This wasn't supposed to be her job. Her mother had done it every year, and since she had died, Lily never actually bothered to celebrate Hanukkah. Well, until now. Now it seemed important--imperative, even. And she wasn't sure why.

Lily's hand trembled slightly as she lifted the lit taper to the small well of oil, clumsily reciting the Hebrew words in the book she clutched. Her mouth flowed freely when speaking French and Italian, but she had given up on Hebrew a long time ago. She could still remember looking up from the Torah at her bat mitzvah to see her mother's face drawn into worried and displeased lines. That day, she had defiantly stumbled over every word. She wanted nothing to do with her mother's faith then, and had been bribed into having the ceremony with the promise of a party afterward--one more extravagant than any of her friends' birthdays. But when she looked up smugly to her mother, only to see a frown of pure disappointment and not a trace of anger in the familiar face, something broke in her. She read the rest of it with tears streaming down her face, and she continued crying silently for her entire party. Lily had since forgotten how to read almost anything in Hebrew.

She lit the second light of the menorah and flipped the page, clearing her throat. "Bahrukh ata Ad..own...ay...El-oh-ay--wait, no...El-oh-hay-nu...meelek?" She glanced upward, biting her bottom lip. There was no audience tonight. Just the darkened living room. Tonight, there was no Mama to twitch her eyebrows together with a sigh and mutter that she should have been sent to live with her grandmother to learn everything Jewish. While her mother had never really been a good Jew, she had wanted a more religion-centered life for her daughter. In an attempt to resolve the confusion between her own faith and that of her late Sicilian husband, she had raised her daughter with Jewish traditions and tenets, then sent her to a high-end Catholic boarding school. It was there that Mitzi Lilith Pirazzi found that she had to hide herself among the daughters of old families descended from proud Anglo-Saxon stock. She began by fashioning a new name for herself: Lily M. Evans. As she grew, she completed the illusion by staying out of the sun to pale her olive complexion, straightening her hair religiously every week (and every time it rained), and doing everything she could to draw attention away from the nose she always claimed was "too Jewy."

She put the flame to the third light, the fourth light, the fifth light, still stumbling over the brief prayers. Hanukkah...thousands of years ago, Jews had crowded reverently around a small, sacred flame as it fought to stay alive for a week too long. How many breathy whispers of "Eight days!" and "God blesses us!" had it fought against? She paused, hovering above the sixth well of oil, watching it placidly reflect the dim light of the surrounding flames. What if there was just someone slipping in cheaper oil without anyone knowing? She shook her head and chuckled. Gee, that would be the hoax of all time, wouldn't it? Hell, maybe it was the start of the Jewish mob: cutting a deal with the rabbi to keep things running smoothly in the newly rebuilt temple, charging him hush money as word of the false miracle spread.

She touched the flame down to the oil, watching the sixth light catch. Or maybe it was God taking care of His people, ensuring that they could worship Him properly. Who would ever really know? Not like God was sweeping down to answer questions in any concrete way. Lily was almost certain that all "miracles" could be explained scientifically, anyway. She sighed and quickly lit the seventh and eighth lights. She stood back and watched the flames twitching into the air above the old, elaborate menorah. Lily swallowed as a familiar, low amazement of sacredness rose in her stomach. She carefully set the candle back in its holder on the table. She had always loved to see a fully lit menorah. Actually, she was a little astounded that she still did. Lily took a deep breath and tried to think of the last time she had celebrated Hanukkah.

It was with her mother. Lily herself was sixteen and reluctantly home for the holidays. She remembered sitting in the darkened formal living room of her mother's house, staring at the menorah with a few of her mother's friends and her own (even more reluctant) friend Abbot. As the group meditated silently for a moment on the glowing display before them, Lily glanced up to see her mother's face. The eight dancing lights brought the middle-aged woman's wrinkles into evidence, showing the years of hard work and stress. Her brown eyes were affixed to the flames, drinking in their light as though it was the last time she'd see this menorah in its full holy glory--and it was. It was in that moment, watching her mother's meditation, that Lily had felt, for the first time in years, like little Mitzi once more. Like she would one day be showing her own children why they light the menorah and what Rosh Hashannah is. It faded slowly once the lights were flicked on and presents were passed out.

There were no presents this year--she could hardly give a gift to herself. No, this year there was just the dark room, the family menorah, and her own thoughts. Maybe that was why she had felt it was important this year. A tiny smile twitched up her face. It was, after all, a Hanukkah unlike any other she had experienced before.