“Tradition, tradition,” the words of Tevye the milkman, immortalized in the play Fiddler on the Roof, were carried far beyond the play’s initial Jewish viewers.

Daniel Kerem with chanukiyah

They have been warmly received by international audiences around the globe. In Japan, the play was met with unprecedented popularity, and when someone asked, “Why,” the reply was, “It’s so Japanese.” Such it seems is the commonality of our human experience and perhaps also of Jewish experience.

But Tevye seems unaware that traditions, however old, began somewhere and were often initiated by people just like him, or for that matter, like you and me.

Two months after the death of my father, Max Rosenfeld Kerem, I decided to make something for his aliyat neshamah (the raising of his soul), which would then serve as a memorial to him. From Max’s early adulthood as a journalist and teacher, to his career as a diplomat and statesman, it was his love and devotion to Am Yisrael that defined his existence.

In addition to his international career, Max was also involved in domestic political and municipal affairs in and around Jerusalem. For two terms of office, he served as mayor of the village of Ein Kerem, and he was the only person in the village to be addressed as mar (mister). But because he was so personable and so involved in village life, he was addressed not as Mar Rosenfeld nor as Mar Kerem, but rather as Mar Max.

Indeed, some of my earliest childhood memories are of wandering through the small Yemenite synagogues during the High Holidays, where my father was treated as the guest of honour – not because he was mayor, but for his assistance and the positive changes he had effected in these people’s lives.

As a diplomat and statesman, Max’s career began when he was recruited as translator and chargé d’affaires for the queen of Belgium, on her historic visit to Jerusalem. While he was engaged in this capacity, it was then-prime minister Golda Meir who noted his abilities, his facility with languages and personal charm, and persuaded him to join the Israeli Foreign Office.

Max’s initial years in the Foreign Office were spent as personal secretary and assistant to Meir, and it was during this period that he served as translator and guide to the king of Nepal on his historic visit to Israel.

Although Max was a formal person, his success as a diplomat was due more to his humanity and charm, and the fact that he never forgot his humble origins – he was the son of destitute Galician refugees – and was able to relate equally to both commoners and kings.

Because my father was a diplomat for the State of Israel, the memorial had to be emblematic and instantly recognizable as reflecting both personal and cultural aspirations. I quickly settled on the idea of a large chanukiyah, as the menorah has been the emblem of the Jewish people for more than 2,000 years and is the symbol of the State of Israel. Also, I had made a chanukiyah as a memorial to my mother, and therefore it seemed appropriate to continue in this and thereby inaugurate a tradition.

The chanukiyah I made, 51 inches in height, in the transitional Spanish style of the early 16th century, combines elements of the Gothic and Renaissance styles. Its design is an integration of several illuminations of the menorah in medieval Spanish- Hebrew manuscripts and of methods and techniques used in Spain.

 Approximately 30 Spanish Tanach manuscripts, depicting the menorah survive, the earliest dating to the 13th century and the latest to the last decade of the 15th century, just before the expulsion of 1492. These illustrations of the menorah are largely based on the commentaries of Rashi (1040-1105) on the Torah, and of Rambam (1138-1204) on the Mishnah and the Talmud, and in his own book, Mishnah Torah.

The chanukiyah I constructed integrates the “old” with the “new,” though in a curious reversal of history, the new – or newer Renaissance element is approximately 400 years old. It is a baluster of wrought iron forged and carved in Avila or Salamanca toward the end of the 16th century, which was then probably part of a chapel grill.

Onto the broken baluster I welded a tapered extension (a one-inch round bar) that holds the eight arms and terminates in the shamash, the chanukiyah’s central light.

Following biblical tradition, and because my father was an avid gardener, the chanukiyah incorporates botanical elements. Open flowers are beneath the candle cups, which are supported by fruits resembling pomegranates. The baluster incorporates two carved lilies and the cusping terminates in three trilliums.

Although most of my father’s time was spent in government council chambers and embassy offices, and toward the end of his career, as envoy to the United Nations, his real gift was to enable people to expand their imaginations and transmit to them that their life forces, enthusiasm and devotion could manifest themselves in anything – in my case even in bars of seemingly inert and cold iron.

Daniel Kerem is an ironwork artist who lives in Godfrey, Ont.