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GENESSA -- FLAME!
by Gail M Feldman
Behind almost every frosted window was the hint of a candle. Santa and his reindeer perched on practically every roof, flight eternally imminent. Wreathes adorned nearly every door, humble or stately. No speck of snow interfered with anyone's lush or weedy lawn. Lining the twilight street, palm trees reached high above the houses for the cloudless December sky.
Only my house had clear windows, a wreathless door, an empty roof. I stood out front,
thinking, one more month and I won't have to look at any of this anymore.
"Hey Miz Steinberger!" I dropped my keys, fumbled to retrieve them from the worn-out welcome mat and tried to look up and turn at once. It was Donnie from next door, the kid who always stomped my garden on his way to school.
"Hey." I couldn't slam the door in his face and he'd come right up to me, so I stood in the doorway, holding it almost closed and waiting for him to say something.
"Miz Steinberger? Can I come in and see your Christmas tree?"
"I don't have one, Donnie." At least I'd remembered his name. "I'm not Christian."
That stopped him cold. I smiled apologetically and shut the door, flipping on the lights and air conditioning at once. My menorah and its nine colorful candles sat on the window sill. The sun was sinking fast. I knelt on the sofa, reaching over its back to grab the matches on the sill. I took a doily off the sofa's arm and placed it on my head. "Baroch ato Adonai..." I began, striking one match, and then I gasped and burnt myself. Donnie was tapping on the window. "What?" I yelled, then ran to the door, barreled through and repeated "What?"
"Miz Steinberger? Whatcha doin'?"
"I'm trying to light my menorah, Donnie. You scared the... you scared me."
"Can I see?"
I waved him in, snatched the doily from the floor, sticking it back on my head (Donnie giggled), and started over.
"Bo-ruch A-toh Ado-noi E-lo-hei-nu Me-lech Ho-olom A-sher Ki-de-sho-nu Be-mitz-vo-sov Ve-tzi-vo-nu Le-had-lik Ner Cha-nu-kah." For Donnie I translated, "Blessed art Thou, oh Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us by His commandments, and has commanded us to kindle the lights of Chanukah." Donnie was duly impressed and bowed his head. I continued in Hebrew, translating where I could, lighting the shamos and using that candle to light one other.
"Aren't you going to light them all?"
"Not on the first night of Chanukah, Donnie. Tomorrow I'll light one more." I finished the blessing, then removed the doily from my head and flung it back onto the arm of the sofa. We sat down.
Finally Donnie spoke. "We have a Christmas tree. I got to put the star on top."
"My menorah has a star. See?" I showed him.
"Well my Christmas tree smells good!"
"I believe you."
"I have to go home now." Donnie left without saying goodbye.
On the second night of Chanukah I had an audience of three outside my window. On the third night there were six, one of them a grownup. On the fourth night no fewer than 17 spectators of various ages were camped on my lawn. On the fifth night I brought out the Chanukah gelt, gold-foil-covered chocolate coins, and distributed them to two dozen uninvited guests. On the sixth night 26 neighbors, including a few I'd never seen before, brought me Christmas cookies. They all came back the next evening and when they left I found a little reindeer standing on my lawn. I made a mogen david out of paper and hung it around his neck with a ribbon.
On the eighth night I invited 30 people into my home and lit every candle on my menorah. Everyone applauded; some said "amen" when I said "omayn." I served matzoh brei and was given several bottles of wine, some of which I opened and poured. Someone had thoughtfully brought nonalcoholic eggnog for the children, who were marvelously restrained and broke almost nothing all evening long.
Then someone said, "You're awfully nice for a Jew."
The room didn't exactly hush, but there was a random intake of breath. "That's darned Christian of you," I replied, and everything eased up again.
At a respectable hour everyone packed up and left. Some women had thoughtfully washed up, and some men had thoughtfully carried out the trash. I was alone and slightly tipsy in my slightly disheveled house with my melted-out candles. I collapsed onto the sofa, then jumped as, for the second time that week, there was a tapping on the window.
Of course it was Donnie. "Yes?"
"Miz Steinberger? Can you come to our Christmas party next week?"
"I think I'm available."
"That's great Miz Steinberger! Thanks Miz Steinberger!"
Alone once more, I sat back, more slowly than before, and closed my eyes. All the lights were out, but I thought I could see, on the backs of my eyelids, a pleasant red glow.
Credit: Wikimedia Commons member Eitan F.
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