The Hanukkah Story......Still Illuminating After All!

I think I was five years old when the light bulb went on, eliminating any shadow of doubt....Christmas and Hanukkah were not the same! I guess it was Kindergarten that set the flood gates open. Until then, I had been either at home or nursery school, which was held at Temple Concord, so my only experiences were all based on being raised in a Jewish household.

Being exposed to all of my new classmates , out there in the “real world”, set in motion the many changes that take place as children begin the adventure of learning about the world around them. I came home filled with questions about Santa Claus, Christmas trees, Stockings filled with toys...even a few about Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Somehow, in the good ole’ days, my mother always seemed to be one step ahead of me. Ever prepared, she brought out a new ‘Golden Book’ which I vaguely recall being entitled “The Festival of Lights- the Story of Judah and the Maccabees”. I tried to find it on Ebay, but no luck yet.

“After all, you can read now” my mother reminded me, “I think you’ll find the story illuminating” she added. “Let me know if you have any questions”

I ran up to my room, excited to know that there was a great big book, filled with illustrations, that would provide the answers to all of these new and perplexing queries. Until that moment, I had assumed that every family on every street was lighting the candles, one at a time, and speaking Hebrew. It was the same year that the concept of giving...and receiving gifts, really started to take hold.

I read that book over and over again. I was entranced with the very idea that a small but determined group of people
led by Judah Maccabee and his brothers, could band together and find like-minded individuals, who all believed that they had the right to choose their God.

Jerusalem had been under siege by Antiochus Epiphany, who dreamed of being as powerful a ruler as Alexander the Great had been over 100 years earlier. In his ignorance of the Jewish faith, coupled with his desire to change and dominate the people who lived in the land he had seized control of, Antiochus began the destruction of the Jewish Temples, and drove those who would not obey, into the hills.

It was hiding in those hills and knowledge of the land that allowed the Maccabees to build their resistance and and become a tiny faithful group that, after months of planning and praying, began to fight back- winning battles that seemed impossible to the great Syrian army that had been sent to destroy them originally.

Against all odds, The Jews were able to finally reclaim Jerusalem and Judah found a Temple that had been defiled, but not destroyed. Knowing that his first task was to rededicate the Temple, he gathered the holy men to help. Traditionally, in the days before Antiochus, all sacred temples had oil lamps that continuously burned, as a symbol of the peoples faith and their dedication to Judaism.

Finding only enough oil for one night was a blow to Judah and the Maccabees, as they needed more time to spread the word that the fighting was over- and that the hundreds of others who had been in hiding could safely return and rejoice.

Judah knelt before the altar and prayed that the lamp would remain lit, allowing them the time they needed.Miraculously, the oil continued to fuel the flame for eight nights. Some say that it got even brighter with each day. The Temple once again glowed with the symbol of the Jewish Faith. Those eight days and nights came to be celebrated with an annual festival and ever since then, Jewish people all over the world have celebrated this event.

Suddenly, the menorah made sense to me. The gifts exchanged, one per day, over the 8 days also had new significance. I don’t remember being sad that I didn’t have a Santa Claus, or midnight mass. What I remember is a renewed sense of what it meant to be Jewish and that people all over the world had many different beliefs.

I remember my mother filling in the gaps and explaining diversity and faith. I remember feeling special that our family had different traditions than my friends up the street. I remember going to a neighbors to see them light their tree and their family coming to our house for latkes and the ceremonial lighting of the menorah. I remember reading about Judah and The Maccabees. As I remember, it’s still a pretty good story.

Lions and Tigers and Bears!

Every year at this time, I wait with anticipation for the opening of "Buckhorn", my favorite campground in the greater Los Angeles area.......although 'season' is supposed to be from April 15th to November 15th- this seems to NEVER be the case & I start dialing the ranger stations for updates in early May. This year was no exception and my fingers (and nerves) were practically raw from constant inquiries regarding same.

