The Menorah Cleaner by Jennifer Wilck

If you look through my window during December, you will see lots of light. That’s because we celebrate Hanukkah, the 8-day Jewish holiday celebrating the victory of the small Maccabean army over the Greek-Syrian army and the rededication of the Second Temple in Jerusalem.

To commemorate the holiday, we light candles, one each night, in a menorah. By the end of the eight days, the entire menorah is lit, providing a warm glowing light that is beautiful to see.

As a child, I lit a menorah my grandparents bought me on their trip to Israel. And my parents lit the menorah my mom used as a child. Both were silver (or silver-looking), although I always thought mine was prettier (sorry, Mom).

When my husband and I got married, we were given a silver and brass one as a wedding gift. This was our first joint menorah and held special meaning for the two of us. But that didn’t mean we wanted to abandon the ones we used as children, and so we lit three—mine described above, ours described here, and a wooden one my husband had made.

And then we had children. When the girls were little, they had baby menorahs—one had a Winnie-the-Pooh and the other had a dog (the candles were on the back of the dog). As they got older, they outgrew their childish ones and purchased menorahs in Israel when they visited. So, each year, we added more menorahs to our collection.

At some point, as the “menorah cleaner,” I grew tired of having so many to clean. Getting wax out of intricate designs is difficult, especially when you’re trying not to damage the menorah. My time was limited, and life was moving fast. So, at different times, I put limits on how many we would light.

And then they left for college. Because Hanukkah falls at different times of the year, sometimes, the girls celebrated at school, and they wanted menorahs that were “dorm safe.” So, they received electric menorahs.

At this point, I’m thrilled they want to continue celebrating with us. And I’ve given up on limiting the number of menorahs they use. The chance to be together as a family, to see the brightly colored candles and warm glow of the flames, and the knowledge that this tradition will continue with them through the years, makes me not care how many menorahs I have to clean.

I think that feeling is a little like what Benjamin’s grandmother feels in my Hanukkah novella, Waiting for A Miracle. She loves celebrating the holiday with her son and granddaughter. And she invites her single, next-door neighbor to join in the celebration—no one should celebrate alone. Over the glow of the candles, the savory taste of latkes (potato pancakes), and the sweet, flavored donuts, these four people learn that miracles can be found where you least expect them. All you need is time, faith, and each other.

Benjamin Cohen, widowed father of six-year-old Jessie, is doing his best to hold it together through order and routine. The last thing he needs is his matchmaker mother to set him up with her next door neighbor, no matter how attractive she is.

Rachel Schaecter's dream of becoming a foster mother is right within her grasp, until her meddlesome neighbor tries to set her up with her handsome son. What's worse? He's the father of her favorite kindergarten student! She can't afford to let anything come between her and her dream, no matter how gorgeous he may be.

Can these two determined people trust in the miracle of Hanukkah to let love and light into their lives?

Excerpt

Six-year-old bodies were good at many things— bouncing, hugging, and racing. Rachel was thankful they were also good at hiding her surprise. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine her favorite student, and her student’s father, would be at her neighbor’s house the same night she was invited to celebrate Hanukkah.

She met the hard gaze of Jessie’s father across the room. Eyes narrowed as if he suspected her reasons for being here. His broad shoulders were stiff. His jean-clad muscular legs were spread apart in a solid stance. Square hands fisted at his sides, and one of them held a menorah. Did he plan to throw it or club someone with it?

Giving Jessie a last pat, she rose. With an arm around Jessie, she extended her other hand to her father. “Happy Hanukkah.”

“Ms. Schaecter.”

“Mr. Cohen.”

“Oh, please,” Harriet said, “Such formality between you two. Rachel, this is my son Benny. I mean Benjamin.”

Benny. Rachel filed the information away for later, along with his flushed skin at the nickname. Interesting.

“And Benjamin, this is my neighbor, Rachel. We’re not at a school event. You can call each other by your first names.” Harriet pointed at Jessie, who gripped Rachel’s hand so hard, Rachel’s fingers lost their circulation. “Except for you,” Harriet added. “You have to call her Ms. Schaecter.”

Jessie giggled. “Yes, Grandma.”

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Jennifer Wilck is an award-winning contemporary romance author for readers who are passionate about love, laughter, and happily ever after. Known for writing both Jewish and non-Jewish romances, her books feature damaged heroes, sassy and independent heroines, witty banter and hot chemistry. Jennifer’s ability to transport the reader into the scene, create characters the reader will fall in love with, and evoke a roller coaster of emotions, will hook you from the first page. You can find her books at all major online retailers in a variety of formats.

In the real world, she’s the mother of two amazing daughters and wife of one of the smartest men she knows. She believes humor is the only way to get through the day and does not believe in sharing her chocolate.

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