It seems that in France, the way to celebrate Chanukah is to open the new casks of wine on the night after Shabbat Chanukah. They sample the wine and toast the holiday, eat beignets, a French version of a donut also popular with café au lait in New Orleans.

I always thought that the new wine, the Beaujolais Nouveau, are shipped to the United States to arrive on the Thursday before Thanksgiving. In fact, this year, late on the Thursday before Thanksgiving, after my Confirmation Class and after delivering corned beef lunches to our seniors, Simon sat down and drank some red wine. We should have realized that it would be more “traditional”, more Jewish to wait for Chanukah. I think we learned that reading Maggie Anton’s series, Rashi’s Daughters.

Tonight’s story comes from another book, Hanukkah: Eight Lights Around the World by Susan Susman.

“Jacques and his friends run through the quiet Sunday streets of Strasbourg, bravely slashing enemies with swords. They are mighty Maccabees on the way to reclaim their Temple. Jacques leads the race across the large square to the Rue de la Paix, the Street of Peace, where the white marble synagogue stands waiting. As always, its two enormous bronze doors are closed. None of the children has ever seen them open.

My father says this temple is so strong,’ says Suzanne, who thinks she knows everything, ’that even Judah and the Maccabees couldn’t have recaptured it.’

‘If this was Judah’s Temple,’ says Jacques, ‘it couldn’t have been taken in the first place.’

The children enter the synagogue through a smaller door. Above them, bronze letters in the white marble say, “Stronger than the sword is My spirit.’

Jacques teacher sits with the children in a circle on the floor. ‘Long ago,’ she says, spinning a small dreidl, ‘children like you used toys like this to fool wicked old King Antiochus.’ The top dances across the floor and hits Jacques’s shoes. ‘That wicked king said no children would be allowed to study Torah,’ says the teacher. ‘But do you thik that stopped the children?’…..They play dreidle.

Later, the rabbi comes to the classroom. ‘The story of Hanukkah is much like our sotry,’ he says. ‘Yours and mine….In the 1940s our synagogues were seixed by our enemies, the Nazis.’ Up and down go the rabbi’s eyebrows. Up and down go Jacques’s. ‘All our synagogues were destroyed. Unlike the Maccabees, who were able to take back their Temple, we had no buildings to retur to after the way. No temple to rededicate. The rabbi raises his arms wide. ‘And so, we built this new synagogue.’

Jacques teacher catches him wiggling his eyebrows and stops him with a stern look. Jacques settles down and listens to the rabbi, even though he already knows the story. Every Jew in Strabourg knows how the Nazis tried to destroy the Jews. That is why the synagogue has been built with heavy sotnes. This is why the massive bronze door stand closed. As a reminder. As a precaution. As a message that this place and the spirit of the people within are stronger than the strongest enemy. As a promise that this synagogue will stand as a haven of safety and worship. Forever.”

What is inscribed over the door of this synagogue, “Stronger than the sword is My Spirit,” is a line from the very haftarah we read as part of Shabbat Chanukah, “Not by might and not by power, but by spirit alone….shall we all live in peace.” It is a beautiful image, a vision of a world at peace. But sadly, this Chanukah, that is yet to be. Life for the Jewish community in France has been very difficult this year. Anti-semetic events and threats have doubled this year. There have been anti-semetic hate crimes to rival some of those during the Holocaust. Synagogues have been torched. Recently a young French Jewish woman was raped and her boyfriend tied up, simply because they were Jews. This latest crime has led to a national outcry and a recommitment to prevent further such attacks.

Just in time for Chanukah, a Jewish organization in France has issued an anti-semitism first aid kit. While humorous, http://www.israelnationalnews.com/News/News.aspx/188918#.VJeZDAF9rA, it belies the seriousness of recent events. Nonetheless, the story tonight, a reminder of G-d’s promise, “Not by Might and Not By Spirit but by Spirit alone, shall we all live in peace.” And some humor, the first aid kits. They give me hope. Let us recommit, rededicate ourselves to eradicating anti-semitism, in France, in the US, around the globe. That is the message of the sixth night.

Chanukah Around the World, 5^th Night, Ancient Israel

Tonight at our Chanukah Chappening we had the traditional latkes. We also had Scottish shortbread, French macaroons, Italian canolis, Israeli tabbuleh and wine, mandlebrot, ruggelach, and American Apple pie! Everything was delicious. The conversation was good. The house was pretty. The light was dazzling—both from the Havdalah candle and from the three Chanukiot we lit in the dining room.

Chanukah is about miracles. The miracle of the oil. The miracle of the victory over the Assyrians. Our students had an interesting discussion about miracles this week as we celebrated Chanukah by eating latkes and ice cream at a local ice cream parlor. Ice cream always seems to go with Chanukah—ever since standing on line at Steve’s Ice Cream when it was well below zero, after lighting a very unsafe menorah but beautiful made of number ten tin cans and some combustible fuel on Tufts’ Library Roof.

The dictionary definition of a miracle is an unexpected event not explicable by natural of scientific laws Sometimes it is seen as divine in origin. We looked for examples in the Bible. We thought the angel stopping the action so that Isaac was not sacrificed might be but that Jacob’s dream of a ladder with angels ascending and descending was not. Neither was the burning bush or the giving of the 10 Commandments. Those were “just” G-d communicating. On the other hand, the parting of the Red Sea was. So was manna. And water in the desert. So was the oil lasting for eight days.

We looked for modern miracles. Surviving surgery when you code out twice counts. Surviving a car accident counts. Birth counts. Sunrises and sunsets not so much since they are part of the natural order. We talked about 9/11 and the Holocaust. We talked about why some people deserve a miracle and others seem not to. How do we explain that some people didn’t go to work on 9/11 and were spared and yet 3000 people died? We decided we couldn’t answer that one.

Tonight’s story is another take on the miracle of the oil. From Hanukkah Lights, Stories of the Seasons, from NPR. This story is by Simone Zelitch.

“Once in the age of the Maccabees, there lived an old Jew named Eleazar, who guarded the courtyard of the Holy Temple, while a single flask of oil burned for eight days. Because he had stood watch while the miracle took place, there were some who believed he had taken on a little of its glory and a little of its light. After a while, in spite of his good sense, Eleazar began to believe in himself.

