Every year, my mother sends me a box with eight Chanukah gifts inside, each one fully wrapped and numbered from one to eight, so I open it on the appropriate night. I'm twenty-six, but I guess one is never too old for presents. Or maybe one IS too old for presents, but still enjoys them anyway? One doesn't know.
There's a certain amount of temptation just to open everything at once and then lie about it later, but I've learned over the years that anticipation is usually the best part.
Last night was the first night of Chanukah. This is what mom got me:
An electric menorah, with flickering bulbs. Apparently both my sisters also received this as a night-one gift. Mom used to run the synagogue gift shop, so she has hookups for buying this type of thing. I have no doubt it's a high-quality electric menorah. But even so, I was a little perplexed. I've been getting by just fine with candle power all these years.
"I thought it would be safer," mom told me when I called her.
Ah.
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