"From the synagogue?" she asked.
"From the synagogue," was my lying answer.
"Have you said the evening prayer?"
"I have said the evening prayer," was my second lie to her.
"Warm yourself, my son. You will say the blessing over the 'Chanukah' lights. It is the last night of 'Chanukah' tonight, thank God!"
. . . . .
If a man had only troubles to bear, without a scrap of pleasure, he would never get over them, but would surely take his own life. I am referring to my mother, the widow, poor thing, who worked day and night, froze, never had enough to eat, and never slept enough for my sake. Why should she not have a little pleasure too? Every person puts his own meaning into the word "pleasure." To my mother there was no greater pleasure in the world than hearing me recite the blessings on Sabbaths and Festivals. At the Passover I carried out the "Seder" for her, and at "Chanukah" I made the blessing over the lights. Was the blessing over wine or beer? Had we for the Passover fritters or fresh "matzo"? What were the "Chanukah" lights—a silver, eight-branched lamp with olive oil, or candles stuck in pieces of potato? Believe me, the pleasure has nothing to do with wine or fritters, or a silver lamp. The main thing is the blessing itself. To see my mother's face when I was praying, how it shone and glowed with pleasure was enough. No words are necessary, no detailed description, to prove that this was unalloyed happiness to her, real pleasure. I bent over the potatoes, and recited the blessing in a sing-song voice. She repeated the blessing after me, word for word, in the same sing-song. She looked into my eyes, and moved her lips. I knew she was thinking at the time: "It is he—he in every detail. May the child have longer years!" And I felt I deserved to be cut to pieces like the potatoes. Surely, I had deceived my mother, and for such a base cause. I had betrayed her from head to foot.
The candles in the potatoes—my "Chanukah" lights—flickered and flickered until they went out. And my mother said to me:
"Wash your hands. We are having potatoes and goose-fat for supper. In honour of 'Chanukah,' I bought a little measure of goose-fat—fresh, beautiful fat."
I washed myself with pleasure, and we sat down to supper.