Then one day, Eleazar had a visitor. A lamp-maker knocked on his door, and said, ‘I need to make peace with you, Eleazar. When I heard we only had one flask of oil for the rededication, I found a little in my shop, and I slipped past you into the sanctuary and fed the flame.’
Eleazar was stunned. The fire burned in a holy place, and only the High Priest was permitted there. It stood to reason that the lamp-maker should have been struck dea. But clearly, he’d meant no hard. So Eleazer said, ‘The Lord works through plain and honest Jews like you. Go in peace.’
So Eleazar made peace with the knowledge that G-d worked a wonder through an ordinary man. But then one day, he had another visitor, a woman. Her hair was white, and her expression haunted. Eleazar greeted her with courtesy, for she was Hannah, the heroine who’d lost her seven sons because they wouldn’t bow down to a pagan god.

Hannah said, ‘Something lays on my heart and I must make peace with you, old Eleazar.’ Eleazar said, ‘No one deserves peace more than you.’

‘Then I will speak,’ said Hannah. ‘When I heard there was only a single flask of oil for the rededication, I couldn’t bear to think that the flame would go out. I had a flask I’d once used to comb through the hair of my seven sons. It was good oil, and now I had no need of it, so I slipped past you, Eleazar, and into the sanctuary.’
Eleazar caught his breath. Women defiled a sacred place. It was as though the altar stones had once again been soaked in pig’s blood. He couldn’t control his anger or confusion, for Hannah was an honorable woman, for whom no tribute was too great. How could he condemn her? So he mastered himself and said, ‘Go in peace.’

That night, Eleazar could not sleep. He wrapped himself in his shawl, thinking and praying, he did not hear his next visitor arrive. It was a young man with a shaved chin, and clipped curls, who stood half-naked in the cold. Eleazar recoiled form the sight of him. He said, ‘You’re wise to come at night. If pious Jews found you here by daylight, you’d be dead.’ With a nervous smile, the young man said, ‘I am a Jew.’

‘A Hellenized Jew,’ Eleazar said. ‘You’ve come from the gymnasium, where Greeks teach youths to turn their backs on G-d and worship their bodies. It was your kind who bleated out philosophy while the seven sons of Hannah were slaughtered before her eyes.’

‘I am still a Jew,’ said the young man. ‘I am also Greek. Is that impossible?’ Bitterly, Eleazar said, ‘Oil and water don’t mix.’

‘Don’t they?’ The young man cocked his head. ‘Funny, old Eleazar, that you should bring up oil. We have quite a bit of olive oil at the gymnasium. We oil our bodies to make them beautiful. And rumor came to us that you were short of oil. That should have meant nothing to me, yet somehow it did, and I brought that oil and fed the flame and kept the fire burning.’ Eleazar said, ‘The Maccabees fought against the likes of you.’

‘Yet I am a Jew,’ the young man said again. Eleazar could not speak. He took a long look at the young man’s face and saw there pride, anger, remorse, and a deep need to be told he had a share in the Temple. After a moment, with great effort, he took the young man’s hand. ‘Go in peace,’ he said. ‘You have a Jewish soul.’

He wanted to say more, but before he’d gathered words enough the youth had gone.
Eleazar could not sleep that night pondering the oil poured by transgressors. Was he right to grant them peace? In the days of the Judges, they would have been condemned. In the days of the Prophets they would have been chastised. Yet, Eleazar knew, there were no more Judges in Israel and the age of Prophets had ended long ago. Now, Jews found G-d in each other, in acts of courage and in acts of kindness. G-d’s arms are open. G-d forgives. G-d answers light with light.
Eleazar might have gone to sleep then, but someone else appeared at the door. ‘Old Eleazar!’ The voice was thick, and words slurred together. Eleazar did not return he greeting. ‘Old Eleazar,’ the visitor said again. ‘I’m come to make my peace with you.’

‘Take your peace and go,’ said Eleazar.

‘I’ve come to tell you something. About the oil, old Eleazar.’
‘I know. It was a miracle,’ said Eleazar. ‘Now take your peace, friend and go.’

‘You call me friend? But our people are deadly enemies. Do you grant friendship so easily/’

Then Eleazar looked up. In his doorway stood a man with shaggy hair and brilliant eyes. He wore a lion’s kin and carried a tall, carved staff, and his teeth had been sharpened to points. Bracing himself, Eleazar said, ‘You are a Canaanite.’

‘I am,’ the man replied, ‘My people have lived in this city for thousands of year, when it was called Salem. Then you came, the people we call Habiru. On this mountain we had our temple fo the Evening Star and you made a ruin of it and massacred our people. Now, like us, you have been conquered. You rise up and call for freedom, and we join you Eleazar. Out fates are bound together. And together we rededicated the Temple.’

‘You did not enter G-d’s Temple,’ said Eleazar and he turned away.

‘The Canaanite said, ‘We gave you oil, all we had.’

‘We took no oil from you,’ said Eleazar and he turned back to his bed, hoping the Canaanite woud pass like an evil dream.

‘I stand before you old man, at great peril of my life,’ the Canaanite said. ‘Would you sooner that there was no flame then, Eleazer. Would you sooner the flame went out?’…..

There is so much in this story–the hint of Ebenezer Scrooge and It’s a Wonderful Life. The idea that miracles happen through human action. The role of women, of assimilated Jews, of enemies. The idea of making peace. It brings me continued hope.

Perhaps one of the things we learn at this season of light is tolerance and inclusivity. This year there were a couple of events that fit in that category. On Tuesday several of us went to Congressman Peter Roskam’s office on behalf of American Jewish World Service to ask for his sponsorship of the International Violence Against Women Act. Some of my congregants had never met a congressman before. The meeting went well. He will consider the bill and adding his name. He is outspoken about trafficking. He has a daughter who has worked in an orphanage in the Dominican Republic and he seems to understand the connection between violence and poverty. He encouraged us to read the book The Locust Effect and I look forward to doing so even as I think it might be scary or very similar to Half the Sky. The idea that five Jews representing scores more can attend a meeting with a Congressman speaks to our power and our assimilation here in the United States.

Yesterday I met with the Mayor, the Police Chief and several clergy, both African American and white about race relations and the police department in light of Ferguson. This has been an ongoing dialogue, from before any of us had heard of the town Ferguson. It is complex. It will not be solved by this series of meetings but it puts us ahead of where Ferguson was. I do not think I am naïve. Unfortunately a black male could be shot by a white officer anywhere, even Elgin. And that is tragic. No officer, black or white, wants to use deadly force. But sometimes it is a split second decision. And sometimes they get it wrong. I don’t want to be in their shoes.

