Thump!  A yellow cat named Honey jumped onto a bed in the Girls Room of the orphanage.  She climbed on top of a pillow and rested her chin on the windowsill.  Whiskers twitching, she turned toward the road outside where a loud argument was going on. 

Thump!  Her daughter, Song of Songs, joined her on the bed.   Stretched out on the other edge of the pillow, Song put her chin too on the windowsill.  And both cats listened as a woman’s voice shouted, “Does the rabbi’s wife want miracles?  She asked me to make a match for the blind girl who lives here.  How can I make a match for a blind girl?  Is there a deaf man in the village to make a pair with her?”

Although the cats only knew cat-talk, they understood that the lady was yelling about their beloved Malkah.  Mewing softly at one another, they looked down at the pillow, where fifteen-year-old Malkah was sleeping.  Because she had a slight fever, she hadn’t gotten up today.  As the woman’s voice rose again, she turned restlessly and plucked at the blanket. 

“And those cats of hers.. . “ the voice growled.

With one impulse, Honey and Song jumped over the windowsill.  They landed in the grass and darted over to the woman, who pointed at them with a sharp finger.  “They’re the ones!” she said to the tall young man standing beside her.  “What man wants a wife with no eyes and two cats?” 

“Mom, they’re kosher cats,” the young man smiled.  His mouth turned up as easily as his mother’s turned down.  He knelt on the grass and stroked Honey, while Song shoved her face into his hand and purred. 

“Besides,” he added, “I know the perfect match for Malkah.  So your problem is solved!”  He stood up and grinned at his mother.

“Who is it?” the matchmaker asked suspiciously.

“Me!” said her son.  

Turning on her heel, his mother stalked off.  It was obvious she wasn’t going to marry her only son to a blind orphan. 

The young man, whose name was Menashe, knelt down again.  “I want to marry Malkah,” he told the cats.  “And I’ve made a plan to trick my mother into saying yes.  But I’ll need your help and Sadie’s.”

The cats blinked at one another.   Sadie was the youngest child in the orphanage.  She was only five years old.  How could she help?

“Stay here,” he told Honey and Song.  “I’ll find Sadie and come right back.”  He was back in a minute with curly-headed Sadie running happily beside him.  The little girl loved Menashe almost as she loved Malkah.  When she plopped down on the grass, Song of Songs climbed into her lap and Honey butted her head against Sadie’s knee.

“Now listen,” said Menashe to the three of them.  “I have a plan, a plot so brilliant it could have come straight from the brain of King Solomon.  We’re going to the widows and get them to spin my mother around.”

The widows were three middle-aged women who visited the orphanage on holidays to bring the children little treats.  Their names were Mrs. Leib, Mrs. Szabo and Mrs. Peretz. 

Sadie gurgled with happiness at helping Menashe, but the cats exchanged doubtful looks.  Big question marks floated above their heads. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Menashe to Honey and Song.  “The widows are just like my mother,” he admitted.  “They don’t like to say yes, but you’re going to change that.”  Whistling cheerfully, Menashe led the little girl and the two cats down the road to find the three women. 

To his surprise, they were standing together, arguing loudly outside the butcher’s shop.   

While Mrs. Leib, Mrs. Szabo and Mrs. Peretz stared at him, Menashe outlined his plan.  When he finished, each of the women snapped, “NO.”  Menashe then glanced at Sadie, who threw her arms around Mrs. Leib’s knees and buried her curly head in her skirt.  “Please, please, please,” she begged.  When she looked up at the widow with her eyes shining, like someone seeing angels, the woman’s heart melted.

“Well, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Leib.

That was the signal for the cats to go into action.  Song of Songs crawled under Mrs. Szabo’s skirt and pressed herself against the widow’s ankles, while Honey leaped into Mrs. Peretz’s arms and licked away at her neck.  “Oh, these silly cats,” said the women, but they sounded amused rather than angry.  “Cats don’t usually like me,” they added.  “I wonder what’s different about these two.”

Menashe said nothing.  He just smiled as though he too were seeing angels.  And finally, the women gave in.  “All right,” they said, “tell us what you want us to say.”  So Menashe told them.

