A little little drop…

candle flameI’m here. Alone. Almost everything was destroyed by the war. I have nothing to do but wait. Hope. And, though opposite to my nature, pray. Silence is all round me. And seems to bear not so good news. Then suddenly I hear them. Steps on the ground. Songs. Happy and joyful exclamations to G-d. I would like so much to be part of this special moment. But I cannot move.
They could do it. The Maccabees won. That small and brave group of fighters could overcome the enemy. Those non Jews who wanted to destroy the Jewish nation physically annihilating it spiritually. They won against those people, part of their own nation, who saw in the Hellenization of their tradition, in assimilation and furthering from religion, a way for modernity and emancipation.
They could do it. And now they are celebrating. In their typical Jewish way of doing it. No heavy drinks or revenge shouting. Only run to the Sanctuary with one sole intention. To relight and give again life to that candelabra called Menorah which light is stronger than walls and barriers and arrives to make brighter the exterior world.
I can see them. Looking for a small bottle oil still sealed and pure. They could use the open one, they are in war after all. And there are special laws for these tough periods. But they don’t want. To compromise with Law. After all these fights against those who wished to erase their tradition, their Torah, their soul, they are not ready to loosen the rules. They fought until now for showing they do not want to bend G-d’s will to human comforts.
“Finally!” shouts a man while taking me in his hands and making me see the light after a long period during which I was hidden here. “A pure oil bottle!” And everyone runs towards us. They touch me, they turn me in their hands, they check me. And then they all agree. “It’s pure” they announce. They pour me drop by drop, paying attention not to waste anything of me, in the Menorah.
“It will last for only one day” they sadly say.
But G-d, who sits there above just waiting for a sign of love from one of His sons, is giving me life hour after hour.
“You are the flame of hope” whispers one of the Maccabees when he sees me still shining. “You are the symbol of the eternity of Judaism” says his brother drying the tears from his eyes.
After eight days my task in this world is coming to its end. I am going to extinguish and leaving the place to the new pure oil just produced.
While my flame is consuming its last dose of oxygen and air I want to thank G-d for this luck of mine. I was part of this story of a battle against evil won by good. I had the honor of bringing in the future centuries and years the Jewish hymn.
That reminds every day the power of a little little light. Able to fight the most mean and deep dark.

Happy Chanukà!
Gheula Canarutto Nemni

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