Renée Weinreb has a soft spot for the “tiny one with eight baby candles.”
Micki Miller loves to tell the story behind the mystery gift that came in the mail.
David Kahn’s sentimental favorite would have to be the “Dominorah,” definitely one of a kind, crafted by his daughter in honor of their beloved dalmatian, Domino.
While some of us think of the family menorah as an integral part of the celebration of Chanukah, to many others it is so much more. It is an expression of self, of taste, of history, maybe even of impulse-shopping. And for these people, it is impossible to own only one.
Gabrielle Jones is a perfect example. She places her electric menorah in the window of her Concord home, and for the holiday lights a few others. But there’s no way she can bring out all 160 of her treasures. Most of them, unfortunately, have now been relegated to rented storage space. She’s simply run out of room.
Accumulated over the last 30 years or so, her menorahs are mostly Bay Area synagogue-gift-shop finds, says Jones, a member of Walnut Creek’s Congregation B’nai Tikvah (and undoubtedly one of its best Chanukah-boutique customers). She has also found a few “in some weird places — like at the airport in St. Louis and in an antique shop in Melbourne, Australia.”
These days, Jones restricts herself to one purchase a year — something unusual. Last year’s was made of green wire and shaped like a tree. Another standout is the DNA-like spiral. There’s a purple Romanian glass oil-burner — “gorgeous,” she says, “but I’ve never lit it,” for fear of damage. It’s one of the few breakable menorahs in her possession; the rest are metal.
There was a day, way back, when Jones would try to light them all during the holiday. That ended when her collection hovered at 44 and, on the last night of Chanukah, she set them all ablaze.
“My mom thought I was nuts,” she says with a laugh. And as mothers do, she pointed out the dangers involved — primarily that her grown daughter could very well set the house on fire. Her point was well taken.
These days Jones lights just a handful.
Compared to Jones, Renee Weinreb seems like a lightweight, with only 18 or so. But that’s because her menorahs are only a minute part of the collectibles that take up every otherwise empty space in her San Francisco home. There are porcelain masks, stuffed animals, liquor miniatures, decorative pillows, you name it …
In the hallways, photos of her three children chronicle their growing-up years, their marriages, their children. Fading photographs of her parents, herself and husband, Irwin, a cardiologist, line the walls.
Judaica abounds: Shabbat candlesticks, religious tapestries, praying figures, knickknacks picked up in Israel and elsewhere. “I’m the only person I know with a ‘cantor cookie jar,'” she declares, chuckling.
On the more serious side, Weinreb is devoted to Jewish causes, including serving on the board of San Francisco’s Hebrew Free Loan Association and Montefiore Senior Center, and on the national board of Amit.
She keeps her menorahs in two rooms. Downstairs, in the family room, is the cast of three men praying at the Kotel, somber and heavy. Practically next to it, totally opposite in character, is a busy, colorful scene of New York Harbor — with the Statue of Liberty, a boat, a bridge and more. Weinreb, originally from New York (“toity-toid-and-toid,” she chirps jokingly) picked up that one post 9/11.
Upstairs, on glass shelves, are circular menorahs, tall ones and short ones, silver and brass ones. A few are ornate — metal with Hebrew script, or, tabernacle doors that open and reveal a Torah.
Her all-time favorite is the one she and her husband light at Chanukah and put in the front window of their longtime Seacliff home. Wind it up and it plays “Hatikvah.” It is “40 years old, at least,” Weinreb says, a gift from her mother-in-law. Its design is one of the simplest in the lot.
Anne Feingold doesn’t have a huge number of menorahs, but she definitely possesses a unique one. It was carved by her father, a skilled woodworker “who made a lot of the furniture in the house,” she says. Both he and Feingold’s mother are no longer alive, but the menorah, now decades old, is still in fine shape. That’s fairly surprising, given that it is made entirely of wood. “I don’t know why it doesn’t burn, and I’ve been using it for many years,” says Feingold, of San Francisco.
Another family heirloom came from her aunt’s home, “that [she] got from early Israel.” Feingold bought an Israeli one of much later vintage when she visited Jerusalem, and picked up yet another “from an old beggar” on the street.
She likes to keep all of them out during Chanukah, but not near the window, for fear of anti-Semitism.
Amy Gottlieb displays her electric chanukiah in the window of her Sunset District home. “That’s my very, very first one that I had” growing up in New York. She keeps four menorahs on the mantel above the fireplace, year-round. Her most unusual, she says, is from Israel, and features two little goats and a palm tree with dangling crystals.
