Parsha Poetry, Year 2: Chanukah / Hanukkah /

As a special Chanukah gift to you – and here, I’m using the term “gift” rather loosely – I decided to just go ahead and draw the artwork myself!  Well, okay, also because nobody in my family would help me.

Click for printable PDF version.

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Little Yossi looked up at his Abba and sighed,
“I love my menorah – it fills me with pride;
But tell me, dear Abba, I know that you’ll know,
Where did we learn how to light it just so?”

“Why, what do you mean?” asked his father, so near,
“Tell me what’s troubling you, Yossi, my dear.”
And he filled up the holders with water and oil,
Making sure none spilled onto the tinfoil.

“I read,” said Yossi, “on Shavuos we stood,
By the face of the mountain and saw it was good;
On Sukkos, we camped out in fragile huts,
And on Purim we sing – there’s no ands, ifs or buts.

“But I never did see, in the Torah I’ve read,
Just where “we must light a menorah” is said;
Which parsha tells us, and where is it found?
Please, Abba, tell me – oh, please do expound!”

“Oh, my Yossi,” said Abba, “I think that I know
Just what you’re asking that’s troubling you so;
To explain, you must know just where and when,
The Torah was written, with quills, not a pen.

Though it seems like history was all long ago,
Some parts are older and some not quite so;
To understand which came first and which last,
It helps to peek into it, look at our past.

The parshas each week are our oldest story,
Telling of Yaakov, his sons, and their glory;
The Torah’s the oldest, the oldest of all,
And then came nevi’im who heard Hashem’s call.

Then came kesuvim, the last written pieces,
Passed on from uncles to nephews and nieces;
Sharing their wisdom and writing down truths,
For a new generation of children and youths.

From then until now, nothing’s been added,
No happiness happied, no sadnesses sadded;
The Tanach, we call it, a closed holy book,
But open to all who want a good look.

The story we read when it’s Chanukah time,
Though rarely conveyed in such catchy rhyme,
Happened long after the holy books ended,
To people from whom we all have descended.

The story’s important, as so many are,
And we gather each year, from near and from far,
To hear all the stories and learn the great deeds,
Of Hashem, who met all the Maccabees’ needs.

But just like our own lives, it’s not in the Torah,
The story we know when we see a menorah.
And in this way, I think, Hashem means to tell,
That not just in ancient times miracles dwell.

The Tanach and Torah are done and composed,
But great things will come that are still undisclosed.
That’s a big word that means He hasn’t said yet,
  Exactly how much of His kindness we’ll get.”

The wicks were all lit and the tiny flames glowed,
And there by their light, Yossi’s little face glowed.
“And so,” Abba told him, “the story’s not through,
“For the last chapter’s waiting… to be written by YOU.”