Talk about a leading question! The answer is a resounding “yes.” There’s so much to be said about this supposedly simple song that I just don’t know where to begin.
Let me start with a brief summary of the meaning of Hanukkah, or Chanukah (both spellings are simply transliterations from the Hebrew word meaning “dedication”– חֲנֻכָּה ḥanuka), a holiday referring to an event first recorded in the first and second Books of Maccabees, part of the intertestamental books collectively known as the Apocrypha. (These books are not part of the canonized Tanakh [Hebrew Bible] used by modern Jews, though the Catholic and Orthodox Churches consider them part of the Bible.) While the re-dedication of the Temple and the lighting of the menorah are recorded in these books, there is nothing in that original story about the miracle of the long-lasting oil. That story didn’t come until about 600 years later, in the Talmud, a set of commentaries that is at least partly made up of oral traditions. The Talmud says there was only one small flask of properly dedicated oil available, enough to last one day, after the Maccabees had driven out the Roman army and re-dedicated the Temple. But the oil lasted eight days, thus allowing time for new oil to be properly prepared.
Okay. There’s a lot more that could be said about that story, but I’ve covered it in previous posts (here and here) so you can read further if you’d like. Here I want to concentrate on two items: the language of our selection and its author. “Ocho Kandelikas” is written in something called “Ladino,” and observant people may see Spanish elements in the words. But the sheet music notes say, “In this work, Flory Jagoda revives the exciting memories of Chanukah from her childhood in Yugoslavia.” Huh? How did a Spanish-based language end up there? Well, it’s one of those sad stories about anti-Semitism. In 1492 our old acquaintances King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella of Spain decided that they wanted to expel all practicing Jews from their territories to protect the conversos (Jews who had converted to Catholicism) from their influence. So they signed the Edict of Expulsion in the same year that they sponsored Christopher Columbus’ journey to India. Both actions had far-reaching effects, no? But we’ll concentrate on the Edict. Jewish people were forced from their homes and settled in various places, but for our purposes here I’ll quote from Wikipedia:
Many Spanish Jews also fled to the Ottoman Empire, where they were given refuge. Sultan Bayezid II of the Ottoman Empire, learning about the expulsion of Jews from Spain, dispatched the Ottoman Navy to bring the Jews safely to Ottoman lands. . . . Many of these Jews also settled in other parts of the Balkans ruled by the Ottomans such as the areas that are now Bulgaria, Serbia and Bosnia. Concerning this incident, Bayezid II is alleged to have commented, “those who say that Ferdinand and Isabella are wise are indeed fools; for he gives me, his enemy, his national treasure, the Jews.” (I would strongly suggest that you read the entire article—so, so fascinating, and so, so sad.)
What about “Flory Jagoda,” listed as the author of the words and the music? You may well ask. Talk about a force of nature! This woman was still performing at concerts in her nineties, and as far as I have been able to determine she’s still living at age 96, since I can’t find an obituary for her. I was immensely tickled to see that until recently she lived in Falls Church, Virginia, only about a mile and a half from where I lived for 15 years. I wonder if I ever passed her in the aisles at the local Safeway?
Anyway, Flory was born in Sarajevo, now part of Bosnia but then Yugoslavia, and when the Nazis invaded she and her family fled to Italy, eventually ending up in the part of that country that had been liberated by Allied forces. There she met Harry Jagoda, an American G.I., coming to the States with him as a war bride. But she was determined to keep her musical heritage alive. In fact, before I go any further I have to quote from good old Wikipedia once again because this is such a great scene:
When the Nazis invaded Yugoslavia in April 1941, her step-father put 16-year-old Flory on a train to Split [Italy] using false identity papers and removing the Jewish star from her coat. On the train she played her accordion all the way to Split (at that time controlled by the Italians), with other passengers and even the conductor singing along; she was never asked for her ticket. (Once again, I’d encourage you to read the whole article.)
You know that someone like that was always going to be out there swinging, right? She dedicated herself first to writing down the Sephardic Jewish folk songs that her grandmother taught her and then began writing her own songs. “Ocho” is one of the latter, based on her memories of the Hanukkah matchmaking parties at which, “while the children sang and danced, their parents and grandparents enjoyed planning their weddings.” (from the sheet music) And what about those “little pies with almonds and honey”? (“los pastelikos . . . con almendrikas i la miel”)? I just had to find out exactly what they were, and found a version that seems to fit into the cultural context, as it has Turkish roots. Also, one of the names for the little pastries is “bride’s fingers,” which would fit into the matchmaking idea. So perhaps if I’m ever in a concert again that features this piece I’ll make those pastries for the reception.
Here’s a choral arrangement of the song, performed by a wonderful children’s choir:
Here’s Flory singing her song with (I think) family members:
And with that I’m going to have to close. But you must, even if you’ve ignored all my reading recommendations from above, you must watch the video below from 2015 with the estimable Flory getting the audience to sing along with her (You can start watching at 1:39:00 for Flory singing and talking to the audience; “Ocho Kandelikas” starts at 1:51:44.)
Wup-wup-wup! Further info alert! In April 2020 I got a comment from Flory’s daughter Betty saying that she was still going strong at age 96 (as of Dec. 2019) although somewhat challenged by dementia. Here’s a picture of the estimable Flory at, I believe, her 94th birthday celebration. The original shot had her with her two daughters, but I no longer have access to that. Betty said, “Of course we are singing ‘Ocho Kandelikas’!” What a great joy to hear more about this lovely person.
© Debi Simons
