Many years ago I married a friendly giant with a golden beard. There are many wonderful things that he has brought into my life- warm meals every night, a passion for Star Trek Next Generation, and a human ladder to access our household’s upper atmosphere of nooks and crannies. Perhaps the most unexpected of these wonderful gifts are the traditions that he brought from the Jewish side of his family. I discovered the scrumptious glory of matza ball soup and kugel pudding; the kinship of singing together around passover dinner and, most of all, the lovely subtle magic of Hanukkah.
After the births of our children, my husband expressed a wish to celebrate Hanukkah in addition to Christmas. His parents gave us a menorah in the shape of a train and we purchased our first box of (so many!) Hanukkah candles. As it happens our daughter’s preschool invited Jewish families to bring their menorahs in for a lighting ceremony. The first time we all lit candles together with our new train of lights was in that classroom. I will never forget the experience. The lights were turned out so we all sat in semi darkness. Then, as we lit the first candles of Hanukkah, a lovely warm glow stole over the room. An amber halo encircled each child’s soft, round cheeks.
“Happy Hanukkah” by Emma Tipping
As tiny flames danced in the eyes of every child, all the stories of trials and perseverance that I had learned about the Jewish people clicked together into one magnificent puzzle within me. In that moment, the menorah lights flickering over my children’s faces, I realized fully that they are part of that legacy. That story is their story and as their mother, it is now my story too. My heartstrings reach out across space and time, carried by these new creatures, innocent to the myriad ways our world chooses to be wicked. Without even realizing it, these 13 children of different ethnic backgrounds and faiths, not one of them taller than my hip, were rising above centuries of cruelty and oppression, all by lighting a tiny candle.
