A whirring, whoooshing sound. Sudden darkness.
I find myself in a dark room, enveloped in blackness.
Thoughts of final touches to add to my project dashed with
the unexpected shutdown of the computer. Plans to switch the
wet laundry to the dryer interrupted by the unanticipated
blackout. Children's laughs and squeals, teen's telephone
talk momentarily silenced. Thoughts of putting the children
to bed quickly replaced by solutions for restoring calm and
order.
I call to everyone to sit together in the living room until I
can find flashlights and/or matches and candles to aid us
until the power is restored. I run to the kitchen while
firmly instructing the children to stay in their places until
I return. Rummaging around the cabinets, I find Chanuka
candles and some matches. Somewhere registered in the back of
mind are not so distant memories of how I used up the last
Shabbos candle that week and have no batteries for the
flashlights. I mentally add them to my shopping list.
I grab the first small plate I can find and run back to the
living room, handing my oldest the plate and one of the
Chanuka candles. I light it and shout to everyone to take
care not to get too close to the flame.
Some of the younger children are scared, some are thrilled
by this new adventure, and some are plain bored, imprisoned
in the darkness. To allay their fears, I ask them if we can
see Hashem in the light. Chavi answers, "No, of course not."
So I counter, but of course we know that He is there with us,
watching over us. So, too, even though we cannot see Him in
the dark, either, He is with us, watching over us, just the
same. This seems to reassure the little ones.
Then I tell them to sit still while I get a book to read to
them. Luckily, the first one I grabbed was quite long, with
many endearing stories. I light more candles to ease away the
darkness. Some of the older children are naturally bored and
shuffle around in the darkness until they, too, find some
books and magazines of interest to their ages.
Everyone is relatively calm. Yanky calls out, "We should do
this every night!' "Please, Mommy, can't we?" others chime
in. Too soon, the electricity is up and running and light
abounds. We blow out the candles. I announce bedtime and
instruct the little ones to wash up, brush their teeth and
get into pajamas.
Even the older ones are tired for a change and they, too, get
into pajamas. I then tell them they can lie in bed reading
for another twenty minutes. Then it's Lights Out. Somehow,
the evening's chaos threw us all off balance, putting us into
a proper bedtime mode.
An hour later, my husband walks in and immediately notices
something amiss. He looks around and says, "Oh, what are this
book and candle doing on the shelf? And hey, why is the house
so quiet at this time of night?" I give him a half- tired
smile and with a twinkle in my eye, I retell the events of
the evening.
I finally lie down that night, my thoughts rambling. First, I
think about global events, of how darkness and light are so
intertwined in the history and fate of Klall Yisroel. In the
midst of light, we are suddenly plunged into darkness, till
the light of dawn returns, somewhat masking the darkness of
yesterday.
Knowing that an eternal light is forever above us helps us
through our darkest days, fears, and horrific experiences.
The darkest of nations following their most vile passions
transparent in their aims, are unceasingly trying to uproot
the goodness, light of world peace, serenity and stability
with their evil designs. We strive to merit to delight in His
ever-glorious light through our heartfelt prayers.
A book, a candle and a shelf. Our Book of Life, our precious
Torah, enshrined in darkness in its protective shiny silver
case, resting on its shelf in the aron kodesh, with
the Eternal Lamp glowing brightly above it. We take it out
time and again, gently placing it on the bimos of our
brightly lit synagogues to read, and rejoice in its forever
illuminating words and messages.
