True Hanukkah miracle

Last night, Rob and I celebrated the third night of Hanukkah with my mom, my sister and her family. It's a minor holiday but kind of interesting nonetheless, celebrating a war victory in which a small group of Jews defeated the Greeks using guerrilla tactics. The Greeks had been oppressing the Jews and using the Temple for Hellenistic practices, like pig sacrifices (that'd be a pretty major no-no in Jewish law). The eight nights come in when the Jews rededicated the Temple after their victory, finding oil that seemed as though it would last only one night. But in the miracle of the holiday, the oil lasted eight nights. Praise Yahweh, pass the potato pancakes.

The fact of the matter is that Jews would probably pay little but passing attention to this holiday were it not for its proximity to Christmas. It's hard enough for adults to ignore the gift receiving opportunities housed in the season; imagine a kid trying to do it while all his public school classmates rave about their Christmas booty. As a kid, I actually felt a little bad for my Christmas-celebrating friends - all their anticipation was spent on one anticlimactic morning, while we had eight days to draw out the suspense, eight days to wonder if we should have chosen the small package the night before - maybe tonight...

Though Rob and I were given some lovely gifts last night, my favorite gifts of the night were spontaneous gestures by my nephews - an unexpected kiss on the cheek from the 8-year-old and an invitation to cuddle in an oversized chair with the soon-to-be-5-year-old. Corny, I know - just thank me for not writing my next column about it - the thought did cross my mind. But c'mon - in the midst of the mall flooding and kids asking for dinosaurs and computers (as one friend's kids did), gestures of love from children and all the wonders housed within their tiny little bodies are their own miracles... certainly miracles I believe in a hell of a lot more than magically regenerating oil.