Like the African American community, Jews have not always felt safe. Not in the Old Country and not here in America. Recent events in places like Overland Park and Lombard, Illinois add to the unease.

This week I also had a conversation with a downtown Elgin business owner. He, together with Congregation Kneseth Israel, put in a window display celebrating Chanukah. He graciously offered. We accepted. But I felt I had to have a hard conversation with him. Did he feel at risk displaying something so overtly Jewish? He did not.

There are two stories tonight. One called The Trees of the Dancing Goats, where Patricia Polacco spins a tale of hope. Everyone in the farming community in Michigan has scarlet fever except the Jewish family. They wind up helping with this strange custom of cutting down pine trees and decorating them. They take a holiday meal—a Christmas supper and a tree to each of their neighbors. Each tree has a wooden, hand carved animal ornament. Each family is able to enjoy Christmas. At the end of the quarantine period, each family returns the favor. The animal ornaments come back to Patricia’s family and everyone, Jewish and not Jewish celebrates the last night of Chanukah together.

The second story is called the Christmas Menorahs, How a Town Fought Hate. In Billings, Montana someone through a rock through a Jewish family’s window during Chanukah. Simply because they were Jews. The town’s response is that everyone put a menorah in their windows, much like the non-Jews of Denmark who all wore Jewish stars during the Nazi occupation.

It is stories like this that bring me hope. I am hopeful after meeting with Congressman Roskam, Mayor Kaptain and Chief Swoboda. Our country is not perfect. But it remains better than most. After this week, I am hopeful that our communities can rise above hate and violence. For me that is the gift of Chanukah.

Hope seems to be the theme of this year. I remember fondly racing home from school to Chanukah dinners of latkes with pot roast or sauerbraten and applesauce. Never sour cream. It was part of our German Jewish heritage. But my people came to this country really early. In the 1840s, not the 1940s. Tonight’s story is from Eight Tales for Eight Nights, by the consummate storytellers, Peninnah Schram and Steven M. Rosman. It is a Holocaust tale.

“Many years ago, our town was the nicest place to live. Trees lined the streets and wooden carts filled with fruit and vegetables stood by the curbs. On Thursday nights, we would go to the bakery and buy the challahs that had just emerged from the brick ovens. We always bought three challas, two to eat on Shabbos and one to eat on the way home. Fresh from the oven, it was so sweet and warm it seemed to melt on our tongues. I studied violin with Mr. Solomon. He was a kind man with chubby cheeks that would puff up and push his eyes closed whenever he smiled. Mr. Solomon thought that I might grow up to be a great violinist, if only I would practice more. But I did not like to practice. One day, the Nazi soldiers came to our town…

One Thursday evening we were all on our way to the bakery, Mama and Papa and my little sister Necha. ‘What’s that?’ cried Papa suddenly…I ran before Mama could grab me and when I got to the bakery, I stopped short. There was broken glass everywhere, the little pieces glistening in the moonlight like crystals. All the cakes had been thrown off the shelves. The challahs had been torn to pieces and strewn throughout the shop…

The Monsters in Black Boots built a high wall around our town and locked us in with a huge iron gate. Then the trucks started coming, bringing Jews from smaller neighboring towns….Chanukah was coming. We used to have big parties and invite our friends. Mama would bake kugel and fry latkes and Papa would organize dreidle games…Oh how we loved that dreidle game. But this year there would be no party. There would be no dreidle game. There would be no celebrations of any kind…I sat at my bedroom window and looked into the night sky. It was very dark. There was no moon and no stars. The street was bleak and deserted. The Nazis had ordered the streetlights to be extinguished early. Papa opened the door…’What are you looking at,’ he whispered. He put his arm around me and I started to cry. ‘Sometimes things can look very dark and very frightening,’ he said softly, ‘But watch this.’ And he took a match out of his pocket. ‘Do you see how dark it is in this room?’ he asked. I nodded. ‘Well then, watch how one small match can chase away all the darkness.’ Papa struck the match against the wooden window sill. Suddenly a flame arose and danced on the match head. It cast its light across the whole room… ‘Tomorrow is Chanukah,’ said Papa. ‘We Jews have always believed in the power of light. Remember that our prophet Isaiah said that we were a light to the other nations of the world. Even one Jew who believes can chase the darkness of evil from the world. Antiochus was like these Nazis. He thought he could make us give up being Jews. He thought it would be easy to destroy us. But Judah Maccabee and his brothers believed in the strength of our people. Judah and the other Maccabees were only one small candle against the darkness of Antiochus’s whole army. But they chased the wicked Antiochus away, just like this match I am holding chases the darkness from this room. Every time a Jew lights a candle, as we do on Chanukah, we chase away some of the evil in the world.’ Papa hugged me and left the room. But he left something behind. I could feel the thin stick next to me on the bed. When I picked it up, I saw it was a match. It felt like a magic wand in my hand. As long as I had it, I could banish darkness and defeat the demons of the world…The next day the deportations began. We were herded into trucks like cattle. The Monsters in Black Boots uses sticks and attack dogs to squeeze us into the trucks….

It was evening. I could see the darkness through a crack in the wooden wall of the train. ‘Rabbi,’ I said, ‘It is erev Chanukah. Shouldn’t we say the blessings and sing Ma’oz Tzur?’ ‘Where is the menorah to kindle?’ asked the rabbi. ‘And what miracle shall we ask G-d for?’…Seeing the desperation in my eyes, Mama reached into her pocket for the small stick of butter she had taken when we were deported. I broke off a piece and made my way back to where the rabbi lay against the wall. In my pocket was the match Papa had given me the night before. With one short scrape against the wood, the flame arose and danced on the match head. As I held the flame to the butter it began to melt and the fat dripped into the well I had made in the potato. I placed my shoelace in the potato like a candle wick and used the dying match flame to light the lace. ‘Rabbi,’ I cried. ‘Here is your menorah.’…There we were, prisoners herded onto the train of the Monster. Yet that night, the spirit of Chanukah rocked the train. I looked at Papa. ‘One candle can defeat all the darkness,’ I said. Papa smiled at me and pulled me close to him. My one candle had banished all the darkness in our lives that night. And for many dark nights to come, I kept the memory of that candle burning within me.”