The next day Mrs. Leib put on a sad face.  She went to Menashe’s mother and groaned, “Esther, Esther, I don’t know what to do.  You remember my son who’s living in Cracow?  His wife has gone crazy.  She won’t do any work.  She just sits and looks out the window all day long.  Just sits and LOOKS.” 

“Her eyes follow everybody who goes past, and she does this as long as it’s light.  When my son complains, she says to him, ‘But there’s so much to SEE, Shlomo.  So much to SEE.’  Esther, what should I do?”

The matchmaker’s mouth dropped open.  “I don’t know,” she said honestly.

Mrs. Leib was barely out the door, when Mrs. Szabo showed up.  “Esther,” she cried, “I don’t know what to do. You remember my son who lives in Warsaw?  His wife is driving him crazy.  She wants everything she sees.  Whether it’s a dress, a shawl, a table - if she SEES it, she wants it.

“She’s nagging my son to death,” said Mrs. Szabo.  “All he hears is, ‘I SAW this today, I SAW that today.’”

 “Terrible, terrible,” said the matchmaker.  But she had no solutions to offer.  She tossed and turned, thinking about both those situations all night.  “I’ll talk it over with Mrs. Peretz,” she decided with relief, as she saw Mrs. Peretz approaching her door. 

But to her great surprise, Mrs. Peretz didn’t let her get a word in edgewise.  Right away, she moaned, “Esther, Esther, I don’t know what to do.  You remember my son who went to New York?  Well, he wrote to me that his wife won’t look at him anymore.”  She said again, “Won’t LOOK at him.”

Mrs. Peretz went on.  “She told him she doesn’t like his looks.  Well, he isn’t handsome, that’s true.  But she told him to put a towel over his face when he comes into the house.  He refused, so she won’t go near him.  And you know what that means!”

The matchmaker nodded.  It meant no grandchildren.  How can little ones be born when parents won’t stay in the same room with each other? 

As Mrs. Peretz went on moaning, there came into the matchmaker’s mind a picture of her own son.  He had a face like a monkey and ears that stuck out like pump handles.  A bride might not like his looks.

After Mrs. Peretz went away, the matchmaker wrung her hands.  What could be done for Menashe?  And then, like a burst of light from heaven, or a bright idea from King Solomon’s own head, came an idea.  And off she went to the rabbi’s wife. 

“I have found a husband for Malkah,” she shouted with joy.  “It’s my own son, my beloved Menashe.”

“Mazel tov!” cried the rebbetzin.  She went off to find Malkah, and the two of them grabbed Sadie.  They danced and clapped while Honey sat on Malkah’s shoulder and Song on the rebbetzin’s. 

