Chanukah

The "Hannukah" spelling really irritates me. As a language, Hebrew's intrinsic value lies in its ability to not just forgive, but to encourage, a good gathering of back-throat phlegm in nearly every sentence, what with it's baruchs and melechs, not to mention its chutzpah and chanukah. Vernacularizing it further by dropping the initial "c" would be like spelling Christmas with a "G," people.

Chanukah has seemed a little extra special this year. Maybe it's that both kids are into the menorah-lighting -- Max, because he kinda knows what is going on; Eliza, because she is wide-eye entranced by the dancing flames. Maybe it's that we've been able to share the experience with others a bit more -- two nights with the Entin Bells, this night with Jeff and Laura (after I spent a great day with Jeff, catching up with him mano-a-mano for what seemed like the first time in years). On the second night, we gave Max a Playskool pirate fisherman set-up, and he needed my help assembling the pieces. As we sat on the livingroom floor putting the toy together, with the menorah flickering on the table next to us, I could feel and see myself 30 years ago, on the livingroom floor in Yorktown, excitedly putting together some new Micronauts figure, with the menorah lighting up the front bay window.

Then, last night, as we were herding the kids to go to bed, they wanted a last look at the menorahs (we have two). With Cathleen holding Max, I picked up a protesting Eliza, and to calm her down I suggested that we sing a Chanukah song. With the apartment lights off, and the candles casting a glow about the room, and two tired kids barely keeping their heads up to stare at the flames, Cathleen and I sang through our limited Chanukah repertoire. It was one of those moments when the chaos dissolves, and we're only aware of each other, and all we have left is our happiness.