“What is this, my son? A charm against the cold? Something you brought along with you from home?”
The young soldier explained the significance of the Chanukah menorah and talked haltingly of the conquest of the mighty, the strong and the many, by a cold and hungry few, and of long-ago miracles.
“Do you believe in miracles?” asked a smiling General Washington.
“I believe that the same God Who performed miracles with the Maccabees can enact miracles with George Washington and his army at Valley Forge.”
“You are a son of Prophets surely you know whence you speak,” the general responded, and with an affectionate stroke of the enlisted one’s flushed cheek, disappeared into the darkness.
The young Jewish fighter rested his eyes on the bright little flame and spent the rest of the night in prayer.
The inclement weather soon relaxed its arctic grip. Wagonloads of supplies began to reach the troops. The battle ended victoriously, and America won its independence from British rule. Jubilant soldiers prepared to go home.
In April 1789, George Washington was elected the first president of the United States. The immigrant soldier who on a frigid night at Valley Forge had experienced a brief but intensely personal exchange with the new leader spoke not a whisper of that special encounter – of a time when he was warmed by the words and caress of the man now known as President Washington – for his would have surely been deemed the rants of one gone mad.
The following Chanukah, he set his menorah on the windowsill in his home and lit the little oil-soaked wick. The doorbell chimed, interrupting his reverie. Two uniformed officers produced a medal accompanied by a written communique. It was read aloud:
“This medal is being presented to a devoted soldier from whom I gleaned hope on the battlefield of Valley Forge, in the most difficult hour of my life. May God bless you, your people and the menorah of your people which taught me to believe in a miracle.”
* * * *
In the city of Constantinople there once lived a Jewish doctor widely recognized for his wisdom by the name of Nissim Rachamim. The doctor’s reputation came to be known by the sultan, who invited him to his palace. Nissim Rachamim proved to be all and more of what was said about him, and the sultan wasted no time in appointing him his personal physician. The two forged a friendship, with the doctor becoming a frequent guest at the palace and the sultan an occasional visitor at his physician friend’s home.
One evening, on the last night of Chanukah, the sultan unexpectedly paid the doctor a visit. The family was in the midst of a game of dreidel, seated around the table with a plate of nuts before each player. The menorah lights shimmered, reflecting a warm ambiance.
The sultan was offered a seat at the head of the table and served fresh coffee and fragrant latkas. The host explained the rules f the game so that the sultan could join in the festive turn of the dreidel, his own plate of nuts set before him.
“Each player deposits an amount of nuts in the center pot. If you land a gimmel with your spin of the dreidel, all the nuts are yours. If you get a nun, you win nothing; ahei nets you half the pot, and a shiyen means adding a nut to the coffer.
Curious as to the significance of the letters, the sultan was told they stood for (N)es (G)adol (H)ayah (S)ham – a big miracle happened there.
“What big miracle?” asked the sultan. Nissim apprised him of the cruse of oil miraculously discovered in the Temple following its destruction and defilement by the Greeks, and of the miracle of the minimal amount of oil burning for eight days instead of one.
The sultan spun the dreidel and landed a gimmel. He happily gathered all the nuts unto himself. Taking stock of the menorah, he inquired about the essence of its lights and its proximity to the door. Nissim expounded on the mitzvah attached to the lighting of the menorah and the mezuzah on the doorpost, concluding with, “thereby we havemitzvos on either side…”
“And what would the flames be relating?” the sultan cynically inquired.
“They speak of the fiery light that Antiochus failed to douse when he set upon his scheme of annihilating our Torah andmitzvos. They also reveal the miracle of the pure untainted oil that served to vanquish that darkness.
Each night of Chanukah we augment the intensity of one little flame by adding another, doing our part in disbursing the brightness far and wide – until we come to the last of the Chanukah lights, which is tonight.”
The sultan noticed one flame towering above the others. “What is the significance of this higher light?” he asked.
“The shamesh serves to light all the others and is not extinguished, as we are to derive no personal use from the eight flames.”
The sultan’s inquisitiveness was not appeased, and he indignantly demanded that he be told the truth regarding this ninth “elevated” light.
