In the heart of a snow-kissed grove,
where whispers of winter weave through the trees,
a menorah stands, its candles aglow,
dancing flames in the chill-laden breeze.
Beside it rests a Yule log, adorned,
with evergreens, holly, and crimson bright,
a sacred union of earth and fire,
offering warmth to the longest night.
Golden dreidels gleam on the frost,
their stories spinning in timeless grace,
while a pentacle cradles the season's gifts,
binding the magic of this sacred space.
Challah, braided with care and intent,
shares a table with fruits of the wheel,
symbols of life, death, and rebirth,
the rhythm the seasons eternally feel.
Above, the stars hum an ancient hymn,
their light a bridge through time and skies,
as hearts entwine in this sacred rite,
under the gaze of the All-Seeing Eye.
This is the song of many paths,
woven together with reverent hands,
a celebration of love and peace,
of faiths united on shared lands.
In this grove, where traditions meet,
the chaos of ages begins to cease.
Each spark, each branch, each whispered word,
weaves a tapestry of hope and peace.
Our holiday was musical
(The food was yummy, too)
Because our grandkids each received
A shiny new kazoo.
To add to the festivities,
Another gift revealed
Harmonicas, which both of them
Did very proudly wield.
With latkes, dreidels, presents and,
Of course, the candles lit,
Our Chanukah was lovely and
My cookies were a hit.
We won’t all be together for
The candles left to light,
But the glow will carry forward
From the sweetness of last night.
This (Hebrew) month is named Cheshvan
No more Jewish holidays, all done with the fun
A bit of sadness in that
So we Jews give poor Cheshvan a 'hat'
We call her "Mar Cheshvan," the "Mar" meaning 'Mister'
Though when Kislev comes and the dreidels whir
Poor "Mister Cheshvan" ~ No one misses her
_____________________________________________
'Ch' in 'Cheshvan' is pronounced like 'Ch' in 'Channukah.'
Kislev is the name of the month after Cheshvan
Channukah always starts on the 25th of Kislev
Dreidels are a Channukah toy
O Chanukah, dear
my problem is clear
You arrived way, way
too early this year
What's a fellow to do
your candles all through
Potato latkes all eaten
dreidels spun, weather-beaten
Still no snow on the ground
yet to come Christmas sounds
While holiday gifts they are wrapping
Chanukah's tucked away, napping
Alas and alack, please make up your mind
never again to fall so far behind
12/25, Chanukah! next year, do you hear
if you expect me to be of holiday cheer
~ As the Dreidels Spin ~
Game, set and match
Here comes a fresh batch
of potato latkes, as the dreidels spin
Up comes a gimmel -- You win
Maccabees mean Victory
so many menorahs to see
Let's dance the hora and sing a song
It's Chanukah time ~ we all get along
We accept tornadoes here,
expect them, tick them off
as they pass by like demon dreidels.
Usually they are not a big deal
unless they are.
Spring culls its little lambs
in all sorts of ways.
The murder rate in Chicago
climbs ever higher
until the city prays for more snow.
Folks in their privileged trailer parks
get rolled like dice.
A pressing need for body bags
creates work for some.
The addicted and dying oblige
as best they can.
It’s all a small town hush
unless a celebrity overdoses
then distraught, the news is spread
from parlor to parlor.
Shooting-up on the streets
is a recreational choice for those
who camp-out in Cleveland and Dayton.
Meanwhile birds keep singing,
Spring flowers struggle to bloom
squeezed as they are
between such climatic collisions.
We hear the roar and rumble
of funnels turning upon themselves
as they twist the nights away.
The candles sometimes drop their flames;
The lions lose their tails.
The stars come out all crooked;
Some ineptitude prevails.
The wine jugs might have missing tops;
The dreidels look all right.
The flaws won’t matter, hopefully,
When loved ones take a bite.
For Chanukah’s the time when I
Roll out that dough and bake,
My grandma’s cookie cutters
And her recipe at stake.
Every year at Chanukah,
Like from divine command,
My grandma made the cookies
All her grandkids would demand.
These humble sugar dainties,
Cut in shapes and rolled out thin,
Served as harbinger that Chanukah
Could finally begin.
But each one, crisp and delicate,
Came with the possibility
That part of it would snap away,
Because of its fragility.
So lions rarely kept their tails
And candles lost their flames.
The sturdy dreidels, still intact,
Were prized for lack of maims.
A colored sugar dusting
Coated each and every shape.
From sugar sparkles on your clothes
You never could escape.
My grandma passed her cutters down
To me, and so I strive,
With floured hands, to help to keep
Her recipe alive.
Today I gamely baked a batch;
My kids made the request.
I picture grandma’s smiling face
And think she’d be impressed.
Hanukkah is a time for presents, potatoes and dreidels,
Everyone has fun, even babies in cradles,
They can watch the dreidel spin, and spin and spin,
until they view stars in everything,
Little presents make days and nights happier,
with potato latkes adorning the tables,
The chidren spin the dreidels while
participating in all their activities
getting a rouse out of all their relatives,
The dreidel spins from the past,
the future and the present,
creating a joyous environment,
and a glimpse into the future,
Watching themselves spinning,
and spinning the dreidel until
they are very mature.
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