Unwrap the Magic

Fire Fright

Malka Grunhaus

I placed the small, delicate glass cup inside its holder, and lay the long, white candle in front of the menorah. Carefully, so as not to spill a drop, I poured the olive oil into the tiny cup, and topped it off with a white wick. There. The menorah was ready for Tatty to light. Flanking his tall silver menorah were two smaller ones, mirroring the way Chaim and Yisrael would stand next to Tatty when they lit. I was excited. The first night of Chanukah was probably my favorite time.

“Everyone ready to light?” Tatty’s loud voice echoed through the house, to the sound of half a dozen feet scrambling towars the dining room. Tatty approached his menorah, and pulled out the matchbox to light his shamash. With a hiss, the match burst into flame.

It was the flame at the tip of the small match that did it. My excitement from earlier seemed crushed under the fear in my throat. I backed up to the doorway, trying to get as far away from the fire as possible. Mommy shot me a curious glance. Why are you backing away? her gaze seemed to ask. We’re all here together. Please join us. But I couldn’t. I needed to be far away from that flame, couldn’t she see?

She couldn’t see, but I could. There, in my mind’s eye. It was the same place, the same scene, one year earlier: