It was around that time that things in the neighborhood began to change. There were more and more gangs who were marking their turf in the neighborhood and nobody could stop it. There were some neo-Nazi punks who had been targeting the synagogue and had just beaten a young Jewish man quite badly. There was a sense of fear and tension. Uncle Solomon tried to hide his anxiousness, but it was quite evident that he was being threatened. He even spoke of moving out to be with some family on the East Coast.

One night, we were woken up by sirens. I remember standing in the middle of the street, with my mom and dad and the rest of the neighborhood, as we watched Uncle Solomon’s store go up in flames. I never saw that poor soul again. He must have left town right away and didn’t even say goodbye. In the ashes of his store, I found a dreidel. By some miracle it had survived the fire.

So that’s how I got this old dreidel. I always look at it around this time of year and remember old Solomon, and say a little prayer for tolerance.