Finally, my persistence paid off & Buckhorn opened it's heavily wooded gates last Friday. Sometimes I think they open it just to shut me up- I probably called 20 times in 2 weeks and no doubt John the ranger was glad to get me (figuratively) off his (way too hairy) back.

Leaping around the living room with manly glee, I pinched myself (I still think a nipple-twist would have been more effective) to be sure I wasn't dreaming and began to mentally ready myself for the task at hand-

I looked at Liza the wonder dog and shrieked "let's go camping"! (Again, in a very manly way). As I flew (as if on gossamer wing) to the closet crammed with camping accoutrements, I began to envision using my new fire-engine red spatter ware dishes that I had received for Christmas.....I suddenly remembered that there were also some new "flameless" candles packed away for 'ambiance' on the picnic table. (How did Ellen put it? oh that's right- "Yep, I'm gay"!)

although we (me and the dog) often go camping alone, it is fun (sometimes) to bring along a friend or two. Once in a while, we even make NEW friends in the woods- but that's another story.....

Sure enough, a friend immediately jumped at the opportunity to go along and I agreed to having her join us, even while recalling that she was THREE hours late for departure last year........a mental note that was still stuck in my craw (wherever THAT is).

For sake of argument, we'll call my friend Rosanna,

Pack, schlep, haul.......we're there. Gorgeous and serene. Vibrant and alive. Practically empty, there were maybe three other campsites with people scampering about. (It's possible the actual "scampering" might be in my head)- they were probably tending fires, playing frisbee with their dogs and reading up on the local wildlife whilst hanging between trees on a spider-web of nylon that also rolls up into a ball the size of your fist. ( I LOVE camping "stuff")

Regardless, the place was peaceful, to say the least. To my sheer (and manly) delight, my favorite site was devoid of people, welcoming me with her always outstretched limbs of wooden yearning. I swear, Buckhorn is just as happy to see me as I am to see her- a comforting (if not oddly delusional) thought.

The usual regime of unpacking and setting up began. It's become traditional to literally take everything but the kitchen sink with me. Over the years I have accumulated a huge and diverse array of camping equipment and toys- Rosanna on the other hand, had virtually nothing but a suitcase (not even a duffle bag? A suitcase?) and a bag of tortilla's. Fortunately for her, I had brought along an extra guest-tent, sleeping bags,, air mattress, etc.

After checking out MY tent set-up, she was dismayed to see that I had end tables, carpeting, a front porch (complete with astro-turf) , a tent heater (it was 37 degrees the first night!) and a portable DVD player set up for my viewing pleasure. Apparently, my hosting skills were severely lacking, since I had not provided DVD players for my guest rooms and had completely neglected to leave a mint on the pillow I had so thoughtlessly provided.

The first few days were heavenly. Good food, beautiful warm weather,(during the day, anyhow!) a roaring fire to sit by, while gazing at the beautiful night time skies. The Buckhorn experience at it's finest.

And then Rosanna decided to go on a hike.................Dumb, da dumb dumb... DUMB!

There is a beautiful, well travelled hiking trail up there called the Burkhart Trail. It is traversed yearly by hundreds of visitor's. It is a well known, well marked-yet "challenging" hike which ends in a waterfall and swimmin' hole- the perfect day time camping adventure, one which I have experienced many times and had NO intention of doing on this trip.

I had made that clear and Rosanna was going to do it alone, a notion that in itself did not concern me in the slightest. People do it all the time, myself included, so it did not occur to me that I should try to talk her out of it. Rosanna is a grown woman and she prepared for her hike, trying her best to adapt my manly demeanor and set off at two P.M.- sandwich and water bottle in tow. Ever prepared, I provided her with a walkie-talkie, made sure we were on the same wavelength, and sent her on her way with the usual cautions- "Stay on the trail", "Don't hike more than two hours on the way in" (can't forget that means two hours on the way BACK), "Pace yourself" and remember.......you are in a vast, national forest that does indeed house bears and wild cats and deer, oh my!

