My family and I were finishing dinner when suddenly the door bell rang. “Who could that be?” I asked my husband. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “probably another solicitor.”
Since the Hurricane, or shall I say Super Storm Sandy, hit Long Beach Island, we’ve been getting solicitors constantly ringing our doorbell or calling us on the phone. (The signs everywhere on the street are just the tip of the iceberg!)
My husband answered the door and two young boys asked him if we celebrate Hanukkah. “Yes, why?” he asked.
“Well, we are from the Chabad and are here from Brooklyn giving out Menorahs and candles to people who don’t have,” one of the boys said.
“We’re good,” he told them, “but why don’t you come in? We were just going to light the candles.”
The boys, dressed as old men in top hats and long black coats, came in. They stood with us around our little menorah among all the boxes that lined our living room, dining room and kitchen. We sang the prayer. The boys didn’t say anything. When we were finished they corrected us and told us we were lighting the candles wrong. (You learn something new every day.)
They started to say another prayer, one I had never heard of. I asked them a question, they answered. After the candles were lit, they left the house.
My daughter looked at me and said, “that was a little odd. I wonder if I should have told them I will be visiting the homeland?”
We looked at each other and smiled. We agreed that it was a really nice thing for the Chabad to do.