One day last week, as I was removing that morning's delivery
of letters from my mailbox, I came across a notice from the
postal service that said they were holding a package for us
at the local post office.
"A package," I brightened up. "Maybe it is the sefer
we ordered. Or perhaps it contains the tape cassettes that my
friend told me she was mailing out. Then, again, maybe it is
a gift for the new grandchild - - the relatives in the States
don't all have our children's new addresses."
I walked back to my apartment in a happy frame of mind. The
anticipation of something special waiting for us at the post
office made for pleasant musings.
Come to think of it, the anticipation itself was probably
just as nice as the gift itself, which turned out to be a
lovely collection of children's stories that a cousin had
very thoughtfully sent us to read to the grandchildren.
Looking forward to something special is definitely a mood
brightener. And that leads me to the subject of the complaint
that I am about to share with you.
But first some background. Several years ago, when we first
arrived in Yerusholayim, we decided to invite our married
sons and their families to join us and our younger boys for a
family Chanuka party.
I asked a neighbor where I could buy really good
sufganiyot, and she directed me to a place in Geula.
After making the salads and side dishes, and then frying the
potato latkes and carefully stacking them between paper
towels, I set out by bus to buy the sufganiyot. I
joined a huge mob of people crowding into the store where the
tantalizing aroma of fried doughnuts told me I was in the
right place, and waited in quite a long line to make my
purchase.
The proprietor told me there was a special price if you
bought a whole box, so I forked over the money, got my two
full boxes of doughnuts and set out for the return trip.
Once on the bus, I balanced the boxes VERY carefully to keep
the doughnuts from slipping to one side and, horror of
horrors, getting crushed into one large mass of jelly-covered
dough.
Upon reaching home, I discovered that the boys were already
there, the oil was already set up in the chanukiyot,
and everything was ready for candle lighting. We lit, sang,
welcomed the married children and their families, gave the
grandchildren their Chanuka gelt and played
dreidel. Then came the meal and finally, it was time
to bring out the sufganiyot.
I carefully opened the boxes and discovered happily that the
mission had been most successful. The doughnuts were just as
plump and round as they had been before the bus trip and all
of the jelly was safely inside. Also, the aroma of the fresh
doughnuts was just as delightful as we had all anticipated.
We bit into the doughnuts and sighed with contentment. Yes,
the sufganiyot were all that we had expected and we
savored every bite.
Now fast-forward to last year. Early in the morning of Rosh
Chodesh Kislev, I was approaching my local grocery to buy
bread, milk and a few other staples. As I walked up the path,
I thought my nose was playing tricks on me. "Here it is the
beginning of Kislev and I must be subconsciously thinking of
sufganiyot. In fact, I can almost smell them!"
Well, it wasn't in my mind, and the aroma wasn't an `almost'.
There on the counter was a huge tray of doughnuts. "What a
great Rosh Chodesh treat!" said one of my neighbors. "This
will really put us all in the mood for Kislev."
Lots of other people must have agreed, because the doughnuts
sold out in record time.
Now what does an enterprising merchant do when he has an
immediate success on his hands? Why, he reorders, of course,
and so, day after day we had a steady supply of lovely, fresh
sufganiyot coming into our local store.
Furthermore, as we will soon see, our neighborhood was not
the only place where sufaniyot joined the
lachmaniyot (rolls) as a staple item last December.
In due time, along came Chanuka, and with it, the yearly
gathering of the clan.
The candlelighting and the songs went just fine, as did the
potato latkes, salads and the like. But then came the moment
everyone should have been waiting for. The tantalizing
doughnuts were brought out with a flourish. The shiny
cardboard tops were removed to reveal boxes of round, plump,
fully intact jelly-filled sufganiyot, each wearing a
crown of powdered sugar.
And what was the reaction? Some of the kids were hesitantly
reaching out towards the doughnuts, when one of the
grandchildren, who is too young to know about tact or
discretion, said it all, "Oh, no! Not more
sufganiyot!"
I know that American-style merchandising has crept into
Israel. I know enough to expect that boxes of Purim candies
to be unloaded the day that Tu B'Shvat fruits are taken down,
and of course, we all know that the shelves of every local
food store will be lined with fresh kosher l'Pesach white
paper on the day after Purim. That doesn't bother me at all
because none of these commodities is perishable or for
immediate use, and therefore, the festival that is
approaching will be just as good as if the merchandise were
unloaded the week of the holiday.
However, sufganiyot, which have a shelf life of about
one hour, are best saved for the 24th of Kislev. We don't
have any holidays in Marcheshvan, and Chanuka doesn't arrive
until almost the end of Kislev. From the time we take down
the succa, let's have all the special aspects of Chanuka to
look forward to with delicious anticipation: the beautiful
lights shining forth from their oil-filled cups, the warmth
of family celebrations as we join together to proclaim and
publicize the miracle, and the traditional oily Chanuka
foods, both latkes AND sufganiyot.
