A Hanukkah ghost story

Hanukkah is the next great holiday, and I remember a story my mother shared many years ago when I was much younger.

My mother told me her story about a strange and wonderful miracle that happened during the height of the Depression. She remembered her grandfather, a little bearded ancient man who came to the door of their poverty-stricken farmhouse one snowbound Hanukkah eve in the unforgiving month of December.

They had just finished lighting the Hanukkah candles, which were prominently placed in the window just above the old coal-burning pot-bellied stove, the only source of heat in their clapboard farmhouse. The window glass was frosted, and the warmth from the candles soon melted enough ice to allow her a glimpse of the starry sky, which seemed to her like the light of a million Hanukkah candles. She remembered to the day she died, the knock on the door. She recalled her mother saying that anyone out on a night like this must be cold and hungry. So, they welcomed him in, and he just smiled through his beard.

It was her dear grandfather, and with twinkling eyes, he rang a little silver bell, opened his backpack, and passed out rock candy to the children. Then he smiled again, rang his bell, and left without saying a word. No one knew why he had become a mute… some said it was things he had seen in his native Ukraine…things so terrible he no longer wanted to speak. Anyway, her children, his grandchildren, called him simply Zaide. Although it was not an American name, it eventually became the name by which he was known, even among the Gentiles who held him in great respect.

Not satisfied with sign language, years ago he began to communicate with a small silver bell…not on the Shabbat, of course, or any of the high holy days, but every day that it was permitted, he would ring it at parties, permitted holidays, and other occasions. He even visited the Gentiles for their weddings and rang the bell outside the church when the happy couple would rush to their car after the ceremony.

If anyone thought it strange that this old Jew was honoring them, they kept silent. While some members of the Jewish community sometimes tapped their heads and smiled, they always referred to him as a real mensch and landsman. Reb David knew that some people found him strange, but it never bothered him because all the children were enchanted by the bell and the sweets he would hand out.

A few days before Hanukkah, he had a terrible pain in his chest and took to his bed, waiting for it to pass. This was not the first time, and he always felt well again after a few hours. This time, however, it didn’t pass; the pain grew less, but he still felt unwell. Determined to bring joy to his grandchildren on Hanukkah, he walked to the candy store, as he usually did before every holiday, to purchase some cheap candy for the kids. He could see the pity in the clerk’s face as he scooped the candy into several neatly tied sacks and even added more than the few cents’ worth could buy. It didn’t matter to him; he felt peace and anticipation as he brought these small gifts to his beloved grandchildren.

And then, the first day of Hanukkah came in with a tremendous snowstorm, covering the roads with thick drifts and halting all traffic. He waited until it was almost evening, almost time to light the first candle, hoping that the snow would subside. Then, almost like his prayers had been answered, it stopped. The drifts were high, but he knew his old horse could make it through to the farmhouse, so, saddling his mount, he picked up his pack of candies.

They began the journey together, but soon the cold snuck in, making his old horse stumble. The horse lay on its side, like a beached whale, and he realized that his faithful companion had died and pinned his leg under it. At that moment, the biting cold no longer bothered him; in fact, it felt warm. And then he knew; he was dying. In the old country, it was said that when the snow and cold feel warm, it was almost over.

His only regret was not being able to deliver the sweets to his grandchildren. Exhausted, he managed to ring the silver bell until it fell from his frozen fingers, and sleep took him. In the morning, he was found, and they said his face had a contented smile. When they opened his backpack, they found no sweets; somehow, in that magical moment, he had delivered them to the children, fulfilling the role of Zaide one last time.

From that day on, the bell took on a new meaning; it became a symbol of love, sacrifice, and the enduring spirit of family, echoing through the years during every Hanukkah gathering, reminding us that the most incredible gifts come from the heart, even if they are not always wrapped in ribbons or bows.