As the cats purred with pride, the village began the preparations for the wedding.

 ~~~~~~~

Standing next to Malkah under the chupa, the wedding canopy, Menashe lifted his shoe and stamped it down – Crack -- on a drinking glass lying on the carpet.  When the glass broke, the crowd roared.  The village men seized Menashe, and as soon as Malkah sat down in a chair, the village women seized the chair.  Up, up went the bridal couple, laughing and singing above the shoulders of the crowd. 

When Malkah was back on the ground, she slipped out of her chair and went to the rabbi.  She begged him for a special favor, but the rabbi frowned.  “It’s not customary,” he objected. 

“Please,” begged Malkah, while Honey patted his shoe with her paw.  And Menashe added, “They were our matchmakers.” 

When the rabbi nodded, Malkah grabbed Sadie and pushed her into the bridal chair.  Honey and Song leaped onto the arms of the chair, and all three of them were lifted up.  As the guests cheered, they were carried around the room, while Sadie burst into giggles and kicked her feet until her shoes flew off. 

But the cats sat upright with great dignity, like the lions on King Solomon’s throne.  

© Lynn Butler Schiffhorst 2008

“Sometimes I’m glad I’m blind,” joked Malkah.  “I can’t see scary stuff.” 

She and her friends, Hannah and Rachel, were sitting together at the table in the Girls Room of the orphanage, getting ready for Purim.  Hannah had picked up a horrid-looking mask and was making it jump out in front of Malkah’s face and Rachel’s.

“Ooh,” cried Rachel, pretending to be scared.  “You made a really good Haman.  With his wild hair and red eyes, he looks mean enough for anything.”

Malkah’s kitten, Song of Songs, slipped off Malkah’s lap and onto the table.  She swatted at the mask with her little paw. 

“That’s Haman,” Malkah explained to the kitten.  “A long time ago he tried to kill all the Jews.  But a Jewish girl called Esther got the better of him, and he was the one who ended up in trouble.  That’s why Jewish girls and Jewish kittens make fun of him today.” 

Thump!  Honey, Song’s mother, jumped onto the table.  Walking up to the mask, she butted it with her head.  Not to be left out, Davy, Rachel’s kitten, and Itzy (short for Isaac), Hannah’s kitten, joined their mother on the table.  The two little black and white cats sat stiffly upright and stared fiercely at the mask. 

“Speaking about bad people,” said Rachel, “Mrs. Wolff told me that two mean-looking boys have been hanging around the old barn.  She said their eyes were as cold as ice, and they stared at her like she was dirt.  I hope I don’t run into them.”

Malkah shivered.  It was people’s meanness that had killed her parents and brought her to the orphanage.  “I wish the Prophet Elijah would come here,” she said.  “The Rabbi’s wife told me that it was Elijah who helped Queen Esther stop that awful Haman.”

“Look at Honey,” said Rachel with a note of alarm in her voice.

“What’s the matter with Honey?” cried Malkah.

“She’s listening to something outside,” answered Hannah.  “Her ears are moving.  And she’s turning all around as if she’s upset.”

“Honey, come here,” called Malkah.  She stretched out her hands to the mother cat.

Thump!  Honey jumped down to the floor, but she didn’t go to Malkah.

“She went out the back door,” Rachel said.  “Now she’s running through the trees.” 

Malkah stood up, and her hands were shaking.  “Honey never left me before,” she whispered.  For more than two years the yellow cat had been her little sister, riding in her pocket, sitting on her shoulder, going everywhere with her.  Why had she run off?  A bolt of fear went through Malkah like lightning, and she cried out, “Honey’s in danger!”

Pushing aside her chair, she chased out of the room and down the back steps after Honey.  She stopped only to call out to Hannah and Rachel, “Close the door so the kittens don’t get out.”  Then she too ran through the trees.

“Wait for us,” cried Hannah.  Checking to see that the three little cats were safe inside the shuttered room, she slammed the door behind her.  She and Rachel flew over the snowy ground after Malkah.

Malkah was far ahead of them, running like someone possessed.  She didn’t knock into a single tree or trip over an icy root.  She let love guide her, and it took her right to the barn at the end of the fir trees.

The old barn had a broken, jagged roof, and it stood out against the white landscape like a dark blot.  Fresh footprints in the snow showed that two people had just been there. 

Hannah and Rachel caught up with Malkah at the barn door.  She had pushed the top half of the door open and was struggling to climb in.  The two friends lifted her up until she could drop down inside.  Then they gathered up their own skirts and hoisted themselves over.

Holding each other’s hands, the three girls crept along between the dark stalls, until Hannah, who was in the lead, cried out in shock. 