“You are deliberately withholding a vital secret,” he snapped. “In three days I expect to see you in my palace to reveal to me the truth.”
And with that, he took his leave.
The sultan’s parting message cast a pall over the doctor’s household. Nissim Rachamim could think of no plausible explanation that would satisfy the sovereign.
On the second night, ridden with anxiety over the advancing deadline, he stepped outside to relieve an aggravating headache.
Nissim hardly noticed the human form that stepped out of the dark shadows. The stranger greeted him cordially and kept pace with the doctor, who was deeply immersed in his troubled thoughts.
The elderly newcomer asked, “Who should carry whom, R’ Nissim?”
Nissim glanced quizzically sideways. They both had feet, didn’t they?
Passing a house with a casket lying at its door, mournful wails escaping the interior of the home, Nissim’s companion reflected, “What do you say, friend; is the expired one alive or dead?”
Nissim, by now convinced the elderly gentleman was mentally unstable, decided against perpetuating a discussion that would likely lead nowhere. The two walked on in silence until they approached a wheat field packed with sheaves of the grain swaying in the cool night’s breeze.
“Fine wheat,” commented the stranger. “Have they by now been eaten, you think?”
Once more Nissim held his tongue, not daring to engage an obviously demented individual in dialogue. The pair reached a large dwelling with shuttered windows, shafts of light escaping from between the slats.
“A quality home, a luminous one,” said the stranger. “Does it house any living beings?”
Nissim Rachamim could contain himself no longer “This is my home! How about stepping in and joining me for a cup of hot coffee?”
His invitation having been graciously accepted, Nissim by now instinctively felt there was more to the old man’s prattle than he had earlier discerned. His headache was forgotten by now, and the strong coffee served to invigorate him. He turned to his guest.
“When we neared my home, you noted its brightness inside and out – yet wondered whether it housed anyone alive”
The old man nodded. “Children with their lively, exuberant natures are always alive. By guiding them along the Torah path, their parents, too, live on forever.”
“Yes,” smiled Nissim. “We were blessed with children, who are now asleep for the night.”
Nissim Rachamim no longer took his guest for an old fool. His interest piqued, he was ready to hear more.
“What made you ask whether the sheaves of wheat growing in the field had been eaten?”
“Some people live beyond their means,” explained the guest, “incurring debt even before reaping their earnings.”
Nissim was still baffled by the questioning remark the man had made about whether the man in the casket was indeed dead.
“Simply,” expounded the wise old man. “A person who lives his life as a human being, following the Torah’s commandments and performing virtuous deeds, lives on eternally. For even as he leaves his earthly husk behind, his soul remains immortal. The evil one, bereft of mitzvos and maasim tovim, is reckoned as dead while yet alive.”
One riddle remained to be solved.
“When we met,” said Nissim, “you voiced a bewildering concern. ‘Who should carry whom?’ you’d asked. Forgive me, but at the time I had the urge to break out in laughter and still fail to comprehend”
The venerable visitor gently answered, “When two people pass their time together in silence, their journey is a long and arduous one. Good-natured banter and learning from one another makes the time pass quickly and pleasantly – as if one carries the other in his arms.”
Nissim’s admiration for his new friend was surpassed only by his vexation with himself for not having astutely deciphered the old man’s logic. He now took him into his confidence, spilling his woes.
“Tell the sultan,” advised Nissim’s friend, “that the shamesh stands tall, declaring to young and old alike: ‘Not too long ago I was hidden in a succulent fruit, the olive. I blossomed on a tree and basked in the sun, burgeoning until almost bursting. What kind of life was this, I asked myself and pleaded with man to pick me off the tree, for I no longer wished to live for myself alone.
“Squeezed through a press, my outer skin discarded, my pure soul was preserved, and thus I now spread a virgin light to chase away the darkness. Learn from me, mankind, and emerge from your shell. Have you might? Help the weak. Have you riches? Ease the plight of the oppressed.
“Blessed with wisdom? Teach the ignorant. The world shall forever reap benefit from your luminescent glow.’ “
