Natan (Anatoli) Sharansky was arrested in 1977 for his activism on the right of Russian Jews to make aliyah to Israel. However he was accused of the much more serious crime of treason, for spying for the United States. He was imprisoned from 1977 to 1986 including eight years in a Siberia prison camp. Natan Sharansky was released in a spy exchange between the US and the USSR in 1986. After making aliyah and establishing a Russian immigrant party in 1996, he became Israeli Minister of Industry and Trade and later of the Interior.

Chanukah was approaching. I was the only Jew in the prison zone, but when I explained that Chanukah was a holiday of national freedom, of returning to one’s own culture in the face of forced assimilation, my friends in our “kibbutz” decided to celebrate with me. They even made me a wooden menorah, decorated it, and found some candles.

In the evening I lit the first candle and recited a prayer I had composed for this occasion. Tea was poured, and I began to describe the heroic struggle of the Maccabees to save their people. For each zek [Gulag prisoner] listening, this story had its own personal meaning. At one point the duty officer appeared in the barracks. He made a list of all those present, but did not interfere.

On each of the subsequent evenings of Chanukah I took out my menorah, lit the candles, and recited the appropriate blessing. Then I blew out the candles, as I didn’t have any extras. Gavriliuk, the collaborator whose bunk was across from mine, watched and occasionally grumbled, “Look at him, he made himself a synagogue. And what if there's a fire?”

On the sixth night of Chanukah the authorities confiscated my menorah my candles. I ran to the duty officer to find out what had happened.

“The candlesticks were made from state materials; this is illegal. For this alone, you could be punished and the other prisoners are complaining. They’re afraid you’ll start a fire.”

I insisted. “Chanukah is over in two days and I'll return this 'state property' to you.”

The duty officer hesitated. Then he phoned his superior and got his answer: “A camp is not a synagogue. We won't permit Sharansky to pray here.”

Surprised by the bluntness of that remark, I declared a hunger strike. In a statement to the procurator general I protested the violation of my national and religious rights, and against KGB [Russian secret police] interference.

When you begin an unlimited hunger strike, you never know when or how it will end. Are the authorities interested in putting a swift end to it, or don't they give a damn? In a few weeks a commission from Moscow was due to arrive in the camp. I didn't know this at the time, but the authorities, presumably, were very aware of it, which probably explains why I was summoned to Major Osin's office two days later, in the evening.

Osin was an enormous, flabby man with small eyes and puffy eyelids, who seemed to have long ago lost interest in everything but food. But he was a master of intrigue who had successfully overtaken many of his colleagues on the road to advancement. During my brief time in the camp he had weathered several scandals and always managed to pass the buck to his subordinates. I could see that he had enjoyed his power over the zeks and liked to see them suffer. But he never forgot that the zeks were, above all, a means for advancing his career, and he knew how to back off in a crisis.

Osin pulled a benevolent smile as he tried to talk me out of my hunger strike. Osin promised to see to it personally that in the future nobody would hinder me from praying, and that this should not be a concern of the KGB.

“Then what's the problem?” I said. “Give me back the menorah, as tonight is the last evening of Chanukah. Let me celebrate it now, and taking into account your assurances for the future, I shall end the hunger strike.”

“What's a menorah?”

“Candlesticks.”

But a protocol for its confiscation had already been drawn up, and Osin couldn't back down in front of the entire camp. As I looked at this predator, sitting at an elegant polished table and wearing a benevolent smile, I was seized by an amusing idea.

“Listen,” I said, “I'm sure you have the menorah somewhere. It's very important to me to celebrate the last night of Chanukah. Why not let me do it here and now, together with you? You'll give me the menorah, I'll light the candles and say the prayer, and if all goes well I'll end the hunger strike.”

Osin thought it over and the confiscated menorah promptly appeared from his desk. He summoned Gavriliuk, who was on duty in the office, to bring in a large candle.

“I need eight candles,” I said. (In fact I needed nine, but I was still a novice in Jewish rituals.) Gavriliuk took out a knife and began to cut the candle into several smaller ones. But it didn't come out right; apparently the knife was too dull. Then Osin took out a handsome inlaid pocketknife and deftly cut me eight candles.

“Go, I'll call you later,” he said to Gavriliuk. Gavriliuk simply obeyed orders. He was a fierce, gloomy man, and this sight must have infuriated him.

I arranged the candles and went to the coat rack for my hat, explaining to Osin that “during the prayer you must stand with your head covered and at the end say 'Amen.'” He put on his major's hat and stood. I lit the candles and recited my own prayer in Hebrew, which went something like this: “Blessed are You, O G-d, for allowing me to rejoice on this day of Chanukah, the holiday of our liberation, the holiday of our return to the way of our fathers. Blessed are You, G-d, for allowing me to light these candles. May you allow me to light the Chanukah candles many times in your city, Jerusalem, with my wife, Avital, and my family and friends.”

Inspired by the sight of Osin standing meekly at attention, I added in Hebrew: “May the day come when all our enemies, who today plan our destruction, will stand before us and hear our prayers and say 'Amen.'”

“Amen,” Osin echoed back. He sighed with relief, sat down and removed his hat. For some time we looked silently at the burning candles. They quickly melted, and the hot wax was spread pleasantly over the glass surface of the table. Then Osin caught himself, summoned Gavriliuk, and brusquely ordered him to clean it up.

I returned to the barracks in a state of elation, and our kibbutz made tea and merrily celebrated the end of Chanukah. Naturally, I told them about Osin's “conversion,” and it soon became the talk of the camp. I realized that revenge was inevitable, but I also knew they had plenty of other reasons to punish me.

From A Different Light: the Hanukkah Celebration

Anatoly Sharansky's Final Statement in the Soviet Court before being sentenced on trumped-up charges for treason and espionage, July 14, 1978

Sharansky addressed his first remarks to those who were not in the courtroom, his wife Avital who emigrated to Israel and the Jewish people:

“During my interrogation the chief investigators threatened me that I might be executed by a firing squad, or imprisoned for at least fifteen years. But if I agreed to cooperate with the investigation for the purpose of destroying the Jewish emigration movement, they promised me freedom and a quick reunion with my wife.

“Five years ago, I submitted my application for exit to Israel. Now I am further than ever from my dream. It would seem to be cause for regret. But it is absolutely the other way around. I am happy. I am happy that I lived honorably, at peace with my conscience. I never compromised my soul, even under the threat of death.

“I am happy that I helped people. I am proud that I knew and worked with such honorable, brave and courageous people as Sakharov, Orlov, Ginzburg, carrying on the traditions of the Russian intelligentsia [in defending human rights in the Soviet Union]. I am fortunate to have been witness to the process of the liberation of Jews of the USSR.

“I hope that the absurd accusation against me and the entire Jewish emigration movement will not hinder the liberation of my people. My near ones and friends know how I wanted to exchange activity in the emigration movement for a life with my wife Avital, in Israel.

“For more than two thousand years the Jewish people, my people, have been dispersed. But wherever they are, wherever Jews are found, every year they have repeated, 'Next year in Jerusalem.' Now, when I am further than ever from my people, from Avital, facing many arduous years of imprisonment, I say, turning to my people, my Avital, ‘Next year in Jerusalem.’

“Now I turn to you, the court, who were required to confirm a predetermined sentence: To you I have nothing to say.”

When in 1986 Sharansky was finally released and reunited with his wife Avital, his first words to her recalled the final words of his declaration in the Soviet court, “Next Year in Jerusalem.” He is reputed to have said, with his inimitable sense of humor, “Sorry for being late.”