A Feast, Gifts And Ceremony All Part Of Hanukkah

It has finally come. The moment I have been waiting for these last eight days. The big Hanukkah party. I get out of the car and hear the delighted screams of my little 4-year-old friend, overjoyed that I am finally here. I carry in the large wooden salad bowl, making my way through the thick snow to the door. I am greeted with smiles from friends, hugs from parental authorities and shouts of glee from my young accomplice.

Then, I see the precious fuzzy furball and pick it up in my arms. It is beautiful, with soft, grayish-brown fur and dark stripes going from the nose over its head and along its back.

The others arrive and take the young kitten from my arms, but I don’t mind. I go to the kitchen and gaze longingly at the luscious latkes sizzling in hot oil. Then I remember that this is to remind us of the everlasting oil that continuously burned during those eight days so long ago.

The kids, myself included, go upstairs and watch the Rugrats Hanukkah Special and then hear the calls of our parents beckoning us to dinner. I stare in anticipation at the sauerbraten dripping gravy into the dish. I go to my plate to find that everything is already there. Ambrosial latkes, beef brisket, applesauce and salad. I eat slowly, every bite as tantalizing as the last, and, as I finish, I realize that we have not yet opened presents.

My friends and I formulate a plan and simultaneously ask our parents if we may open presents. Yes, we can, is the long-awaited response. We cheer in delight and locate each of our presents. Bouncing around the room is the cheerful sound of wrapping paper being torn from the gifts. Enticing incense, a strange game and much more makes my heart light and happy.

After all of the presents have been unwrapped, their secrets revealed, we go to the main part of the holiday: The lighting of the menorahs.

With my sister off to college, I am the oldest kid in the group. I strike the match and hear the soft roar of the flame, I light the shamas on my family’s own menorah, and blow out the match, silencing it forever.

I look at the burnt ashes of the match, then set it down on the foil. I pick up my red shamas and, with it, light the rest of the candles, feeling emotion surging from within the hearts of all people on Earth who join us in this ceremony.

Then, without cue, everyone starts singing the Hanukkah blessings as we, my young friends and I, light the eight candles from left to right. I place the shamas candle in its assigned position and look up to see reflected in the window an amazing display of nine dancing drops of sun on each of the four menorahs.

These menorahs were brought by the families that have celebrated together for as long as I can remember. It seems that the 36 flickering flames are showing off their exuberance to any passers-by.

Another precious moment.