I was five when they started taking away the Menorahs. My mother told me that they didn't want us to celebrate our traditions anymore, that we should all believe in one thing, that the Capitol had saved us all. Father told me that what they said was wrong, that we should all be allowed to believe in what we wanted to. We had always been close with District One, so they made us Menorahs and we supplied them with more power than any other district. The Capitol didn't notice at first, but they soon figured out what was going on… so they started killing the elders.
My grandfather had always been the one to lead out community out of bad times. He saved the last Menorah from being burned in the volcanoes that shattered the earth, forming our new country. My grandmother, his wife, died protecting the Menorah, so we treasured the Menorah like it was the only lifeline that was left. Others in our district supported us. After all, District Thirteen was made out of the only Jewish families left after the land changed.
When I turned eight, the peacekeepers banned all Jewish practices. The punishment for being caught was death. Five whole families were murdered by January. Our Menorah was kept in the basement, as concealed as we could possibly keep it. My mother and father insisted upon me staying at home and being homeschooled, since they knew peacekeepers were getting more intense about killing those who celebrated out holiday.
It all went down when I turned nine. A war broke out. We, the Jewish, didn't want to be looked down upon. We rebelled with the other districts joining us, supporting us, fighting with us. My parents were so scared that all of us would die, so they took me and Grandfather to District 12. When the war was over, our home had been obliterated. Grandfather had saved the last Menorah in the whole country. It was over… we would never be the same.
That December, a day before the first day of Hanukkah, Grandfather died. We didn't know what to do. He was the last person who really remembered the old days, when the Jewish could freely celebrate. We made a new Menorah, a wooden one, and melted the old one. Mother and Father kept most of the gold from it and made a base for the new Menorah, but I kept a small piece. I carved a special bird out of it, something called a Mockingjay. Father helped me make it into a pin, and I wore it every day.
When I turned fourteen, the Mockingjay had to be hidden. It was a sign of the rebellion, something that couldn't be trusted by the government. I placed the pin in a box and hid it under my pillow. The new 'Hunger Games' were just a reminder to the Jewish, a reminder that we would never be equal to the Capitol. I knew in my heart that they would crumble someday… just not soon enough. I was saved, and grew up. I got married to a kind village boy who was Jewish, just like me. I had two daughters, Emerald and Maysilee. Many mothers would look down harshly for acting the way I did, but I treasured Maysilee like I treasured the Mockingjay, so I gave her the pin I had forged to many years ago.
Maysilee went off to the Hunger Games with the Mockingjay. I hoped that she would come home. I waited, and for weeks I stared at the screens. She did come home… just not in the way I wanted her to. The doctors in the Capitol had saved the Mockingjay from being tossed away with her bloodied clothing. We were allowed to bury her where we wished, so we took her out to the forest where my mother and father had buried my Grandfather. Just as we were about to bury her, I took the Mockingjay. It couldn't be buried, it had to fly. So I gave it to Emerald. Seven years later, she married the mayor. They had a beautiful little girl with bright blonde hair and a smile that lit up my dying world.
Emerald saw to it that Madge got the Mockingjay before I died. She came to see me lying on the couch, the pin on her light blue dress.
"Grandmother? How did you get the Mockingjay?" she asked quietly. I had to tell her everything before my story would be gone forever, so I told her everything; the Menorah, the war, my grandfather, every single piece of the words that had been etched in the story of my life.
"… And that's how you have the Mockingjay." I said. "One day, when the Mockingjay has given you all it can give, you can pass it on. Be brave, Madge, Grandmother loves you."
In my life, I had seen so many things. But most of all, we had lives. The Jewish lived through the war, even if our Menorahs had been burned. All of us were alive, speaking through the small, gold Mockingjay.