The Short Vort by Rabbi Eisenman

It was Thursday, December 7, 1972, the seventh day of Chanukah. That night would be Zos Chanukah. Seeing all eight candles lit at once was greatly anticipated and awaited. I was off from Yeshiva that day, and my best friend Marvin Rubin and I biked from home in Canarsie to Kings Plaza. The indoor mall, which is the largest indoor mall in Brooklyn, opened in 1970. It was just two and a half miles from my house. We biked the route in under fifteen minutes.

When we arrived at the mall, we engaged in our favorite Chanukah past-time of "Counting the Menorahs." The contest was simple, whoever could spot the most Menorahs in the over 120 stores was entitled to a free soda. We stopped by Waldenbooks to seek out any Jewish-themed books. We then went to the Sam Goody music store, where we each purchased a Kazoo for fifty-nine cents. We then headed off to the local pretzel store, inspecting the boxes for the O-U.

After drinking a fountain coke and consuming a large pretzel smothered in mustard, we were ready for the trek back to Canarsie. We rode through Mill Basin, Georgetown, and unto Canarsie, arriving before sundown.

Marvin and I began practicing for our debut duet performance of Maoz Tzur with our newly acquired Kazoos. Everything was set and ready for opening night. We awaited my father's arrival from work to light the Chanuka candles. I had arranged my Menorah by the window. I had chosen different colored candles for all of the eight receptacles on the Menorah. Marvin and I quickly rehearsed one last rendition on our Kazoos.

And then came the phone call. My father called, informing us that he had a flat tire on the Cross-Bronx Expressway and was waiting for the AAA tow truck to change the tire. It was now six P.M., and we had no idea when my father would be home. Marvin had to get back home. There would be no debut of the dazzling duet on our Kazoos. Although part of me wanted to light, I knew the drill very well from my mother: the family lights together, period.

And so we waited. Seven turned to eight, and soon it was after nine. Marvin was long gone, and I was no longer interested in playing Maoz Tzur solo on my Kazoo.

Finally, at almost ten o'clock, my father arrived, tired, exhausted, and completely drained. I only wanted to light the candles quickly, eat something, and sleep. Yet, as my father entered the house, my mother's face lit up with such joy and Simcha that it would outshine the Menorah's eight candles. She greeted my father with such warmth and happiness as if she had not seen him for a year,

I stood there somewhat dumbfounded, yet, my mother quickly gathered us together for lighting and insisted I play Maoz Tzur solo on my Kazoo.

Later that night, I asked my mother, "Ma, I know you were happy to see Dad. However, you were as tired as all of us, and you, too, were disappointed that we were lighting so late. How did you greet Dad with such Simcha?

My mother looked at me and said, "Your father works hard to support his family. He, too, was disappointed he was delayed. He had no choice in getting a flat tire; it happened.

However, I did have a choice in how I chose to react. I chose to show true Simcha and joy, which is how I felt. What would be gained by expressing my disappointment at his delayed arrival?

That night the glowing candles were a sight to behold.

However, even they could not hold a candle to the radiant glow of my mother's face as she greeted my father.