One candle. The power of light. Hope. This is what Chanukah is all about. Peter Yarrow had it right in his song, Light One Candle:

Light one candle for the Maccabee children
Give thanks that their light didn’t die
Light one candle for the pain they endured
When their right to exist was denied

Light one candle for the terrible sacrifice
Justice and freedom demand
Light one candle for the wisdom to know
When the peacemaker’s time is at hand

Don’t let the light go out:
it’s lasted for so many years.
Don’t let the light go out:
let it shine through our love and our tears.

Light one candle for the strength that we need
to never become our own foe.
Light one candle for those who are suffering
the pain we learned so long ago.
Light one candle for all we believe in,
let anger not tear us apart.
Light one candle to bind us together,
with peace as the song in our heart.

What is the memory that’s valued so highly
that we keep it alive in that flame?
What’s the commitment to those who have died,
we cry out they’ve not died in vain?
We have come this far, always believing,
that justice will somehow prevail.
This is the burden and this is the promise
and this is why we will not fail.

Don’t let the light go out. (3x)

The celebration continues as we spend some time in Italy. Italy has a different menu for Chanukah, with Italian fried chicken and a risotto with raisins. My husband has consulted for Olivetti in Ivrea, Italy and learned about these dishes there. The chicken is light and moist marinated in lemon. It is something I look forward to all year since he will only make it once a year. The recipe is at the end of this story.

When the Second Temple was destroyed and the spoils carried off to Rome, the menorah from the Temple is shown on Titus’s Arch. This connection between Italy and the destruction of the Temple is what drives today’s story, again from Tami Lehman-Wilzig’s Hanukkah Around the World. It is set in Turin, Italy, where Simon and I attended services one Shabbat. We have fond memories of being invited back to the president’s home for lunch where his wife was very apologetic that the cook could only make left-overs. It was the first risotto I had tasted and it was…divine! We think often of that Shabbat in Torino and the discussions that happened in Italian, Hebrew, English, French that went on until Havdalah.

Now the story:

“Jacopo is feeling proud. He’s eight years old and for the first time, his father, Alberto, is taking him to the synagogue on the night before Tisha B’av. ‘We’re going to read a very sad story,’ explains Padre. ‘On the ninth day of the month of Av, the First and Second Temples in Jerusalem were destroyed, but we end the reading with a feeling of hope.’ Padre pauses, then asks, ‘Do you have our candle?’ Jacopo nods, digging deep into his right pocket to make sure the candle hasn’t fallen out. Padre told him they are going to do something special with it. He can’t wait. They wind their way to the synagogue of Piazzetta Primo Levi. It is a huge building with four onion shaped domes. Padre and Jacopo go into the side entrance, making their way down a narrow, semi-circular stairwell to a small chapel, decorated in blue and gold. Padre tells him it used to be the bakery where the community makde its Passover matzah.

Padre asks Jacopo for the candle. He puts it into a small candleholder, stands it on the floor, and then lights it.

‘Jacopo, come down on the floor next to me,’ says Padre, as he sits next to the candle. By candlelight Padre reads Eicha (the Book of Lamentations) to Jacopo. ‘Now blow out the candle,’ Padre whispers when he is finished. The Padre takes the burnt candle out of its holder and carefully wraps it in silver foil. He gives it to Jacopo to put back in his pocket. ‘What happens to the candle next?’ asks a surprised Jacopo…”.

What do you think happens to the candle?

Jacopo’s father explains “Tonight we mourn the destruction of the the Holy Temple but on Hanukkah we celebrate its rededication. The candle we just used will connect the two events. Tonight it is a sad candle, but it four months’ time it will be a happy one.”

That’s hope. That is the wild hope that I wrote about earlier this week. What brings you hope?

Riso coll’Uvetta (Rice with Raisins)

4 Tbl. olive oil
I small clove garlic, finely minced
I Tbl. freshly chopped Italian parsley
11⁄2 cups shortgrain rice
1⁄2 cup dark, seedless raisins
1
⁄2 teaspoon salt
3 cups hot broth or water
Black pepper

Heat the oil in a large skillet. Add garlic, parsley, and rice. Cook over high heat, stirring with a wooden spoon, until garlic begins to discolor. Add raisins and salt. Add hot broth or water, 1⁄4 cup at a time, and continue to cook, uncovered, over high heat until rice is done—about 15 minutes in all. Taste for salt and pepper and add it necessary. Serve hot or at room temperature. Serves 6.

Riso coll’Uvetta is an ancient Venetian dish prepared mainly during Chanukah. It has an interesting taste, but is not for every palate.

Simon Klein (from The Classic Cuisine of the Italian Jews, by Edda Servi Machlin)

Pollo Fritto per Chanuka (Fried Chicken for Chanukah)

1 small frying chicken, cut into pieces
11⁄2 tsp. salt
1⁄2 tsp. freshly ground pepper
1⁄4 tsp. nutmeg
1⁄2 tsp. garlic salt
juice of 1 lemon
o
live oil
1⁄2 cup flour
2 eggs slightly beaten
1 lemon cut in wedges

Sprinkle chicken evenly with salt, pepper, nutmeg and garlic salt. Place in a bowl with lemon juice and 2 Tbl. olive oil and set aside in refrigerator or several hours or overnight. Toss to ensure even marinating

Heat one cup of oil in large skillet or Dutch oven. Roll the chicken in flour and dip in egg. Fry in hot oil over high heat for 1 or 2 minute. Lower heat and fry for 15 minutes until pieces are golden but not brown and chicken does not juice pink. Serve with lemon wedges and risotto with raisins.

Simon Klein (from The Classic Cuisine of the Italian Jews)

One of my favorite memories Chanukah was rushing home after school in the dark Evanston nights. We would gather around the dinner table and light the candles. We would have fried food from some country or other because Jews around the world celebrate Chanukah. And then my father would read. Often from a little book by Isaac Bashevis Singer, Zlateh the Goat. Or from the Wise Men of Chelm. I still think of the story of diamonds, I mean snow, every first snowfall.

This year, because my congregation is celebrating Jews Around the World as part of our diversity, I thought I would retell a story. The first one is from Hanukkah Around the World by Tami Lehman-Wilzig. Her first story is from Modi’in, Israel, where the Macabees were born.