In other words, "Be alert, be safe, be smart and have fun-off you go"!

I was happy to have the woods to myself and had already scheduled time for napping (in my own nylon spider web), collecting pine cones ( I spray paint them in pastel colors and sprinkle glitter on them for the holidays- very manly) and maybe watch a little porn on that DVD player in the tent.......a full day at Buckhorn.

Rosanna was planning to make dinner that night (hence the tortilla's) and had alerted me to that, which meant kicking back for me, so I proceeded to scamper (for real) through the woods, high on Jesus.

I believe it was around 4:20 in the afternoon when I surveyed camp- and all my handiwork, admiring my manly outdoor skills. The pride flag was fluttering in the gentle breeze, being supported by my pair of G.I. Joe dolls, set up in their usual compromising position. There were battery operated glitter lights in the trees, "flameless" torches flanking my tent doors, replete with gold tassels and a tiny chandelier hanging inside.my manly tent. Mounds of kindling surrounded the fire pit. As I sang along with the "Pussycat Dolls", I surveyed my domain and gave a manly nod of approval. All was well with my world.

5 P.M. came and went.....as did 6........By 7 P.M. I was hungry and slightly irritated that Rosanna was not back, since she was supposed to cook dinner ("Carne Asada"? What the hell IS that?) and should have been preparing it by then. At 7:30 I went off , Liza in tow ,to the trail head, actually calling her name and repeatedly paging her on the walkie-talkie. Nothing. I began to get concerned, darkness was a comin'......it had not occurred to me that she would be gone over 5 hours.......it is, basically, a 3 hour tour.....a THREE HOUR TOUR. I ran into a hippie camper down by the trail head who said he had not seen her and talked me down (momentarily) from panicking. He asked me if she had a flashlight on her (which I doubted- she had brought 3, none of which worked and had been "borrowing' mine for the past few nights, anytime she had to see anything, anywhere..... breaking one of the cardinal rules- "always provide your own flashlight" (and chair)

I allowed hippie camper to soothe my frazzled nerves for a moment and wondered (while I took a moment to check him out) where the conversation might have led, if I hadn't been about to burst into manly tears. I guess that's another story. He advised me to go back to camp and wait until actual darkness before becoming more alarmed than I already was. I was torn between mounting hysteria and keeping a clear head- somewhere between those two worlds, I still somehow thought it was 4:20.......which added to my slightly disturbed state of mind.....

I spent the hour between 8 and 9 P.M pacing around the fire muttering things like "I can't believe she would do this to me", "This can't be happening" and "What the fuck?" At 9 P.M. all sirens in my head went off at the same moment and I realized my worst fears. Something was indeed wrong and I had to spring into manly action.

Because of the abundance of wildlife in my precious forest, I could not drive off leaving multiple coolers and bags of M & M's laying about, so hurriedly packed everything edible into the back of the pickup (Manly, no?) threw the dog in the front seat and took off in search of help- flashers on- down the Angeles Crest Highway at 5 miles per hour, in case I should pass someone who could help along the way.

I got to a call box about a mile down the road and pulled off, heart racing, literally freaking out. It was pitch-black out, on a Tuesday night in the middle of the woods, and my camping guest was definitely missing. In 25 years of camping California, this was a new experience. I ran to the call box only to discover that it was ripped off the pole ( by vandals, no doubt- probably teenage boys- sounds like another story) and I was confronted with bare wires gaping uselessly at me. Back in the truck, hyperventilating, I drove off again at a snails pace, flashers on.

One other vehicle passed me but did not slow down and I found another call box after a few more (endless, grueling, mind numbing) miles. This one was operational and apparently requires a degree in rocket science to figure out how to use it, this being the 21st century and all. Very high tech. By the time I spoke, in English ( I had dozens of language choices) to a real human being, it was 10 P.M. and I told my tale, chain smoking, gasping for breath, head between my legs, blowing into a brown paper bag..... intermittently praying for death to take me.

