Praise for Like a Maccabee
“...this heartwarming novel marks a promising debut for this first-time author. Kids will enjoy this book at Hanukkah time or throughout the year.”
**Starred** Review, Jewish Book World
“Ben’s family’s celebration of Hanukkah is portrayed with joy. Consider this a first purchase...”
Linda R. Silver
Newsletter of the Association of Jewish
Libraries
“…a winner.”
Hadassah Magazine
Like a Maccabee
by
Barbara Bietz
illustrations by Anita White
Yotzeret Publishing
St. Paul
The characters and events in this book are fictitious and the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Like a Maccabee. Text copyright 2006 by Barbara Bietz. Illustrations copyright 2006 by Anita White. All rights reserved. Smashwords edition. No part of this book may be used or reproduced or transmitted in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address Yotzeret Publishing, PO Box 18662, Saint Paul, MN 55118. http://yotzeretpublishing.com.
The tzaddi logo is a registered trademark of Yotzeret Publishing, Inc.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2006904740
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication Data:
Bietz, Barbara.
Like a Maccabee / by Barbara Bietz ; illustrations by Anita White.
p. cm.
ISBN: 978-1-59287-136-0 (Hardcover)
ISBN: 978-1-59287-137-7 (Trade paperback)
ISBN: 978-1-59287-327-2 (ePub)
Summary: Days before Hanukkah, ten-year-old Ben prepares for his championship soccer game while pursued by the school bully and adjusting to a new roommate: his grandfather.
[1. Family life--Fiction. 2. Hanukkah--Fiction 3. Jews--Fiction. 4. Soccer--Fiction. 5. Bullying--Fiction.] I. White, Anita I. II. Title.
PZ7.B47752 Li 2006
813.54-dc22
2006904740
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use, please go to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
*******
For Jillian and Trevor for being my sources of inspiration, Jonathan for his encouragement,and for Kenny, Connie and Sylvia, the grandparents who are a blessing to us all. A special thanks to my writing friends for their ongoing support.
—B.B.
Contents
12. A Great Miracle Happened There
18. The Best Last Night of Hanukkah
One
Late Again
I should have said yes when Nick offered me a ride home. By the time I saw Mom’s blue van, the field was dark and street lights dotted the parking lot. Shivering, I zipped up my jacket and packed my soccer gear.
Coach waved when he saw Mom pull up.
I was the last kid to leave. I jogged to the van and threw my soccer bag on the floor.
“Sorry we’re late, Ben,” Mom said as she turned down the radio. “We had some Hanukkah shopping to do and Grandpa was tired so I took him home before coming for you.”
I just shrugged. What was I supposed to say? I wanted to say that I was sick and tired of waiting in the freezing cold while my coach kept checking his watch. “Late” had become a way of life since Grandpa came to stay. Grandpa is my dad’s dad. Mom and Dad had been asking Grandpa to move in with us since Grandma died two years ago, and now he was here for good. I thought it would be great when Mom quit her job at the bank so she could be home. Boy, was I wrong about that!
“Daddy’s making latkes tonight! He’s practicing for Hanukkah!” my sister Mandy shouted.
“That’s great, Munchkin,” I said, clicking the seat belt around my waist. When I was Mandy’s age I got excited about Hanukkah, too. I still liked the potato latkes, and all of the presents, of course. But I turned ten on my last birthday, and that’s a little too old to get wound up about silly kid songs and plastic dreidel decorations. Besides, we only get our big presents at the end of the holiday. The first few days we get stupid stuff like pencils or toothbrushes.
“So, how was practice?” Mom asked.
“Okay. Coach told us we made the finals for league championship.” I stared out the van window.
Mom stopped the van at a red light. “That’s terrific news. Why don’t you sound more excited?”
I shook my head. “We don’t stand a chance. We’re playing the Bulldogs. One of their defenders is this huge kid named Travis. Everyone calls him Travis the Tank. He’s fierce and he’s fearless. We’re going to get killed.”