“’Come here, I have something to show you.’ Orly’s mother calls to her daughter. Orly enters the living room and sits down next o her mother who is looking at an old family album. She points to a photo of a young girl holding a lit torch, standing with a group of seven boys and girls. “That’s Savta Raba, your great grandmother. The caption says, ‘Hanukkah 1943.’ The relay from Modi’in to Jerusalem started five years before Israel became a state. And Savta Rab was the first one to carry the torch.’ Orly stares at the old black and white photo. “Wow! And this year I’m carrying the torch,’ she whispers. Ima hugs Orly, ‘And you’re carrying on a family tradition. When I visited Savta Raba and told her you were chosen to lead the Hanukkah relay, she gave me this album, so you could see her photo.’ The doorbell rings. ‘Come on in.’ Orly calls to her friend Anat. ‘Look at this!’ Orly opens the album and tells Anat the story. ‘Cool!’ says Anat. She looks at her watch. “Oh, it’s 3:15. We have to run. Today they’re taking us to where the relay begins and showing us the route. We’re starting near the graves of the Maccabees.’

In a flash, the two are out the door. Seconds later Orly flies back in panting. ‘Ima can I take the photo? I want to show it to Avi, my youth group leader.’ Orly’s mother carefully removes the photo and puts it in an envelope. ‘Just don’t lose it!’ she says.

Each day after school, Orly and Anat practice running to build up their stamina. One day, Ima gets a call from Avi with a special request. After seeing the old photo, he’s had an idea….”

Can anyone guess what the idea is? Any other ideas of unique ways to celebrate Chanukah in Israel? They include—this relay race from Modi’in to Jerusalem. Last year we ran a similar thing in Elgin, tied to Chanukah and Thanksgiving. I hope we can do it again next year. They use a dreidle (sivivon) that has a peh instead of a shin, because “A great miracle happened here (ooh)”, not there (sham). In 1958, the Bank of Israel began to make a special coin for Chanukah, a unique Chanukah gelt. Each year’s coin features a different country. This year, if you were in Israel you could go to an exhibit at the Bank of Israel to celebrate all the Chanukah gelt they have minted through the years. http://www.israel21c.org/nostalgia-israel/coins-of-israel-ancient-and-new/   And in Israel, they don’t eat latkes, they eat sufganiyot, jelly donuts, since they are fried in oil. Sometimes my family eats falafel instead of sufganiyot!

They tell me that when writing a blog only one organization should be spotlighted. But that is not the way my life works. Sunday was a remarkable day. At the synagogue we had 80 people for the annual Men’s Club prepared Latke Lunch. The Sisterhood Chanukah bazaar was in full swing (and I am told did very nicely). Hebrew School and Torah School enjoyed singing Chanukah songs and prelighting the menorah so everyone is ready. The parents met about fundraising. It was a full, busy, active, vibrant place. Just the kind of community we are trying to create.

In the sanctuary there was a meeting with Rabbi Ari Moffic to discuss the December Dilemma. Now for me, and I think maybe many, December is an opportunity to celebrate. To celebrate many things. To enjoy many things. For me there is no dilemma and no struggle. Many, however, are uncomfortable with the dominant position that Christmas has taken. Not going to lie. Not going to pretend any more. I like Christmas. The lights, the trees, the music, the presents, the food, the family. It doesn’t make me any less Jewish that my neighbors and some of my family celebrate Christmas. December 24^th will find me up north with 30 of my relatives. Celebrating Chanukah and Christmas. With menorahs and a tree. Latkes and turkey. Gelt and stockings and Santa. I even bless his sleigh (it is in other duties as described, and he waits for me every year to recite Tefilat Haderech).

For me it is not a conflict. It is the way my family has always done it—as Jews, as long as anyone can remember, all the way back to Germany in the 1840s. Well, not the sleigh part, that only happened after I became a rabbi.

So for me, there is no dilemma. A December Dialogue, a December Discussion, a December Delight maybe!

What Rabbi Moffic did was help us clarify what our values are at this season. And something she said really resonated. She talked about how Jews are people of wild hope. They have to be. For 2000 years, Jews hoped to have a land. For 2000 years they celebrated Chanukah wherever they went. She talked about optimism and joy. And hope. HaTikvah. The hope. A light to the nations because without Chanukah, there would be no Christmas.

Then after the Latke Lunch, my husband and I drove into Skokie to the Illinois Holocaust Museum to hear Ruth Messenger speak about the role of American Jewish World Service. As usual she was great. She talked about how AJWS is present in 19 countries. How AJWS was amongst the first to be on the front lines of Haiti, of Darfur, after the tsunami and more recently with Ebola. Everywhere AJWS goes they spread hope. Hope leads to action. It is like the Edmund Flegg quote, “I am a Jew because at every time despair cries out, the Jew hopes.” And that is very the hope leads to action. That’s what led me to start my celebration of Chanukah at Representative Peter Roskam’s office on behalf of American Jewish World Service asking for support of the International Violence Against Women Act. That combination of hope and action is what makes me proud to be an American Jewish World Service Global Justice fellow.

After Chanukah, the bulletin board in the foyer of the synagogue will be changed. We will focus on Martin Luther King, jr. as part of the national day of service. Our social action chairperson, Elise, told me that she already has the bulletin board planned out. It will include a Martin Luther King quote about hope. Perhaps it is this one. “Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”

These are the values that I choose to emphasize at Chanukah. Hope. Light. Love. So thank you, Ari, Ruth and Elise for helping realize what I am rededicating myself to this holiday season.

What a week. A week of deep connections. On Shabbat we read the perhaps the most challenging parshas, portions in the Torah, the rape of Dinah and her brothers’ revengeful response. This was also the week that The Red Tent was broadcast on Lifetime, based on Anita Diamant’s book about Dinah. What do we really know about Dinah? There are only four verses that tell the story. The Red Tent is 352 pages. It is a modern midrash and it teaches us much about what women’s spirituality might have been like—and even more about what we might like today as women for the deep connections between women. That is why the book resonated so much. That is why Lifetime made it into a rather steamy love story.

The rabbis are not kind to Dinah. As Rabbi Jill Hammer pointed out in her AJR D’var Torah this week, Dinah went out, the Bible says, using the same verb to describe Jacob who also went out. When Jacob went out he had a wonderful, mystical experience of the Divine. He put his head on a rock and dreamed of a ladder with angels ascending and descending. He said that G-d was in this place and he did not know it. Dinah was raped.

Some of the rabbis say that when she went out she was looking for something or someone. Maybe she was “coquettish.” Is this a blame the victim moment? Others argue no. It is because she was related to Esau, the hunter, who liked to go out. Neither works for me.

Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav says that we should “go out” to find G-d in the wilderness. He wrote a beautiful prayer. Debbie Friedman translated it this way: “You are the One, for this I pray, that I may have the strength to be alone. To see the world, to stand among the trees and all the living things. That I may stand alone and offer prayers and talk to You. You are the One to whom I do belong.”

I want that wilderness experience of G-d too. I want to experience G-d one on one in the beauty of nature. Why should I, as a woman be denied? Why should I be afraid?

Rape is wrong. Period. Blaming the victim, or her ancestors is wrong. Period. Violence is wrong. Period.

A question had come up earlier in the week—is revenge ever a spiritual response? Is that a legitimate response to terrorism? To rape? I think I understand the desire for revenge, but I don’t think that it ultimately helps. The Bible teaches “Vengeance is Mine”, says G-d. So Simon and Levi who led the revenge of Dinah, defending her honor by circumcising and killing the men of Shechem, it must have been wrong. It seems to say so, as one congregant pointed out when the tribes of Simon and Levi are blessed differently in the book of Exodus. Perhaps this seeking of revenge Is one of those sins that continues from generation to generation?

As another congregant pointed out, you cannot forgive if you don’t feel safe. That was the conclusion of my rabbinic thesis too.

So after talking about Dinah and her brother’s revenge (just where was Jacob, Dinah’s father? Why is he silent? How can he remain silent in the face of the unspeakable done to his only daughter? I’ll come back to that), I got on a plane to fly to Los Angeles for a Wellstone Training as part of my American Jewish World Service Global Justice Fellowship.

American Jewish World Service is in the middle of a campaign called “We Believe”, http://webelieve.ajws.org about stopping violence against women, girls and the LGBT community. They have discovered through working with their grantees in 19 “Global South” countries that they cannot help the grantees deliver the services to reduce poverty unless they solve this issue first.

The same could be said of the work we do here in the States as well. That is part of why I serve on the 16^th Circuit Court Faith Committee on Domestic Violence. That is part of why I wrote my thesis on the 13 Attributes of the Divine and even though G-d forgives most sins, there are some sins that G-d does not forgive to the 3^rd and 4^th generation.

Violence against women and girls is wrong. Period. Rape is wrong. Period. Hate crimes against the LGBT community is wrong. Period. Child marriage is wrong. Period. Violence is wrong. Period.

American Jewish World Service makes real the values the Torah portion teaches. Not thousands of years ago. Not yesterday. But today. Now.

For two days we learned how to take our Jewish values and use them to organize and mobilize. Our families. Our friends. Our communities. We learned how interconnected we really are. We learned how to listen deeply to people’s stories. We learned about the Wellstone Triangle (grassroots organizing, policy, and decision makers) and how that relates to Al Shlosha Devarim, on three things the world stands, on Torah (values, policy), on service (decision makers) and on gemilut chasadim, acts of lovingkindness (grassroots organizing) and the fact that you need all three. We learned about concentric circles (individual, communal and institutional) of change. We learned AJWS Model of Social Change Hierarchy. We learned about the difference between transactional relationships and deep relationships. It takes building connections between people. We learned about humility.

We talked about when we felt powerless and when we felt powerful. We talked about how we can be more powerful as part of a connected group. We talked about the Talmudic mandate to speak up when we see injustice.

We saw the importance of our hands—reaching out to one another, receiving hugs, working for justice. In my own d’var Torah yesterday, I told Rabbi Larry Kushner’s story from the Book of Miracles about the Hands of G-d. In terms of connectedness, he was Anita Diamant’s rabbi in Sudbury. I talked about Mayyim Hayyim’s commitment to helping victims of violence heal. That was one reason Anita founded Mayyim Hayyim. How one of the seven steps of preparation for going to the mikveh is to look at your own hands and figure out how you will use them for justice, for Tikkun Olam. I cautioned that those very same hands could be like the hands of Simon and Levi and be used for (well-meaning) revenge. At the closing circle, we each took each others’ hands and promised to use our hands to support one another and the work that we do in our own communities.

For me, the connections were powerful and deep. I am excited to return to Elgin and continue the work that I am doing. If you want to help, begin by using your hands to sign AJWS’s petition to pass IVAWA, the International Violence Against Women Act to be reintroduced into the next Congress. Do it for Anita and the Red Tent and Mayyim Hayyim. Do it for Dinah. Do it for all our matriarchs. Do it for all our daughters. Do it for me. Just do it. http://webelieve.ajws.org

For four weeks I have been in the other room, the library,the chapel, in the alternative, experiential, experimental service. It has given our lay leaders an opportunity to work on their davvening skills and they have done a great job. We have had lay leaders give d’vrei Torah, and they have taught us well. From each of them I have learned something and for that I am grateful.

Each week in the other room, we have learned something too. Our conversations have sparkled. Our discussions have been graced with the presence of G-d. The conversations have been enriching and illuminating. From time to time they gave me goosebumps.

What were we doing in there? We were discussing why we pray and what we want out of a prayer experience. For some it was simple. Praying is an opportunity to praise G-d, to give thanks. For others it is an opportunity to slow down and let the words wash over them in a meditative way. For others it is the chance to achieve some sense of balance.

We talked about three different kinds of prayer: praise, petition and thanksgiving.

We wrestled with some Hebrew and learned that Siddur Sim Shalom doesn’t always translate accurately. For instance in the Hoda’ot, the prayer of Thanksgiving which starts Modim Ananchu Lach, the translation says “We proclaim that you are the Lord…” More accurately it says “We thank to You.” Or in smoother English, “We give thanks to You,” Or “We gratefully acknowledge….” That sense of thanksgiving permeates our worship.

Every time we say a blessing, “Baruch Atah Adonai,” we are giving thanks, even if it is hard to do, Baruch Atah Adonai….yotzer or, who forms light, uvorei hoshech, and creates darkness, oseh shalom, who makes peace, uvorei et hakol and creates all things. Really, G-d creates all things? Does that mean G-d creates evil? Even if we are not comfortable with that, our tradition seems to answer yes.

Or “Baruch Dayan Ha-emet, blessed is the true Judge” which we recite upon hearing of someone’s death. This conversation spilled over on a Sunday morning. Some of my students wrestled with saying blessings for bad things. What would you say if you spilled something and it stained your clothes? Their answer: “Blessed are you for laundry detergent.” Or if you bit into an apple and found a worm? “Blessed are you for giving us worms to enrich the earth.”