Once 'Search and Rescue' had all the vital info, they dispatched helicopters to the mountains, a car to meet me and volunteers to begin combing the woods looking for Rosanna's mutilated, bloody corpse. I had already envisioned my trial and subsequent imprisonment for her death, should the body not be found at all- and was resigned to a life behind bars, cursing the name "Rosanna" 'till the day I gasped my last, raspy (yet somehow manly) breath.

CHP instructed me to "pull it together" and drive back up the mountain to meet them at the entrance to my (now sullied) Buckhorn, flashers on, blah, blah, blah. It took all of my effort to not lose it and just drive off a cliff. Terror was rising ( like lava at Mount. Vesuvius) and I felt as if each moment might be my last as I crept back up the mountain.

This time when a car passed, he slowed to match my crawl- unrolled his window and asked if I was Jonathan? I stopped the truck and got out while he told me that he had found Rosanna on his 112 acre orchard at his ranch in Apple Valley- a mere hour and 1/2 drive away! . Apparently, she had Hmmmm, wandered off the trail. It being 4:20 and all, she became a little 'dazed and confused' and wandered aimlessly through the National Forest for NINE (9) glorious hours! At this point, Mr. Kindly Rancher (wouldn't have happened to me ) offered to DRIVE her ALL THE WAY back to camp, apparently having a cocktail along the way to soothe HER jangled nerves!

I stood in the middle of the Angeles Crest Highway and wept like a (manly) baby. I thanked him, took his name and number and turned around once again, to call off the posse. I spent 25 minutes in
call- box- from -the- future hell, and finally managed to stop the taxpayers from spending three hundred thousand dollars on "helicopters for Rosanna" ( sounds like a worthy telethon)

I drove back to Buckhorn, re-learning how to breathe, and found her- safe and sound. I fought the urge to scream and hugged her tight, truly thankful that she was alive and well, while making a mental note to screen my camping guests even more rigorously from this point on. Camping is not for sissies.....and if it is- they had better provide their own glitter!

Passover- No Chocolate Bunny For Me!

It's that time of year again....gnashing of teeth, copious weeping, family dysfunction and a general air of despair seemingly reserved for the Jew in all of us, but what does it all really mean?

Every year at this time, I am reminded that the Good Sweet Lord Above was either a. far more interested in us during biblical times, or b. a major drama queen who's histrionics peaked early on. It never escapes me that life was far more colorful and exciting while Moses was bossing his extremely aggravating flock around. Apparently, every one of the Pharaoh's slaves were far too preoccupied with drunken cavorting and casting false idols (Sanjaya comes to mind) than they were with getting the hell out of Dodge.

Forty years seems like an awfully long time to be wandering aimlessly in the desert-enough time to reach the Holy Land a thousand times over-but no time to bake a decent loaf of bread!

I can't remember even one instance of Divine Intervention during my tenure on the planet. No burning bushes, no voices from on-high. As far as I know, the Los Angeles river has never parted, even to allow gang bangers to scribble their homie's names on it's fabricated banks.

What happened to learning life-lessons via plagues, pestilence and smiting? When was the last time you heard on the evening news that some nasty evil doer had been "smote" ? I'm telling you, in comparison to the days of yore, life is just plain dull.
Maybe we have become boring and the bearded one has moved on to a different Universe- one where the common folk are still awe-struck by lightening bolts, hoardes of insects (I guess Dow Chemical showed him a thing or two!) and where the Angel of Death packs less of a wallop than, say, the Easter Bunny.

That would explain a lot. Rosie O'Donnell, for instance. Or for that matter, our obsession with finding the next Pussycat Doll. I would love to live in a world where I could smear my electric bill with pigs blood, nail it to the front door and pray that the Edison Company would soar over Santa Monica, leaving me to my own devices.

Honestly, a good locust attack might just wake us all up a bit. Imagine how "Survivor" would play out if one of the challenges involved building a pyramid out of chopped liver, or smelting earrings into the Ark of the Covenant.