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Candles In My Window
A NovelBeth Firestone
Candles In My Window
Libby Ross discovered Shabbat in an ice cream store.
And that was just the beginning.
Between her family’s recent move, her mother’s fixation with her career, and her sister’s wild new friends, Libby is having a miserable summer.
Then she meets outgoing Rebecca Klein, an observant Jewish girl from the neighborhood. Libby experiences the ethereal beauty of her first Shabbos, and embarks upon a powerful journey into a whole new world.
But her mother is bewildered by her new ideas, her father is furious and the rest of the family thinks she’s really weird.
Will the candlelight of Libby’s flickering flames give her the strength she needs to forge a new path for herself?
Exciting and thought-provoking, this is a powerful story about family and tradition, and a young girl’s struggle to find herself.
Book Excerpt from Candles In My Window
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Candles in My Window
For Jewish young adults, this is an exciting & thought-provoking novel about a young Jewish girl's struggle to find herself--and her heritage. An updated Jewish teen bestseller that Jewish teenages have loved for decades!
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The next day, I found out it was still Shabbat. In fact, it didn’t end until the sun went down Saturday night. I also learned that on Shabbat the Kleins didn’t turn on and off any lights or listen to music, or do anything that involved electricity. They also didn’t drive or answer the phone. I forgot and accidentally turned on the lamp in our bedroom. I wasn’t allowed to turn it off again, so Mrs. Klein had to cover it so we’d be able to sleep. It all seemed very weird to me, but Rebecca said it was one of G-d’s commandments to keep Shabbat separate from the other days in the week. All the forbidden things reminded us that Shabbat was different. No kidding!
On Saturday morning we went to “shul” — that’s what they called the synagogue. The whole place was buzzing with children running around and people talking and praying and the rabbi leading everyone in Hebrew. I was surprised to see that there was a women’s side and a men’s side. We sat with Rebecca’s mother on the women’s side, of course.
There was a movable wall made up of plastic piping and curtains that separated the two sides. I was curious to see what was going on over on the men’s side, so I peeked through one of the cracks. Each man was wearing a big white shawl over his shoulders that I later learned was called a “tallit.” The men all swayed back and forth, filling the shul with Hebrew songs. I just followed Rebecca as best as I could, standing and sitting when she did, and trying to read some of the prayers in English.
Just as I thought my legs would fall off before all this standing and sitting would end, Rebecca took me by the hand and led me down a hall to where a bunch of girls our age were babysitting the smaller children. She introduced me to a few girls and asked them if they were going to the “Mitzvah Project” that afternoon. Oh, no, more mitzvot...
As we were walking home, Rebecca told me all about the Mitzvah Project. Every summer their class got involved in some kind of mitzvah. This summer it was visiting old people who lived in a retirement home. That’s where we were going after lunch.
I wasn’t sure I liked this idea at all. I didn’t like being
around old people very much. I had been in one
of those homes once to visit my mother’s aunt. It had
smelled like Pine-Sol and burnt coffee, and all the old
ladies wanted to kiss me. They wore too much lipstick
and perfume that made me sneeze, and they asked
me the same question at least ten times.
I thought of riding my bike home after lunch. After
all, I wasn’t Orthodox. I could end Shabbat whenever
I felt like it. But Rebecca was so excited to have me
come along and get involved that I didn’t want to disappoint
her. It would only be for an hour anyway, so
what could it hurt just this once? As we approached the retirement home, the word
that came to mind was “run.” Of course, I didn’t. The
sign out front said Golden Years Retirement Home. I
couldn’t imagine what was golden about these years.
As we walked through the front doors I was hit by
the same smells I remembered from my last visit to a
home. Inside, a few old people sat on couches and chairs,
not doing much of anything. In a corner, some ladies
were playing cards, and a couple of men were concentrating
on a game of checkers. Others were in the dining
room. Rebecca’s friends all seemed to know what
to do, and before long the little room filled with chatter
and laughter. I went with Rebecca to the dining room,
where her special friend, Mrs. Stein, sat by herself at a
table. Mrs. Stein’s whole face lit up when she saw Rebecca.
Rebecca introduced us and we both sat down.
One of the employees came over and asked Mrs. Stein
if she was finished yet. He sounded annoyed. “The meat was all dried out again,” Mrs. Stein said.
“It was hard to chew. ” “All anyone ever does around here is complain, ” he
grumbled as he cleared her place. “They don’t listen to us,” she said. It was true. People
didn’t listen to old people. Old people and children.
Buy Candles in My Window by Beth Firestone at an online discount at www.targum.com.