Another Upon Hanukkah (Poem)

And does it even matter if this year

My menorah remains on the shelf?

When the memories of all the candles we lit,

A story for each night, a small gift given,

Crowd in every night for eight nights?

This is how we remain a mishpocheh,

Passing these traditions from generations down

And then hand to hand among friends.

Such things cannot be destroyed by bombs or guns.