“I try to vary them,” she says of her selections. “I bought a very traditional one, where the arms curve up, with a Star of David in the middle. But then I have one that looks like twigs.” She shops Chanukah boutiques at local synagogues — as well as the Internet.
Scott and Shannon Guggenheim of Fremont also try to vary their styles. “The prettiest,” Scott says, “are the artwork menorahs that were given to us as wedding gifts. The more fun” ones, he continues, “we have picked up on our own: Winnie the Pooh, Mickey Mouse. Glass ones. Electric ones. Ceramic …”
They also own some rather unusual ones, specially made for their production, “The MeshugaNutcracker!” (which is running this year at Paramount’s Great America in Santa Clara). These include a menorah “that looks like a potato” and another made from button tins — both reminiscent of those used by prisoners in concentration camps — plus two 8-foot-tall menorahs.
At home, the couple used to light “whichever one would fit [our] mood” at Chanukah. But this year, he says, they’ll let their 2-year-old decide.
Annette and Robert Horwitz of Walnut Creek typically light the children-holding-the-candles menorah they bought in Venice some 15 years ago. They view each item in their small collection as “a piece of art,” though not necessarily serious art. They purchased one during a tour of Ellis Island; the Statue of Liberty holds the shamash, while the rest of the candles rest atop immigrants’ suitcases.
Joan and Gordon Cohen’s stock run the gamut from a local Goodwill-shop discovery to a museum-shop piece from the Skirball Cultural Center in Los Angeles. Most are kept in the Judaica cabinet of their Palo Alto home, but that’s becoming a problem. “We now have to be more particular,” Joan says, “because we’re running out of room.”
One of the best aspects of owning a dozen or so menorahs, she has discovered, is the ceremonial lighting. With children and grandchildren now in the picture, plus extended family, “we’ve had each family light a menorah,” she says.
Micki Miller of Mountain View also enjoys bringing the family together for Chanukah, when she covers a table with foil and “except for the tin one [which she is afraid will be ruined], we light them all.” She has nine or 10.
One arrived in the mail about 25 years ago, with no card. It was made of wood, hand-carved in the shape of a lion. After a little detective work, Miller discerned that the box came from Wisconsin, and, since she only knew one person there — an old grad school colleague — she figured he must have been the sender. She gave him a call.
“Oh, did I forget to include a card?” replied the friend, who had crafted the menorah himself.
Miller has her parents’ menorah, which they bought in New York’s Lower East Side for $2. She also has a brass lions of Judah menorah, and says she and her husband, Dan, were “one of the first to buy the tree of life menorah.” One of their most original is the tin one, which “we found in Mexico … very colorful.”
She now has her eye on a beautiful one she recently spotted in a Sausalito gallery, “but I haven’t been back to buy it yet …”
Sometimes the fire alarm goes off when David and Sherri Kahn of Windsor celebrate Chanukah. They own at least 30 menorahs, collected over 30 years.
With an eye for “something different,” the Kahns have found excellent additions in Las Vegas, New York, Chicago and elsewhere. They have art glass, three little bears, “fiddler people,” Waterford crystal, even “Bugs Bunny and the gang,” he says. But their most unusual is remains the one they have dubbed “Dominorah,” made by their daughter as a tribute to their spotted dog, Domino.
As for new items, they will probably be few and far between. “We’ve run out of room,” he says.
John Leopold of Santa Cruz has reached the same conclusion.
“We sort of stopped personally buying them last year,” he says. However, their collection keeps growing, because “once people know you’re doing it, they start giving you menorahs.” (Another arrived in the mail just last week.) At this point the family owns around 25.
Leopold, wife Teresa and their two young children all have a favorite. The youngest, Ana, likes the one with animals; daughter Rose, the one with roses; John favors the one featuring Eastern European synagogues; and Teresa, the one with her birthstone.
They usually purchase their candles at the Chanukah boutique at Temple Beth El in Aptos, where they are members. “We buy 20 boxes or so, and they’ll say, ‘Oh, are you buying them for your friends?’ And we say, not exactly … “
And though they’ve put the brakes on menorahs (“We started collecting dreidels last year,” he says almost sheepishly), they’d never think of abandoning their collection. “It’s part of our weird family tradition, I guess.”
And who can blame them, or the others?
When it’s dark outside, and inside, blessings have been said and the room is glowing warm and bright, there’s no way not to have a happy Chanukah.