BUT SERIOUSLY: The Absolutely True Story of Hanukka

(December 20) It's not for no reason that we do all these weird things during the holiday, like eat potato latakias.

"Judah! Come forth husband, at once!" He's probably gambling with the guys, the wife muttered, or hatching some ridiculous plot to change the world.

Both of which he was.

She found him behind the stable. A great warrior, as any Jew knows, is no match for an ireful wife. "Get thee to the stores now, you lout, and fetch me provisions, or we'll be eating raw potatoes. You hear me?!"

"Yes, Goldius. Game over, boys," he grunted. "Gotta go shopping." None of his pals mocked him, because he was, after all, Judah the Maccabee.

She gave him a shopping list, and a few coins together with a warning glare. "And take the kids. It's only one day into the school break and already they're bored." Why they can't teach during the eight days of winter solstice she'll never understand.

"C'mon kids," he called out, "let's go for a ride in the chariot!"

"Don' wanna."

"Whoever comes gets a jelly donut!"

They piled in, and immediately began arguing over who sits in the front.

"Godspeed," Goldius shouted after them.

At the supermarketium, Judah bumped into Mattathias. The children were off in the cereals section, measuring out grains. The two men exchanged pleasantries. "And what news?" Judah asked of the revered priest.

Mattathias sighed bitterly. "It's the Syrians. I'm afraid we'll never find peace with them. Their influence is penetrating far beyond the Golan, right into the Holy Land. Judaism is in grave danger!"

Huh. Religious leaders. Don't they always forebode the end of days? You never hear a priest say: "Judaism is worry-free these days." Y'know why? Because if everything is A-1, who needs to pray?

Strolling past the combatware department, Mattathias took a whetstone off the shelf and placed it in Judah's cart. "To sharpen your sword," he said ominously.

The cashier totaled up the purchases. "That'll be 12 ancient shekels, please," she said.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I'll take a sufganium for each of the kids."

The young 'uns came running. "Daddy, we're so bored at home. Can you buy us a toy?"

"A toy?"

"Well, one for each of us. One for each of us for each day of the school holiday. Please?"

"Whoa there! That's about 100 toys! Tell you what: one each. Maybe by some miracle the toys will last for eight days. Here's some gelt, go to the Toys'r'ius, but hurry, Momma's waiting for the victuals."

They ran off. "Ai, kids these days," Mattathias sighed.

IT WAS NOT a happy woman unpacking the groceries. "This is the WRONG wheat, and there's bugs in the semolina, and in the name of Jochanan you forgot the oil!"

"They were out."

"Out of oil?! Whoever heard such a thing? Go to the makoletium at once and fetch three, no, a dozen cruses."

"No, they were out because there isn't any. Oil shortage everywhere, they said, something about an Arab oil embargo I think."

"Well, that's just fine," Goldius thundered, as if to blame him. "And what do you suppose I'm going to fry your potato pancakes in, vinegar?!"

"I dunno, you can cut 'em up and boil them with beets."

She verily exploded. "Borscht!"

"Woman, watch your tongue!" He went on to explain that he had met the priest at the super, and just imagine how he took the news: "What, they're going to rededicate the Temple with just leftover oil?" the priest had cried. "Judaism is in grave danger! Only a miracle can save us!"

"Men!" Goldius sneered. "Like the saying goes, 'They who can't, pray.' Get real! Miracles are for big things; squashing beans and olives is not something God does. You tell the priest, they want a solution, they should put the Temple Sisterhood in charge. That would be a miracle!"

Maybe, Judah thought, he should lead an uprising against the Hellenists. He'd be safer on the battlefield.

He slipped away, figuring to take a nap before supper. He found his children playing quietly. This had never happened before. "What toy did you buy?" he asked.

"A dirndl."

"A dreidl, dumdum. Dad, it's the newest thing. All the kids have them. Y'see, you spin it, and you wait, and then it falls on its side."

Little Eliezer was tugging at Judah's toga. "Daddy, did you see what I made in school? Look. See? It's a candelabrum."

Judah chuckled. "It's lovely. But why does it have nine arms, instead of seven?"

"Cuz I can only count to five, and then everything is extra."

Judah had just plopped down on the bed when there was a sharp knock on the door. Mattathias came in, and he looked worried, even for a priest.