Malkah knew what that meant.  She had seen Honey!

Since the truth could not be kept from Malkah, Hannah said, “There’s a heap of dirty straw outside the last stall, and Honey’s lying on it.  There’s a chain on the ground in front of her.”

As Hannah whipped off her shawl so she could put it over Honey, Malkah said in a choked voice, “Don’t cover her head.  She isn’t dead.”

“No, she isn’t,” said Rachel slowly.  She had eased past Malkah, so she could kneel down by the little cat.  “But she’s barely breathing.”  She held up the hand that had stroked Honey, and even in the dim light from the broken roof, she could see the blood on her fingers.

In a terrible silence, the girls stood still, their hearts broken.  Then out of the silence came the most unexpected sound.  Chirp!  Chirp!  Chirp!  And another Chirp! Chirp! Chirp!

“Sparrows?” wondered Rachel, looking up at the roof.

“Too cold for sparrows,” said Hannah.

Rachel watched six little chirping creatures fly around the hole in the wooden beams.  When they dipped down right above the girls, she called out in surprise, “Why, they’re not birds. They’re letters! They’re H, A, M, O, R and another A.”  

The letters flew close to Honey, and Hannah said to Malkah, “They’re circling over Honey, just like the Rebbetzin’s hands when she blesses the Sabbath candles.”

As the chirping letters left the wounded cat, they flew in a straight line right past Malkah’s face.  “Oh,” she cried.  For the third time in her life, the blotches in her eyes were gone, and she could see!  She saw Hannah’s pretty face and Rachel’s freckles and warm smile.

Looking down, she saw Honey.  She was partly covered by Hannah’s shawl, but even the yellow fur of her head was stained with blood.  When Malkah bent down to kiss her, the other girls knelt too, forming a circle of comfort around Honey. 

They only looked up when they heard hoofs coming clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop toward them.  As the girls watched, a donkey put her head around the stall behind them.  Her ears went straight up like the milkman’s donkey, and her nose was a plushy black nose like his.  But her eyes were different.  They shone with a wise and tender light, and the girls knew she was their friend.

The donkey waved a front hoof, like someone saying hello-how-are-you, and a great peace came over Malkah.  She stood up, curtsied and said, “Lady, I believe God sent you here to save the life of my cat.”

Four knobbly knees lowered themselves as the donkey bowed to Malkah.  “I am Hamora, the personal donkey of the Prophet Elijah,” she said.  “I trot around the world bringing help to suffering animals.” 

At Hamora’s kind words, Malkah burst into tears.  “Why did Honey come to this terrible place?  Why didn’t she keep away from the mean boys who did this? She should have stayed home with me!”

“Animals go where they are needed,” responded Hamora.  “Your cat knew that the boys were planning to attack you.  On an earlier visit to this village, they had found out there was a blind orphan here.  When he heard that, the older boy rubbed his hands and grinned, ‘Can’t see?  Has no family?  That’s the kind of girl I’d like to meet.’  Today they came back to do their damage.  So Honey went to bring love into their presence, hoping their hearts would change toward you.”

Hamora went on.  “When the boys saw Honey, the younger one shouted, “That cat lives in Jew-town?  That cat’s a Jew too.”  He swung a chain through the air and brought it down on Honey.  What he didn’t know was that older boy had had a cat when he was little and saw his brother torment it.  He got so angry at the younger one for hitting Honey, that he grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him down the length of the barn, spitting curses all the way.  Then the two of them made fast tracks out of the village.  You have nothing to fear now.” 

Realizing how much bravery and generosity Honey had, Malkah cried out, “Honey, you will live!  You will live!”

Hamora told her, “A cry that is uttered with all your heart shakes the Tree of Life.  When the roots are shaken, the branches are stirred, and waves of new life flow out through the branches to heal any wound or fever.”  She nodded at Malkah, and her nod said, “This is for you.  Take heart.”

To the girls’ surprise, right beside Hamora appeared a huge and beautiful tree.  It was so much taller than the barn that they could not even see the top of it.  But on the thick green leaves of every branch a cat was stretched out.  There  were orange and white and black cats, long-haired and short-haired cats.  Their eyes were closed, and their ribs rose and fell in a quiet breathing.

On the branch that was closest to Malkah, Honey was dozing peacefully.  Her paws were relaxed, not drawn up in pain, and a golden glow shone from her fur.  There was no sign of any wound, and her sleep was natural, not feverish.

