Looking very pale, he went to his room and did not return. Mara looked dejectedly at the candles, but what she saw there gave her renewed hope. It was her mother baking Chanukah cookies. The candles revealed the measuring and mixing of ingredients and the rolling of the dough. The special cookie cutters, which were of course stored in the Chanukah box, made the cookies in the shapes of dreidels and the Star of David and the Lion of Judah.
The next day, Mara gathered the ingredients she needed and set about the task of making Chanukah cookies. She loved the feel of the dough and the way the house began to smell as the cookies baked in the oven. When the cookies were done, she placed the candles in the menorah for the fourth night and awaited her father.
When he came in the door and sniffed, the trace of a smile crossed his face as he hung up his coat. Who could resist fresh baked cookies? Mara again handed him the Shamos to light the other candles and then offered him a perfect cookie. He took a bite and first smiled and then eyes filling with tears, walked away once more. Left with the candle flame once again she looked intently and saw her mother selecting a scarf. Noting the store and the color and the way Mom touched the fabric, she knew what she must do.
Mara went to the store and picked out a soft wool scarf in a blue plaid that would look just right with Dad’s overcoat. It looked just like the one in the candle vision and it just happened to be "on sale" so that she could afford to buy it with her own money. There was Chanukah wrapping paper in the Chanukah box, and Mara wrapped the gift and then placed candles in the menorah for the fifth night. She was pretty excited as she waited and ate a cookie or two to pass the time…
She had fallen asleep in the comfy chair and when she awoke the candles were burning down and her father had already escaped to his sanctuary. Mara looked into the waning flames to see a major task being performed. Mom was making potato latkes (pancakes) and applesauce. Mara absorbed all of the intricacies of the process that had been handed down mother-to-daughter for generations.
She could not be certain if the image in the candle flames had taught her the method for making these latkes or activated some deep genetic code that informed her mind and body of what to do. Some modern conveniences had been incorporated into the process but the family joke was that it took a little bit of grated finger to make it taste just right. Much effort and a big mess had gone into the platter of latkes and the bowl of fresh applesauce that sat on the table as Mara put the candles in the menorah for the sixth night.
Dad could not run from a platter of latkes. Eating latkes was as much in his blood as making them was in that of his daughter. He lit the candles and sat down at the table to eat. He tasted the potato pancakes and applesauce and almost slipped into the easy familiarity of the holiday and its signature dish. He almost smiled and almost put more food on his plate, but he slumped back into his mournful persona, briefly squeezed his daughter’s hand and slunk back to his room. Mara ate dejectedly and looked into the candles for more inspiration. The candles began to flicker and die until only one remained. In it she saw her mother go to the stereo and put on a special recording of Jewish music that remained in the Chanukah box.
The next night she was prepared when Dad came through the door. All she knew of the music was that sitting in her special spot the beat came through her skin in a throbbing vibration. Mama used to help her clap along and sometimes Papa bounced her on his knee but that was long ago. As soon as the candles had been lit for the seventh night, Mara put on the music and began to clap along. Her father clapped a bit and smiled with his lips, and cried with his eyes before running away to his room. Mara looked to the menorah for the help she so desperately needed and she gazed deeply into the flames, but all she saw was the bits of fire mocking her by moving with the music. Still she stared hopefully until the last candle flickered and went out. Exhausted and abandoned she went to bed filling the night with sobs she could not hear.
The morning brought new hope but no new ideas. Perhaps she thought there were no more ideas. Even her mother’s visiting spirit could not find anything else in the now completely empty Chanukah box to make a miracle.
Mara could not just give up. She had only one father and it was the eighth night of Chanukah. Nes Gadol Haya Sham, a great miracle happened there. The miracle was that a single jar of sanctified oil, only sufficient to keep the everlasting light burning for a single day lasted for eight days until new oil could be brought to the temple. So to have a miracle happen here might need all she had learned since the first night.
That night as Mara greeted her father at the door of their home, still festively decorated for Chanukah, wonderful smells assailed his senses. They began at the filled menorah lighting the Shamos and using it to ignite all eight candles. Her father chanted the traditional prayers. Wonderful latkes with homemade applesauce and Chanukah cookies in the shapes of dreidels and stars and the Lion of Judah filled the Table. The wrapped gift and a game of dreidel awaited in the living room and Mara looked so hopeful that her father could not escape the celebration without participating.