Even, dare I say it, snow can be a blessing. While the rabbis have a blessing for rain and even for hail, they miss having one for snow. There is Hebrew for snow, shelig and it is mentioned in the Psalms. This week snow fell on Mount Hermon. There is a great picture online of IDF soldiers training in the snow and having fun. So our students write blessings for snow. “Blessed are You who gives us snow in its seasons—who provides hot chocolate and snow days, who gives us delight, and laughter.” Worried about driving, the kids have you covered too. “Who taught us about salt and provides strength to shovel and plow.”

This is an important lesson. It teaches our students that they can pray from the heart. It teaches us that we can too.

When we spoke about the difference between keva, the fixed structure of the service and kavanah, the intention behind the words, one student said she would be worried that she wouldn’t say the right words, that she would get it wrong. I think many of us feel that way and are afraid to pray, “off the book.” We worry that we have to say the words just so or we have to “davven”, pray, in Hebrew or that we have to say every word in the prayer book in order for it to count.

The Chassidic rabbis teach us about prayer. About the little boy who didn’t know any Hebrew. There are at least two versions of this story. In one case he took out a chalil, a flute, and blew a note. The congregants were aghast. He was violating the sanctity of the sanctuary; he was violating Shabbat; it was an affront to G-d. The rebbe assured them that his note, with that pure kavanah, intention behind it, propelled all of their prayers to heaven. In the other version the kid is saying the aleph bet. Aleph bet vet, aleph bet vet, and in his head he is saying, “Lord I don’t know the way to pray, but you can take the letters and assemble them into the words.”

The Chassidic rebbes teach us about joy. It is OK to sing. It is OK to dance. Just watch the young yeshiva boys coming down from the Old City of Jerusalem into the Western Wall plaza on a Friday night to welcome Shabbat. Their dancing is filled with joy.

We learned that we speak to G-d through our prayers and that G-d can speak to us through the words of Torah. Or through that still small voice that Elijah heard. We learned that we can pray in Hebrew or in whatever language we understand best.

And each week there was something to learn about the nature of prayer from the Torah itself.

• In Genesis Chapter 14, we learned that a non-Israelite, King Melchizedek of Salem, a priest, a cohain, of the Most High, El Elyon, brought out bread and wine (sound familiar?) Baruch Avram L’El Elyon, Blessed be Abram of G-d most high, Creator of Heaven and Earth, And blessed be God most High, who has delivered your foes into your hand. When we say in the Avot prayer, “Magain Avraham, the Shield of Abraham, that language comes from the Torah, this very portion when G-d says, “Fear not, I am a shield to you, Anochi Magain Lach.”

• We learned that because Abraham argued with G-d, that we need to have at least 10 people in a minyan. This is the minimum number needed to have a sacred community. And we questioned whether we really need a minyan if it is OK to pray on our own. And so we learned that on the other hand, according to Pirke Avot, even if two people discuss Torah, G-d is present.

• We learned that each person has a different experience of prayer, of G-d, that we have Shacharit because Abraham got up early in the morning. Mincha, because Isaac mediated in the field and Ma’ariv because Jacob was a dreamer and when he awoke he said, “God was in this place and I did not know it.” In the words of Mishkan Tefilah, “Our ancestors prayed, each through their own experience of God, each through their own visions which we have come to share. Abraham with the fervor of justice, pleaded the cause of cities. Sarah, in the pain of waiting, dared to hope for new life. Isaac, meditating alone in the field, lifted his eyes to find love. Rebecca asked for the ability to discern God’s call. Jacob climbed the rungs of his night into heaven, seeking destiny. Leah dreamed of love; and Rachel sought harmony. We as they seek God’s presence.” Richard Levy in Mishkan Tefilah.

• We learned that G-d comforted Abraham after his circumcision, and thus we learned that we should visit the sick—and that we can pray for healing. We learned that sometimes, G-d comes in the presence of a messenger thus we should welcome guests and be kind to the stranger. And that each messenger has just one function. So that three angels, messengers can to visit Abraham. And Abraham rushed to serve them. Then two went to Sodom and Gemorrah.

• We learned the root of the word Baruch, berekh which really means kneel. So that when the camels kneel, they are not really blessing Isaac!

As part of the prayer experience, we learned that G-d remembered (zachor) Rachel. Why? What does it mean to remember? The same verb is used about G-d remembering Noah. How do we compare Rachel to Noah. G-d remembered Noah too. What does this mean about our own prayers?

Does it differ from G-d took note of? This is the ‘pakad’ of Sarah. G-d took note, pakad Sarah.

Sometimes these kinds of questions, the deep reading of the text may seem like just a word game. But I don’t think so. I think it is what enriches our prayer experience and brings us closer to G-d, which is something that I at least want out of prayer.

Just before Thanksgiving, our small group discussed the difference between thankful and grateful. A careful reading and a great discussion that extended into Kiddush, the social hour after services led us to conclude that there is a difference. I always thought they were synonyms. One person sees grateful as internal and thankful as reaching out or being active.

An internet search suggests maybe It seems we use grateful to talk about how we feel when someone is kind to us or does us a favor: for instance, when writing a thank you note you might say, “Thank you for the meal your brought to us when we were sick. We are so grateful.” Or “I would be grateful if you would send me information on your company for a school project.” Or we use thankful when we are relieved that something unpleasant or dangerous didn’t happen. After an accident for instance someone might say, “There was some damage to the car but I am thankful that there were no injuries.” That might be the sense the Puritans had. They were thankful to have survived the winter and that they had food from the harvest.”

I am grateful for the opportunity to play with these words, to think deeply about prayer, to watch with delight as our conversations sparkle. And to hope that G-d will remember and take note of us today.

Yesterday I wrote about why I am thankful. Or grateful. I’ll never think about that the same way again.

But it didn’t go far enough for me. It is easy to say I am thankful for life, for family, for friends, for food, for shelter, for heat, for clothing, for health. But there is so much more. For Creation. For nature. For education. For employment.

Each one of those could be paragraphs.

For life—I understand how fine that line is between life and death. I could have been killed in the attack in Israel or in the car accident on the West Side Highway. Therefore I have an obligation to give thanks and to make sure my life matters. I try hard not to be bitter and to live every day to its fullest. Sarah said I should open a bottle of champagne every day and remember to say Shehechianu. I don’t always but I try to say, “Modah Ani Lefanecha” when I wake up. Thank You, G-d. I am still here. I am still alive.

