kah_' 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.

"It is a custom amongst some people to have fritters for supper on the
last night of '_Chanukah_,'" said my mother, sighing. And there arose to
my mind Benny's fritters, and Benny's spinning-top that had cost me all
I possessed in the world. I had a sharp pain at my heart. More than all,
I regretted the little prayer-book. But, of what use were regrets? It
was all over and done with.

Even in my sleep I had uneasy thoughts. I heard my mother's groans. I
heard her b