My Grandmother, the Kabbalist

My grandmother, the Kabbalist, lived in a small shtetl in Poland. Her home, a stone's throw from the Old Synagogue, was a small shack. Barely four walls she owned! And not much else.

My grandfather, the peddler, had travelled to the nearby towns to earn a few coins. He would only return on Friday afternoon. My grandmother knew how to stretch the remaining pennies to herself and her children. But it was Thursday evening and the kitchen was bare.

My grandmother, the Kabbalist, saw she had but one small onion. She looked down and sighed: Oy tzvibele! My little onion. You will have to make us a feast tonight. And she took her knife and sliced it down the middle.

My grandmother, the Kabbalist, picked up one half of the onion. And sighed: Oy tzvibele! My little onion. You remind me of a Midrash: "...the earth was fashioned as a globe. As Rabbi Yonah taught: when Alexander the Macedonian wanted to ascend, he rose, and rose, and rose until he saw the world as a globe and the ocean like a bowl."

My grandmother, the Kabbalist, held the onion close. Breathing in its fumes. She said softly: Oy tzvibele! My little onion. You remind me of a holy teaching: All of life, every facet great or small, every dimension, every plane of existence, are like the layers of an onion. It is our job to cut through those layers to let the Holy light in.