For family—my “nuclear family” of Simon and Sarah. So proud of how Sarah is navigating the complicated world of being an adult, making real choices, living in California. I miss her tremendously today but I am thankful also for cell phones and Skype. The traditions continue. Just differently. Simon keeps me grounded and humble. Even when I get frustrated. Even when I am stressed. I don’t always say it. It is simple. I love him. My wide extended family that includes Simon’s kids, Anna, Richard and Gabrielle, their spouses, Bob and Edgar kids, Madeline, Spencer and Sophia. They have taught me much and make me laugh. My brother, Danny, his wife Darcy, niece and nephew, Nelle and Buddy. My cousins, Laurie, Amy, and Meg and spouses and kids, Simon’s family, Fred and Tricia, Don and Marsha, Laura and their kids and kids. Simon’s cousins. Where else can I feel like a perfect 10.

For friends—I have a lot of them. Apparently more than most. I am “attached”. I could not have gotten through rabbinical school without each of them. Not just rabbinical school Life. High School. College, Beyond. I am thankful for Facebook which keeps us in contact. The “little people”—baristas, hair dressers, massage therapists, Molly Maids. Then there are the really good friends. Friends for a lifetime that I can call in the middle of the night—or from some road or other. If I start naming them I will miss someone but especially today Beryl, Marylin, Lisette, Linda, Amy, David, Jack, Larry. Friends at the Academy—Linda, Katy, Anne, Ziona, Lisa, Michael, again too many to count. And new friends Don, David, Keith. And many, many at Congregation Kneseth Israel. I guess that means I am thankful for my cell phone. Oh yes, you bet. And I think maybe T-Mobile fixed mine today. I am thankful for Ozzie at T-Mobile, and Fred at T-Mobile in Nashua.

For food. It is no secret that I like to eat. I like lots of food. Even vegetables. An Alef Bet of them. Asparagus, Artichokes, avocado, Brussels sprouts, cucumbers, corn, fennel, leeks, mushrooms, pumpkin, spinach, tomatoes (OK a fruit). You get the idea. I like the variety, the colors, the spice. I like cooking. I like going to the farmer’s market and picking out the perfect, in-season something. I LOVE steak, potato and asparagus. I love the perfect cup of coffee. I love having conversations over dinner and discussing the issues of the day. And I love the fact that I have a great Weight Watchers leader, Terra, who keeps me in check and reminds me it is not just about the food. It is a lifestyle. And her optimism, her encouragement and her self-love makes all the difference. And I know that not everyone has enough to eat. We have enough food in the world. G-d does provide as the Birkat Hamazon says, we need to learn to distribute it better.

For shelter—I love our new house. We’ve been here a year now in this location. We haven’t spent much time decorating but all the stuff we had crammed in our condo looks great here. We have built in bookcases everywhere and a palatial master bath that is almost embarrassing. We have a big deck that made figuring out how to put up a sukkah more complicated but we did it! We are right next to the wetlands so the sound of birds greets us. Simon put in a large vegetable garden. If I call you and say I live in a cornfield, don’t necessarily believe me although they are in walking distance, as are the cows, and the river. Simon thinks we live in a forest on the edge of the prairie. Not really forest either. But it is beautiful. The sun is shining through the windows with snowflakes flurrying. We have plenty of room. Come visit. Again, I realize that not everyone is as lucky as us.

For heat. This has been a cold year. The coldest November on record in Chicagoland. Snow for Passover, Yom Kippur, Halloween and now Thanksgiving flurries. Again, we are lucky. I am relieved that the cost of gas is coming down. I think we must continue to work on issues of climate change. We have heat. So many do not.

For clothing—Sometimes I can’t figure out what to wear. I am between sizes and that is a good thing. But I have a new winter coat and plenty of hats and scarves and gloves (thank you Roberts Family and Echo!). I have shoes and pants, dresses and skirts, shirts and blazers. Dressy clothes, business clothes, casual clothes, painting clothes, athletic clothes.

For health—This is a big one. I am again lucky. I am relatively healthy. Sure, I could be more healthy if I could lose more weight. I am thankful for scientists who work on research that produce medications that help keep me healthy. I am thankful for doctors who are skilled and smart and compassionate. For nurses. For therapists be they PhDs, social workers, psychologists, physical, occupational, respiratory, massage. All them help keep all of us healthy. I am especially grateful for Leslie, for Marian, for Heather, for David, for Dorothea. I am thankful that I can run again. That I can walk without pain. That I can be outside in creation and enjoy praising G-d in that way. Rebbe Nachman of Bratslav counseled that we should be outdoors for an hour each day, just walked. Henry David Thoreau thought four hours would be ideal. I may not have four hours and some days even an hour seems hard to find. My doctors, my nurses, my medications and my exercise keep me healthy. I am thankful.

For Creation. For nature—How can we not be amazed and awed at the beauty of Creation? How can we not work to protect it? A sunset. A sunrise. A mountain peak. An ocean view. Or a lake. A walk in the woods or through the prairie. For the variety of animals. I can even be thankful—and this is a stretch—for mosquitos. As the song says, “All G-d’s creatures got a place in the choir.”

For education—I am who I am because my parents believed in education. I read early. I devoured books. I learned the importance of asking good questions. For Oakton Elementary, for Breton Downs, East Grand Rapids Middle School, East Grand Rapids High School, Tufts University, Hebrew College and the Academy for Jewish Religion. For teachers and administrators. Guidance counselors and librarians. Coaches and leaders and advisors. For classes and books and extra-curricular activities. Sometimes I learned more from the “extras” than from the classes themselves. “Much I have learned from my teachers, even more from my colleagues and the most from my students.” (Ta’anit 7a) I am grateful to all.

For employment—This is the biggest one this week. I have a job I love. Sure some days the hours are long. Sure there are days I complain. But I have found a job where I can make a difference in the world and maybe even more importantly in the lives of individual people. I have congregants who take their Judaism seriously. Who wrestle with tough issues. Who engage with their tradition deeply. Who ask hard questions. Who want to be mensches. Who want to be a partner with their rabbi. It is exactly what I was looking for when I went into the rabbinate.

This Thanksgiving, I have a lot to be thankful for as well as grateful. What are you thankful for?