When Malkah tore her gaze away from Honey and looked at Hamora, she was startled to see a tortoiseshell kitten and two black and white kittens standing between Hamora’s hoofs.  The kittens were Song and Davy and Itzy.  Their gaze was fixed on their mother, and they radiated a great sense of peace.

“How did you get here, you little thing?” Rachel asked Davy, reaching over to scratch his ears. 

“Didn’t we close the door on you?” Hannah asked Itzy, as she stooped over to pick him up.

When Malkah knelt down and Song leaped into her arms, Malkah said, “They’re laughing at us.  They’re all laughing at us.  Can’t you feel it?”

Although the girls couldn’t see any change in the face of Hamora or the kittens, they could feel something different.  Sparkling bubbles of laughter were floating all through the barn.

“If we thought closing a door could keep God from bringing Honey’s children to her side, we were silly geese,” teased Malkah.  And this time there was human laughter in the barn, as the girls agreed that yes, they were silly geese. 

“Thank you,” said Malkah to Hamora.  “I’m going to take Honey home with me and keep her well wrapped up until she gets better.  And I’m going to give her even more kisses than usual.”

“May God’s great name be blessed,” said Hamora.  And little by little, she faded out of sight.  As soon as she was gone, the blotches came back into Malkah’s eyes, and she was blind again. 

“Help me wrap up Honey real tight so she doesn’t catch cold,” Malkah asked Hannah.  As Hannah was double-wrapping Honey in her shawl, Rachel looked at Malkah with curiosity. 

“Do you mind not being able to see now?” she asked.

“No,” said Malkah, cradling her beloved Honey, “God can see us, and that’s all that matters.”

© Lynn Butler Schiffhorst 2008

On the night when four candles burned in the Hanukkah menorah, Malkah and the Rabbi’s wife were sitting on Malkah’s bed in the orphanage, playing with Honey’s kittens. 

“Could you bring the Rabbi here to see your kitten?”  asked Malkah. 

While her hands were stroking Honey, her blind eyes were turned up to the Rabbi’s wife.  It was very bold for a young girl to suggest a Rabbi should come somewhere or do something.  But when Malkah turned twelve, she got very bold.

“Bring my husband here?” repeated the Rebbetzin.  She sat in silence, and her silence meant, “I have to think about this.”  She retied her kerchief, then she reached past Malkah and picked up the biggest of Honey’s kittens, the yellow male. 

“Ari, Ari,” she crooned, calling him by his Hebrew name, which meant ‘Lion.’ “I know it’s your nap time,” she told him teasingly, “but you should wake up and meow goodbye to me.”

As she unrolled the furry ball with her finger, the kitten flopped over on his back, wrapped his legs around the finger and sank tiny, needle-sharp teeth into it.  Laughing, the Rebbetzin said to Malkah, “I was wrong!  The little lion just reminded me that nothing matters more than naps!”

Honey, on Malkah’s lap, watched her son out of shining green eyes and purred with satisfaction.

“The Rabbi should meet Ari,” persisted Malkah.  She reached out and touched the Rebbetzin’s lips, which was her way of saying, “This is important.”

Before the Rabbi’s wife could answer, the back door of the orphanage opened and Malkah’s friends, Hannah and Rachel, came in.  They greeted Malkah and the Rebbetzin with a kiss and picked up the kittens they had adopted.  These were two look-alike cats with black backs and white chests.  This left only one kitten on the blanket, the pretty little tortoiseshell that Malkah was keeping as her own.  She was the only girl among Honey’s children, and she was so lovable that Malkah had named her Song of Songs, after the greatest love poem in the Bible. 

When Rachel’s thumb came down and tickled Song’s cheek, the kitten turned her head and licked the thumb with great enthusiasm, while her tiny stub of a tail whipped back and forth.  “Every part of Song is sweet, from one end to the other,” joked Rachel.

“My father,” teased the Rebbetzin, “preached that of all the qualities God has, mercy and strictness are the most important.  Song shows us God’s mercy, and Ari expresses His strictness.  Song will never bite, and Ari shows us what’s right.”

“You just made up a rhyme,” grinned Hannah.

Going back to her first point, Malkah asked her friends, “Don’t you think the Rabbi should come here and meet Ari?”

Hannah and Rachel said nothing, but Malkah could hear their thoughts: All grown-ups live in a different world, a special one, and the Rabbi lives in the most special of all.  They were too shy to say, “Yes, we agree.” 

“Maybe he would come here,” the Rebbetzin said slowly. She was testing the words. 

Malkah could see stories when people talked.  In the sadness of the Rebbetzin’s voice as she spoke about her husband, Malkah began to see the Rabbi.  She saw him going about his usual occupations.

