Words from the Book of Isaiah, See, I am doing a new thing!, flicker through my mind. Committed to newness these days, I flip through my recipe box, hoping for a spark of inspiration there too, but I come up empty.
“How about we make latkes?” Flicka says.
Thoughts of my Jewish friends warm me. “Let’s do it.”
Before I can ask what’s in a latke, my girl has watched a YouTube video by Chef Jake Cohen and scrawled the ingredients for me on paper. I have everything on hand but the matzo meal.
We plan out the rest of the food to surround the highlight of the plate, the classic potato latke, and I shop for the evening meal.
In the late afternoon, we grate the potatoes and onion together and press out the excess moisture. Joni Mitchell croons the soulful “River” to us as Flicka stirs in the eggs, matzo meal, and salt. The blend of olive and avocado oils bubbles in the pan, and my oldest drops in spoonfuls of latke mixture, crisping the mounds to golden perfection.
“What day of Hannukah is this?” I ask, eyeing her process. I would’ve set off the smoke alarm by now, but she’s careful, patient, and the air is clear.
Flicka shrugs, and I run a search on my phone. This night is the fifth night, I read, the one representing great darkness. If we had a menorah, the majority of the candles would be lit now. According to an online source, that fifth light has “the unique task and power to illuminate and instill spirituality even in such a time of darkness.”
I remember the darkness.
The pan of oil sizzles, and Sufjan Stevens plays “Coventry Carol” to remind us. Flicka lines up the delicate potato patties one by one on a paper towel-lined pan. I’ve finished preparing the rest of the meal, so I break off a piece of latke to sample. It’s as cozy as home and delicious as heaven, this new-to-me food I’ll embrace in future years too. But my heart is elsewhere.
The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.
Something flits in now and relieves the familiar heaviness of humanity’s fallenness weighing on me. The latke, as tasty as it is, isn’t what does it; it’s the promise of more.
The Light has come.
*Names in this blog have been changed to protect my family and friends in the neighborhood, and in a nod of appreciation to the beloved Swedish author Maj Lindman, I’ve renamed my three blondies Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka.