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Light a Candle  Our story tonight is called Light a Candle and it’s a story about reminding each other about the light that lasts through the long nights of winter. It’s also about a busy kitchen full of family, cinnamon and walnuts, and a memory of something shared that felt very special. It had started slow like a snowball rolling down a soft slope, the darkness arriving earlier each day. In the autumn I barely noticed it, but in the last few weeks that snowball had picked up speed and now it was ready for a top hat, carrot and twig arms. All at once it was dark before dinner time and not just dusky. Not the extended gloaming of summer, but sudden - as if a switch had been flipped. I mostly enjoyed it, took it as a signal to go to bed a bit earlier and generally to spend more time cozied up at home. I tried to think about how my ancestors would have met the change of seasons. Those that had lived on farms would have taken time to rest, to turn their attention to making things rather than growing them, and looked forward to visits from neighbours and family. Those that lived in cities and towns would have looked for lighted windows in the houses of friends, shovelled snow away from doorsteps and bought or made special treats for special days. I thought it must be a universal experience when the sunrise and sunsets get closest together that people look for a reason to celebrate something, to enjoy favourite flavours, to sing or dance and to light a candle. Tonight we were lighting the first candle, gathering at my uncles house, cousins and grandparents and siblings. Someday soon it would be the turn of the younger generation to take over the hosting duties, but tonight I was happy to simply show up and be fed, be surrounded by my family, play with the and relax. I had a few simple gifts to share. Usually on the first night of Hanukkah we kept it to chocolate and dreidels for the little ones. I had a bag full of gelt but also a few really delicious fancy chocolate bars for the grown ups. Driving over, the sun was getting low and I thought I would be there just in time. We lit the candle as the sun set. Looking at the candy tucked in its bag beside me and thinking of nightfall, I had a sudden flash of memory. Riding in the dark often brought it back and it was a beloved recollection. I’d been 10 or 11, riding in the car with my mom. She’d picked me up from band practice and my clarinet in its case was wedged between my feet. There was a song playing on the radio, something we both knew and sing along to together. Driving through town, streetlights reflected on my window and I got lost in watching people on the street. My mom kept a secret stash of chocolate covered raisins in the arm rest console between us and she’d revealed them to me with a wink. We took the long way home, eating candy, singing to the music and watching the lights. It had become something we shared and I looked forward to it whenever I sat in the half circle in the band room beside the flutes and saxophones squeaking on my reed. And now, many years later it came back to me like a sweet, recurring dream whenever I drove in the dark at the beginning of winter. At my uncles house, the driveway was full of cars and I smiled to myself as I parked and walked up to the door. I could hear the voices of so many of the people I loved, talking, laughing, directing the cooking in the kitchen and the setting of the table in the dining room. In my family, you don’t have to come in the front door. You don’t need to knock or be formal with the greeting. Once you’re family you just come in. So that’s what I did. I pulled open the side door that led into the kitchen and stepped into the thick, delicious smell of fried treats, pulled off my coat and found a spare hook for it in the hall. It seemed like the rooms were sorted by a generation as I walked through. My parents and aunts and uncles were in the kitchen, frying off the last batch of latkes. There was always a slight difference of opinion about the cooking and as I swiped a piece of rugelach from a plate and ducked out, I heard the usual arguments about the jelly donuts, store bought vs homemade going on behind me. My grandparents were already at the table, waiting with varying levels of patience for the evening to begin. The youngest ones were running with excitement through the living room and out the back door into the yard and back in again. My cousins and siblings were chatting in clusters, wine glasses in their hands, teasing in the way only people who’ve known each other their whole lives can do. That’s the thing about family. I mean I loved my friends and had holiday traditions to look forward to with them too but family love is of a different sort. Deep and abiding, unmoved by the years. I was handed a glass of my own and savoured the last bite of the rugelach, the cinnamon and ground walnut filling melting in my mouth. Then I was shooed out of the way as plates were carried through to the dining room. I moved into a corner by the front door, just standing with my glass in my hand, watching the activity. One of my young cousins came to stand next to me, leaning her shoulder against my side and I slipped my arm around her. She was a quiet , probably a little overwhelmed by the noise and though I wondered how school was going, I didn’t ask her just now. I was usually the person she went to when she needed an anchor in the storm and I was most likely to be the family member watching and listening, rather than talking and asking questions. I thought it was possible that when she was older, when she had her own house full of people to feed on Hanukkah, she might have a memory of a shared moment with me like I had of driving at night with my mom. And in that moment, night fell. The windows were dark and we found our way to the table. We would recite the blessings, sing the songs and light the first candle. We often only got to be all together on one night of the eight but each of us in our own homes would add another candle each night. I’d heard a haiku once written hundreds of years ago in Japan but it felt very familiar. It said simply .. light one candle with another any evening of spring. Yes, all over the world we had an instinct to pull each other through the darkness of winter and into the light again. Kathryn Nicolai |
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Seasons change and time moves on.
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The picture is beautiful and can have many interpretations, depending upon the viewer. I am so tickled to begin to see daylight lasting longer in the evening. It's amazing how twilight seems to linger in the summer, but darkness falls suddenly in the winter. Be a prism, spreading God's light and love, not a mirror reflecting the world's hatred.
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I have a very old Old OLD brass menorah by my estimations 1800 if not before .... Sometime I will post a picture when the season hits. I am Lutheran by upbringing but this piece is special and gets placed with honors every year .
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Such a great story
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Such a beautiful tradition. Lovely read, thanks for sharing
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The picture is beautiful and can have many interpretations, depending upon the viewer. I am so tickled to begin to see daylight lasting longer in the evening. It's amazing how twilight seems to linger in the summer, but darkness falls suddenly in the winter.
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I have a very old Old OLD brass menorah by my estimations 1800 if not before .... Sometime I will post a picture when the season hits. I am Lutheran by upbringing but this piece is special and gets placed with honors every year .
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Such a great story
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Such a beautiful tradition. Lovely read, thanks for sharing
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Thank you for reading. I feel so welcomed by everyone here I think I’ll stay. You are all very kind.
  NBA PLAYOFFS New York Knicks vs Indiana Pacers .
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Beautiful picture ~ thank you
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Beautiful picture ~ thank you
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We have Spring Equinox on the horizon. My beautiful grandson was born on the first day of spring. He'll be five next month. That photo is absolutely magickal. Abracadabra 
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We have Spring Equinox on the horizon. My beautiful grandson was born on the first day of spring. He'll be five next month. That photo is absolutely magickal. I wish your grandson a very happy 5th birthday and hope you will be sharing the day with him. Youth, much like the aforementioned spring and summer days is also a precious commodity. My mom always told me to spend it well. Wishing you a remarkable day ahead!
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