu made up. We didn’t go to California for the funeral or to comfort Aunt Isabelle or anything.

“I don’t want to see Isabelle”, Lulu said. “She’s fat and lazy and nothing is good enough for her.”

So time passed and soon the leaves were changing their colors from green to red and gold and brown. Sweater weather had arrived. As usual, Lulu pulled the old chair up to the kitchen counter and opened the cabinet above the sink. She reached inside and took out three cloudy glasses. She handed me the first two, but brought the third one down with her, She put the glasses on a plate, and unfolded the perfect dishcloth before placing it on her head.

“Ma,” I said. “You took out too many candles.”

Lulu glanced at the glasses on the plate and then turned her liquid green eyes on me.

“No, I didn’t, “ she said.

“Well, what’s the third candle for?” I asked.

Lulu reached inside the pocket of her housecoat and retrieved a pack of matches. She struck a match, but before she lit a single candle, she stopped and looked at me. I thought that the fire was going to burn her finger, but she managed to light the candle in time.

Lulu turned and looked at me.

“It’s for Uncle Abe of course,” she said.

Then she turned away from me and bent her head over the golden glow of the candle again.

“Baruch Atah Adonai Yisgadal ve’yiscadash...