The winter of 1777 was devastating. The American army under General George Washington had arrived at Valley Forge (some 20 miles north of Philadelphia) on a Friday, the nineteenth of December. Conditions hardly could have been less favorable. The soldiers were ill prepared for the wintry outdoors, and the scarcity of basic essentials – food, blankets, adequate clothing – created a rancorous atmosphere and a grumbling of grievances among the soldiers. One lone combatant considered himself fortunate to be fighting for America’s freedom, for its independence from British rule.
The whining of his compatriots tempted him to regale them with stories of his childhood, of his family – still enslaved by another country’s dictatorship – and of how his father was made to degrade himself at a despicable ruler’s drunken whim, to please and entertain a despot and his boisterous revelers.
His poor command of the English language kept him from baring the fire in his soul that drove him to push forward in the quest for victory despite the brutally harsh circumstances. In his mind he revisited the image of his father being forced to don the pelt of a bear, to twirl and gyrate to the fervid beat of the palace musicians as guffaws and merrymaking reverberated in the ballroom. Yes, the hunger and the bone-chilling frost were well worth the price of freedom.
The freezing temperatures caused his eyes to tear and intensified the resolve in his heart that had been a steadfast part of him since he was but a ten-year-old child, when he happened upon the sight of his father’s grotesque contortions as he danced wildly at a heartless autocrat’s directive. He had wanted to cry out in shame and embarrassment and could still feel the acute pain he had endured witnessing his father’s suffering and near collapse.
When the ruler had spied the youngster, he diabolically proclaimed, “You will soon be old enough to entertain my son in the same fashion”.
Then and there he determined not to be around to be made the object of ridicule in this demeaning role.
The hunger pangs abated and he silently concurred with General Washington that they would persevere, survive and prevail in the oppressive climate despite the lack of protective winter gear and other provisions.
During the night, he would spy the general tiptoeing among the sleeping forms on the ground, a look of worry and pity etched across his countenance. He had wanted to sit up and convey to Washington his firm belief that they would be triumphant despite their formidable straits.
The advent of Chanukah made him even more hopeful. He knew that the One and Only God was eminently capable of performing miracles, and he prayed with all his heart for the Creator to aid the general and his army in defeating their opponents so that he and his children could savor the joys of freedom and never have to dance to the tune of tyranny.
He retrieved the Chanukah menorah – the one his father had packed in his duffel when he prepared for his escape from Poland – and waited until everyone was sound asleep so that he could light it. To expound on the meaning of the ritual would have been too onerous a task, given his limited capacity with the English language.
As though he had dropped from the ky, the general was suddenly at his side.
“Having trouble sleeping, young man? Is it the cold? The hunger?”
He was rendered speechless yet was delighted to have General George Washington personally addressing him. An icy hand touched his, then moved to feel his forehead. The general took notice of the menorah with its lone flickering flame.
