Daddy called in one of his friends from school (get this they’ve been friends for like 30 years) who’s a real character. They set up a little booth in the shul hall and everyone went in and this guy was all dressed up in a mask and cloak and stuff and he told everyone the meaning and origin of their names. There was other stuff going on as well — an ice-your-own doughnut stand and another stand with melted wax and molds so you could make your own candles and my mother had made about a thousand trays of her famous lasagna.… The highlight of the evening was supposed to be my father’s speech. He had this whole thing prepared (he practiced it on us at supper the night before) about how we as Jews are called Yehudim which comes from the same root as hoda’ah meaning to thank. And how Chanukah is a very special time to thank G-d for the miracles He performed for us and continues to perform for us each day.

So that was supposed to be the highlight of the evening. But it wasn’t. I mean Daddy was great of course (he always is) but when he finished speaking this tall lanky guy I’d never seen before put his hand up — like poker straight real high — and asked if he could say a few words.

Daddy stepped down from the podium and this guy went up there. He was nervous — you could see because he kept ruffling his shoulder-length hair. 

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