On the first and last nights of Chanukah, everyone gathered at sundown in the deli which remained open to the rest of the neighborhood, and saw many others living there coming into it to say prayers, light a big Menorah, and tell the story of the miracle of Chanukah. There were free sufganiyots, those jelly-filled donuts that are a traditional treat for the holiday. On the 2nd through 7th nights, the families in the building rotated through hosting all the other families for a dinner, with the kids playing dreidel for gelt while waiting for the meal, and a small gift for each of us, from the host family, afterward. By the time I returned home I confess I was sick of latkes, but otherwise glowing.
Short of traveling to Israel, I’m not sure I can imagine anywhere else besides NYC where I could have gotten that kind of experience. I am blessed to have lived in an area which is infused with so much culture that you are never alone with your beliefs, and your spirit is never left cold, without traditions to wrap itself in.
