Page 14 - Issue 16

In the evening I lit the first candle and recited a prayer
that I had composed for this occasion. Tea was poured,
and I began to describe the heroic struggle of the
Maccabees to save their people from slavery. For each
zek [a prisoner in the Soviet Gulag] who was listening,
this story had its own personal meaning. At one point the
duty officer appeared in the barracks. He made a list of
all those present, but did not interfere.

On each of the subsequent evenings of Chanukah I took
out my menorah, lit the candles, and recited the
appropriate blessing. Then I blew out the candles, as I
didn't have any extras. Gavriliuk, the collaborator whose
bunk was across from mine, watched and occasionally
grumbled, "Look at him, he made himself a synagogue.
And what if there's a fire?"

On the sixth night of Chanukah the authorities
confiscated my menorah with all my candles. I ran to the
duty officer to find out what had happened.

"The candlesticks were made from state materials; this is
illegal. You could be punished for this alone and the
other prisoners are complaining. They¹re afraid you'll
start a fire."

I began to insist. "In two days Chanukah will be over and
then I'll return this 'state property' to you. Now, however,
this looks like an attempt to deny me the opportunity of
celebrating Jewish holidays."

The duty officer began hesitating. Then he phoned his
superior and got his answer: "A camp is not a
synagogue. We won't permit Sharansky to pray here."
I was surprised by the bluntness of that remark, and
immediately declared a hunger strike. In a statement to