She saw him getting into a fine carriage to go to Warsaw.  She saw him sitting at a table heaped with dishes of delicious food and surrounded by other guests, all smoking big cigars. She saw him with a very fat, very blond man, both of them leaning on a shop counter, making deals with sharp merchants, and the Rabbi’s face looked as sharp as theirs. 

At the Rabbi’s feet, Malkah saw a wooden box on wheels with long cords attached to it.  She watched the Rabbi and the fat blond man pull it out of the shop and along the street between them.  Bump, bump, bump went the wheels over the cobblestones, and stamp, stamp, stamp went the fat man’s shoes. 

At the end of the street, the Rabbi and the Stamper opened the box, and Malkah could see it was filled with zlotys, Polish coins.  Ha! Ha! Ha! The two men laughed out loud and tossed some of the zlotys into the air, like children playing with their favorite toys. 

When one of the zlotys rolled into the gutter, a crippled man, who had made his home on the sidewalk, reached for it. But the Rabbi grabbed it up and tossed it back into the box.  He scowled at the cripple, and then he and the Stamper picked up the cords again and off they went, Ha! Ha! Ha!  Stamp, stamp, stamp!  And bump, bump, bump went the wheels over the cobbles. 

As Malkah looked at the Rabbi’s life, she looked for the Rabbi’s wife.  But she was nowhere to be found!  Feeling bolder than ever, Malkah touched the Rebbetzin’s hand, the hand that was tickling Ari.  “Please bring your husband,” she begged. 

The next day, the Rebbetzin told Malkah breathlessly, “He said yes!  I told him that we wanted him to visit, and he said yes.” 

WE wanted him?  Malkah’s heart beat faster. “Why did she say ‘we’?” she wondered.  “The Rabbi hardly knows me.”

But before she could say a word, the Rebbetzin added, “He’s bringing his business partner.  They’re going to meet Ari and then go on to Warsaw to close a deal.  Since tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, I thought the man would be with his family, but my husband said he doesn’t bother about Christmas.” 

“Is the other man short and fat with yellow hair?” asked Malkah.  “And does he walk like this?”  Stamp, stamp, stamp! Her little feet pounded the floor.

“Yes,” said the Rebbetzin in amazement. She waited for Malkah to explain how she knew him, but the girl went back to playing with Song and dodged the unspoken question. 

The following morning, Malkah heard the brisk, no-nonsense steps of the Rabbi at the front door. Behind him came the stamp, stamp, stamp of his partner.  And last of all came the Rebbetzin’s dreamy walk.

“Well,” said the Rabbi, when he saw the three girls, who all stood with bent heads to show their respect.  “I understand there’s a Very Important Kitten in this room.”  He did not introduce the Stamper, and the man stayed in the background, although Malkah heard him make a sound halfway between a laugh and a snort when the rabbi mentioned the kitten.

Stepping aside from her bed, Malkah took Honey into her arms.  The four kittens were tumbling over one another on top of her blanket, as the Rebbetzin reached down and picked out Ari.  She walked him over to her husband so he could see the kitten closely.

As the Rabbi looked into the tiny furry face, he said to his wife in a voice that trembled, “When I was a little boy, about four years old, I crept under the prayer shawl of the saintly Rabbi Ari.”  He stopped in confusion.  “Oh, I forgot. That was your father.” 

There was silence for a moment.  Malkah could feel him staring at the Rebbetzin, as though he had forgotten her too for many years.

His tone changed after that.  It got softer. “I peeped up at him through his beard as he was praying, and the light that I saw beaming from his eyes” – he broke off, because his voice was choked with tears.  Then he coughed and continued.  “That is the same light that I see shining out of the face of this little cat.”

Malkah, standing next to the Rabbi, felt his wife’s arm go around his shoulder.  As they leaned together without speaking, Malkah saw a beautiful thing.  His heart and her heart moved together, until there was only one heart. 

Malkah had completely forgotten the Stamper, until she heard him blowing his nose.  “The priest who gave me my First Communion had eyes like that,” he said. And his voice too was full of tears.

They all stood in a happy silence, until the Rabbi put Ari on his shoulder next to his collar.  In his excitement, the little kitten rolled over against the Rabbi’s neck, leaped up, and bit his ear.

Instead of being annoyed, the Rabbi cried out like the Prophet Hosea, “’I am the Lord your God Who fed you in the desert.  When you ate your fill, you became proud of heart and forgot Me.  Therefore I will be as a lion to you.’”

Malkah heard in his voice that he was mad at himself for all the time he had wasted.  He was mad that he had stuffed himself and his money box, forgetting his prayers, his wife, the poor and the children who needed him.