“Just do your best, Ben. I’m sure it will be fine. The Eagles have had a great season,” Mom said.
She didn’t get it. I worked hard all season to become a starter. We made it to the finals, and now I was about to be destroyed by Tank.
Mom said, “We have a lot to do this week,” as if she hadn’t heard a thing I said about soccer.
“Soccer is silly,” Mandy said as she patted the pink tutu she was wearing over her jeans. “Ballet is better.”
“Yeah, no kidding. We all know you like ballet. You wear that tutu twenty-four seven.”
Mandy scrunched up her face. “Mommy, Ben is being mean.”
“I’m not being mean,” I said. “You do wear that thing all the time.”
Mandy crossed her arms over her chest.
Mom said, “Kids, please. It’s been a long day. Let’s just enjoy a quiet ride home.”
I really didn’t want to fight with a five-year-old, or Mom for that matter. The van suddenly felt stuffy. I opened the window a little to let in a sliver of cold air so I could breathe again.
For the rest of the ride home Mandy sang “I Have a Little Dreidel” at least ten times, each verse louder than the one before.
When Mom finally pulled into our driveway, I couldn’t wait to bolt out of the van.
Two
Room for Grandpa
The house smelled of potatoes and sweet onions. Dad’s latkes sizzled in hot oil, splattering in the frying pan like Fourth of July sparklers.
I dumped my soccer gear on the kitchen floor.
“New apron, Dad?”
It was bright blue fabric with pictures of dancing menorahs on it, and a big dreidel shaped pocket in front.
“Yup. And don’t roll your eyes, Ben. I think it’s very festive! I bought it at the community center holiday boutique.” Dad beamed like a little kid with a new toy. He works as a director at the neighborhood community center, and he feels like he has to buy stuff at every holiday boutique. Year after year he brings home something more bizarre than the year before.
“I like your apron, Daddy,” Mandy said. “It makes you look like a happy cook.” She made a face at me.
“Thank you, Princess. You have excellent taste,” Dad said. He flipped a sizzling latke.
“Dad, aren’t we starting with all the Hanukkah stuff a little early?” I sat down and kicked off my cleats.
Dad grinned. “I’m trying a new latke recipe. I don’t want to take any chances!” he said.
“Kids, go wash up.” Mom said. “And Ben, put away your soccer things, and please stop taking off those muddy shoes in the house. Oh, and call Grandpa down, too. He’s resting in his room.”
His room? Grandpa had only been at our house for a few weeks and already it was “his room.” No one even asked me if I minded sharing my room with Grandpa. They just told me he was moving in.
The bedroom door was closed. It felt weird to knock on my own door, like I was an intruder. It didn’t matter that behind the door were my things, my bed, my books and my trophies. When Grandpa lived in Chicago he would visit a few times a year. He moved in with us because the winters in Chicago weren’t good for his health. Now Grandpa was in our house all the time, like a piece of furniture plunked down in the middle of a room that you keep stubbing your toe on because you can’t get used to it being there.
I knocked lightly on the door. “Grandpa, are you awake?”
“Yes. Hello, my boychik. Come in,” Grandpa said as he opened the door. The smell of his aftershave bit my nose. He looked funny without his glasses, sort of like a turtle without its shell. His hair was messy and his clothes were all rumpled.
I forced a smile. “Boychik” is the Yiddish name that Grandpa had called me since I was little. Hearing it now was really annoying, like Grandpa thought I was still six years old. He might be my grandpa but he felt more like a stranger. Maybe not a complete stranger, but it was almost as weird as if the crossing guard from school had moved in. I’ve seen that guy every day since kindergarten, but I wouldn’t want to share my room with him.
“Mom said to call you down for dinner.” I threw my soccer stuff next to my bed.
“Thank you for coming to get me. I was just having a little snooze.” Grandpa let out a little sigh and rubbed his eyes.