"There was an altar-" he said, catching his breath, "-cation."

"An altercation?"

"At the altar. I struck a secular Jew."

"It shall pass."

"I killed him."

"But you're a priest!"

"And then a whole bunch of Syrian soldiers were killed."

"Oy. Wait til Antiochus finds out."

"I'm leaving Modi'in and fleeing for the hills. All loyal and courageous Jews are joining me; we're going into hiding in Judea, we're going to form legions; whatever armies Antiochus sends, we're going to fight them to the death. Judah! You must join us, and lead our brave campaign to defend God's Torah!"

Judah didn't exactly leap at the suggestion. "Look, I love a good skirmish, but I was just about to take a nap. Let me sleep on it, OK?"

The priest gave him a dirty look. "Forget it. We're only looking for the loyal and courageous."

"As I see it, this doesn't seem to be my problem. You got into this mess without my help, now you want to start a war and get us all killed? Why don't you, I dunno, pray or something, and wait for a miracle?"

At that moment, Goldius hollered to shake the rafters: "HUSBAND! TAKE OUT THE GARBAGE, AND I MEAN NOW!!"

"Give me a minute to pack," he said to the priest.

AS EVERYONE knows, any time in history Jews get together to fight, they win, or at least they make their point, probably because we're consistently the good guys.

Thus the Maccabees, who were probably not much more than a minyan in number, defeated the 40,000 soldiers led by Nicanor and Gorgiash (it is for this reason you never see Jews named "Nicanor" or "Gorgiash." Though among Reform Jews, it wouldn't be surprising.)

With the victory, the Jews suggested a wild celebration, but the priests, who were well versed in Jewish tradition, suggested they pray and fast and weep and beat their breasts instead, and then hie immediately to the Temple for more of the same, because that's the way we are.

Judah pointed out to his pals that the priests hadn't specifically proscribed gambling, and he knew better than to ask. And so, on the way to liberating Jerusalem from the godless hordes, Judah popped home for a minute to get the gaming dice.

"You SOLD my dice?!" he brayed at Goldius.

"Well, after all these months and years, we didn't know if you were coming back. You didn't call, you didn't write, how am I supposed to know?"

"What am I going to tell the guys?!"

"Daddy, you can have our dreidl instead, we're tired of it anyway."

Warriors always look to silly symbols to mark their victories, and this little spinning top was just the thing. Smiling benevolently at his children, he vowed that every year on this date, "The dreidl shall be spun, money lost or won. And for 2,166 years at least, the Jewish people will remember this day by eating Daddy's favorite food, fried potato cakes, which we shall name for a city of the defeated Syrians --"

"Aleppo?"

"No, Latakia."

"-And one day a year," Goldius butted in, "the brave, Jewish warrior husband will take the goddam garbage out."

Judah gaped. "This wouldn't be the selfsame detritus as from before the wars?"

Which it was.

Judah was more than ready to go, to win back Jerusalem. He dropped the dreidl into his traveling pouch, and a few other items the high priest asked for. But Goldius was not about to let him take the family candelabrum.

"It was a gift from my Uncle Julius!" she reminded him.

Judah rolled his eyes. "But woman, it is needed for the Temple, to replace the golden menora stolen by the Syrians. The Temple!"

Goldius said he could take the one little Eliezer had made in school. "It's very nice, you said so yourself."

"The one with the nine branches? But they'll laugh at me."

Which they did.

But never mind. Jerusalem was won, the Temple rededicated, and God, for some unearthly reason, intervened to ensure the dregs of oil persisted for eight days, which inspired someone from the crowd to shout "Happy Hanukka!" the whyfor of which no one understood.

"Y'know," said one of the guys as he flipped an ancient shekel into the ante out behind the Temple, "the priests are saying it was all a miracle." He spun the dreidl. "I'm bruised all over, my legs are killing me, my sword is just about ruined from all the Syrian bones I crunched, and now they're saying 'Thank God we won.' If that's the thanks we get, frankly, we could have stayed home."

"Another week, and the Maccabees'll be totally forgotten."

"You're wrong. Some day they'll be naming beers after us, and basketball teams. Mark my words."

"Never mind. It's your turn. Spin."

AND THAT'S the way it was. And that's the way it is until today.