Then the Rabbi cheered up.  “My wife has brought into our family the Lion of Judah!”  And they all heard how proud he was of his wife. 

After he settled Ari back on his blanket, he turned to the Stamper and said, “Now that we’ve honored the little Lion, I’m going to let you go on to Warsaw by yourself.  Whatever you decide is all right with me.”

Malkah heard the man’s shoes shuffle backwards.  “Rabbi, if it’s all the same to you, I’m staying here too.”  He added shyly, “My wife likes me to go to Mass on Christmas Eve with her and the kids.”

“Agreed,” cried the Rabbi. “Mazel tov and Merry Christmas.”

“Before you leave,” said Malkah to the Stamper with mischief in her voice, “Would you like Ari to give you a little Christmas present?  He can bite you the same way!  He’s got lots of bites left in him.”

“You remind me of my Bronya,” the man chuckled.  “She’s about your age, and she always got something fresh to say as well.”  As he stamped out, he called back to the rabbi, “You better keep an eye on that girl.  She’s a bold one.”

“She’s a wise one,” answered the rabbi.  And Malkah could hear the smile in his voice.

“Thank you,” she said softly to the Rabbi.  “I never got a smile as a Hanukkah gift before.  Can I give you one back?”  And she gave him a smile as bright as a menorah on the Eighth Night with all its candles flaming. 

(The story of a boy who crept under the prayer shawl of a saintly rabbi and saw a spiritual light shining out of his eyes is told in Martin Buber’s Tales of the Hasidim.  But that version doesn’t include a cat!)

© Lynn Butler Schiffhorst 2007

“Have a pancake,” urged Mrs. Szabo.  She was one of three widows from the little Polish village who visited the orphanage on Hanukkah.  Speaking to Malkah, the only blind child in the Girls Room, she held out a plate of latkes, potato pancakes sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon.

As Malkah reached for a pancake, she said, “Thank you, Mrs. Szabo.” 

“Oh, don’t thank me,” answered the widow in a booming voice.  “Charity is a great deed.  It always gives back to its giver.”

Charity!  The word fell like lead on Malkah’s heart. She wanted to throw the pancake on the floor.  And she didn’t feel any better when Mrs. Szabo did her second charitable deed for the evening.  She grabbed Malkah’s hand and counted ten pennies – loudly -- into her palm.  “. . . Eight, nine, ten! Now you can play dreidel,” she boomed. 

The other girls were already spinning the dreidel, the little square top, and making bets about which side it would fall on.  Malkah could hear them clustered around the table, laughing and pushing pennies over to the winner.

But Malkah didn’t join them.  As soon as the widow turned away, the girl slipped outside the back door.  Dropping most of the pancake into the snow, she clutched her kitten, Honey, and waited in the bitter wind for tears to come.  She wanted to cry without the visitors – or the other children – seeing her.  She didn’t want to spoil Hanukkah for them.

“I don’t want charity,” she whispered to Honey, who was like a little sister to her.  “Do you know what I really want?”  She held out a tiny piece of the pancake to Honey, but the kitten paid no attention to it.  Honey put her little pink nose right up to the nose of her beloved Malkah.  She was saying in cat-language, “Tell me.”

“I want someone to be my father,” Malkah whispered.  The rabbi’s wife, who had given her Honey, was like a mother to her.  Could God find her a father as well?  “I want to belong, to have a family, a family for both of us,” she explained to the kitten.  And at those words, two tears fell from her eyes and rolled down Honey’s fur.

Suddenly, the bone-chilling wind died down, and a warm breeze began to blow.  In the harsh Polish winter, the soft, friendly little breeze was like a miracle.

Then a second miracle occurred.  The breeze blew away Malkah’s blindness.  She could see!

Instead of shivering in blackness, she was looking into sunlight.  Still hugging Honey, she saw that she was standing in the mouth of a cave.  The ground in front of her was a rocky ledge that sloped down to the valley of a broad river. 

Two blackbirds flew down from a nearby tree and began to peck at the thin soil.  Although Honey jumped down out of Malkah’s arms, she didn’t try to chase the birds.  She put her paws against the rough wall and stretched – front end, back end and middle – and flopped over on her side.  She was completely at home.

At a sound from the back of the cave, Malkah and Honey both turned to see a tall man in a brown robe walk towards them.  Lean and sunburned, with a short brown beard, he smiled at Malkah so warmly she thought he must be mistaking her for somebody else.  “I’m Malkah,” she said, “and this is Honey.”

“And I am Elijah,” he told her. 

Malkah staggered backwards.  Could this be the great prophet who was carried up to heaven in a chariot of fire?  The magical man who comes back to earth whenever poor Jews are sad or in trouble? 

Elijah saw her stagger, and he put his hand on her shoulder.  “Don’t be afraid,” he said kindly.  “Sit here.”  As soon as Elijah’s legs were stretched out in front of him, Honey leaped into his lap and kneaded him with her claws.  Malkah leaned against Elijah and even burrowed herself into his side, the way Honey did to her sometimes.  Happiness filled her to the brim, and a cheerful little tune that didn’t need any words began to play in her heart.

After a nice, long, comfortable time, Elijah got up and held out his hands.  “I want to show Honey something,” he said.  Hearing her name, the kitten jumped from Malkah’s hands into his. She crawled across his chest and climbed onto his shoulder.

When she began to lick his neck, a thunderous noise, like lightning out of a clear blue sky, shattered the calm of the day.  Malkah’s face went so pale that Elijah cried out, “Nothing here can hurt you.”

Just outside the cave, four white stallions were stamping their feet and blowing steam out of their nostrils.  As they tossed their manes, Elijah led Malkah past the giant horses to the gold and silver carriage behind them.  With Honey clinging to his neck, he lifted Malkah in, got in himself, and picked up the reins.  When he clicked his tongue, the horses took off.

The carriage balanced for a second on its rear wheels, then sped away into the air, high over the river and over the tops of palm trees.  The horses galloped through a sea of purple clouds, past the sun, which gleamed like the golden heart of a daisy, and into a dark sky, where the silver flames of the stars flashed forth. 

When the last star disappeared, there was only darkness.  But out of the darkness came the most beautiful sight Malkah could ever have imagined.

The whole Garden of Eden, thickly planted with trees and flowers, was stretched out beneath them.  And in the middle was the tallest of the trees, the only one that shone with a green light, as brilliant as Honey’s eyes.  “That is the Tree of Life,” said Elijah.  “God put it in the centre, so everyone could reach it.”

The horses brought the carriage down to the Garden as lightly as a bird’s feather falls to earth.  As Malkah and Elijah stepped onto the grass, the animals grazing around them stared at the newcomers.  But Honey jumped down and dashed past the animals.  She darted under the cows, around the pigs and chickens, and sped off beside a stream where lions and deer were lapping the water side by side.  Soon she came back to Malkah, restless and mewing. 

Elijah explained, “She’s looking for cats, and she can’t find any.”  Pointing to the Tree of Life, he said to Honey, “Look this way, and you’ll see your family.”

Down the Tree floated an angel, whose body was a golden shimmer.  When she reached the ground, she bowed her head and held out her arms.  Behold!  From her hands came two beautiful cats.  Their faces and bodies were filled with spirit, and as they dropped onto the grass, they moved with grace.  But there was still one thing lacking. 

The angel stroked the two little backs, and the lines that her fingertips traced in the air became two tails, waving with excitement.  As the cats ran up to the angel, rubbing themselves against her ankles, Honey fixed her gaze on them and purred loudly.

“Honey,” said Malkah breathlessly, “those are your First Parents, your Adam and Eve!”

Unexpectedly, there came a blast like the blowing of a thousand shofars.  As Malkah picked up Honey to reassure her, the kitten’s green eyes grew so dazzlingly bright that Malkah had to blink.  And when she opened her eyes again, the world was dark, and an icy wind told her to put on her shawl.  They were back in Poland again.

Shivering, Malkah put Honey in the centre of her chest and pulled her shawl tightly around both of them.  At the same time, she felt a warmth in her heart that no wind could freeze.  Elijah had loved her and Honey like a father, and that kind of love is so powerful that once it is given, even if that’s only for a brief time, it lasts forever.

“We’re all one family,” she told Honey happily.  “We all came from the same hometown.”  She giggled, thinking that was a funny expression for the Garden of Eden, but she couldn’t think of a better one.  “And now we know where we belong.  We belong to everybody everywhere, and everybody belongs to us.”

Welcoming the snowflakes that were blessing her face with soft kisses, Malkah stretched out her hand.  She found the latch of the door and shoved it wide open, so that the laughter of the dreidel-players and the fragrance of cinnamon spilled out into the night.  And the two orphans, who weren’t orphans anymore, ran inside to stuff themselves with as many pancakes as their tummies could hold.

© Lynn Butler Schiffhorst 2007