Special thanks to Charlene Edwards for proofreading
For the Miracles and the Wonders
Batman didn't come to Bridwell often. He didn't usually have to. The largely Jewish neighborhood, situated between Grant Park and Cathedral Square in East-Central Gotham was hardly a criminal 'hot-spot'. The police were generally more than capable of dealing with an occasional burglary or hate crime, and for the most part, the Dark Knight was content to leave the area in their hands.
There was something about December, though…
He avoided the rooftops. The area was mostly single-story dwellings, and the roofs tended to be fiberglass shingles, slate, or asphalt. Not exactly conducive to stealth. So he stayed on the ground, and did his best to remain inconspicuous in the shadows. That was easier than it should have been at this time of year.
Elsewhere in the city, by the second week of December, the Christmas decorations were out in full force. The displays of colored lights and tinsel, snowmen and Santas ran the full gamut from understated to ostentatious. Thinking about it, Batman wondered whether the Great Wall of China was still the only manmade structure visible from space. There were homes in Crest Hill that were currently so brightly lit that extra-terrestrials could almost be excused for mistaking them for landing sites. Here in Bridwell, however, things were more subdued. True 'Happy Hannukah' (alternately spelled 'Hanukah, Channukah, or Chanukah) banners hung below window valences, and paper menorahs and dreidels were mounted on large pieces of construction paper, which were then decorated with paints and glitter and taped to front doors. The homemade signs looked like what they were: elementary school arts-and-crafts projects devoid of the crass consumerism which seemed to grow worse every year. Even the few gentile homeowners in the area seemed to prefer more low-key, tasteful decorations. Wreaths, a modest amount of lights, perhaps a single Santa on the doorstep or a snowman in a red hat on the lawn—nothing overly showy or gaudy. There was something comforting about the simplicity of the decorations, something that hearkened to a bygone era, that brought back old memories that one tended to suppress.
The holidays could be a lonely time of the year…
Dick would be coming in for a visit next week, and Bruce was definitely looking forward to it. Still, all of the forced gaiety of the season was starting to get to him. With all of the stress on family, and good times, and 'Christmas cheer', his thoughts inevitably stretched back to the days when 'family' had included his parents. It was all well and good for Alfred to remind him that they were still there, in spirit, but Bruce wanted them there in body.
Batman sighed. It seemed to him that today, people really tended to get carried away, and not for the better. Maybe that was why he came here. There was no reason to believe that the denizens of Gotham's underworld would forsake the better-lit downtown core, in favor of this neighborhood. He supposed that he came to get away from his memories. It wasn't working.
His mission wasn't working as well as he'd planned. He was out there every night, unless he was physically incapacitated, scaring the lowlifes, terrorizing their bosses, helping the police, and there was still no appreciable drop in the crime rate. He knew the statistics: three out of five people taken into police custody were back on the streets within thirty days. Crime wasn't going away—it was going smarter. It was going crazier. It was going to wear him down and do him in one of these days. He was doing his best, but really, how much good could one man do?
There weren't many people on the street, right now. It was just about dinner time. He looked up, directly into a front window. A bearded man wearing a yarmulke was watching as a boy of about ten or so held a lit candle. As he watched, the boy's lips moved as he recited some words in Hebrew. Then, he extended the candle and touched its flame to the wicks of two more candles, standing in a menorah. That was right. Tonight was the second night—or 'light'—of Hannukah. The boy handed the candle to his father, who used it to light the candle that a slightly younger girl held carefully in one hand. He then placed it back in the menorah, in the centre holder, which stood slightly higher than the others. The scene repeated itself with two more children. Then all grouped before the window, lips opened in unison, and they sang as though they expected their voices to carry out to the street.
Batman permitted himself a brief smile. Then he froze. They were looking directly at him. He hadn't meant to linger—these people were entitled to their privacy—what was he thinking, this was worse than any syrupy holiday special…
The door opened. "Batman?" The father called from the entryway. "Did you… did you want to come in for a moment?"
He hesitated. "I'm… needed elsewhere." It wasn't really a lie. Crime didn't take holiday time off.
"But we've got latkas!" One of the smaller boys who couldn't have been older than six joined the man at the door. Shyness warred with incredulity as he peeked out from behind his father's leg. "And applesauce!"
The man looked down. "Yaakov, it's cold. Go back inside." He looked back at Batman. "We really do have more than enough. Are you sure you can't?"
He shouldn't. The city needed him. But he took an involuntary step forward.
"Yehuda!" A woman's voice called. "Telephone. It's Rabbi Keces."
Yehuda nodded. "Please come in," he repeated. "I'll never teach the children about hospitality if they never have the chance to see it."
That settled it. He followed the man into the house.
"Um… have a seat," Yehuda said, uncertainty stealing into his voice now. "I'll be right with you. Just make yourself at home."
The door shut behind them.
The woman cleared her throat. "I'm Devorah Leider. Welcome. Please. Make yourself comfortable."
Batman sat down awkwardly on the couch. It was a mistake coming here. There was too much light inside. He felt the couch sag and looked down into a pair of wide brown eyes. "Could you read me a story?"
A book was suddenly on his lap.
"It's the Hannukah story!" Yaakov said helpfully.
"Yaakov, he just walked in the door!" Devorah exclaimed. "Ask Binyamin to read it to you." She turned to Batman. "I am so sorry."
"I don't mind," he replied, discovering that it wasn't a lie. Reading would absolve him of the need to make conversation. He opened to the first page.
The couch sagged again. A smaller, curly-haired version of Yaakov sat leaning on his older brother. "This is Ephraim," Yaakov said.
Batman's lips turned upwards in a faint smile. He sent a small wave in the younger boy's direction. Ephraim giggled and buried his face in Yaakov's sleeve.
"Oh, he always does that," Yaakov scoffed. "Read the story!"
"Yaakov!" Devorah hissed. "Manners!"
"Please read the story?"
So he did. He knew the reason for the holiday in a general sense, but he'd never bothered with the details before. In the second century before the Common Era, Judea had been under the rule of the Syrian-Greeks. In an effort to force the Jews to assimilate into the prevailing culture, the foreign rulers had forbidden the people to practice their faith. Matters came to a head when soldiers came to the village of Modi'in, and tried to force the elder to eat pork, in direct violation of the Jewish dietary laws. A battle ensued, leaving the Greek soldiers dead and the elder and his sons forced to flee to the hills.
He barely noticed when the two older children also took up seats nearby. He just kept turning the pages.
As he read on, he began to realize exactly what sort of odds this band of zealots, these Macabees had faced. They must have seemed insurmountable. Judea at that time had no standing army, no military training, and their weapons… knives, bows and arrows, had they seriously believed that they could pit those against the most powerful armed forces in the world at that time? A series of successful guerilla attacks had gotten them better arms and equipment, but the Greeks only sent more troops, this time mounted on elephants. The Macabees had to know that the longer they fought the greater the likelihood of failure… this was all starting to strike some very resonant chords…
They had fought on… and they had won. They had managed to recapture the Holy Temple, cleanse it of all traces of pagan idol worship, and rededicate it. But when the time came to light the golden menorah, they had only been able to find one small flask of olive oil that had not been opened and defiled. It would take eight days to procure a new source of oil. The flask had barely enough to last one day. But they had used it, and, miraculously, that small amount of oil had lasted eight days.
"And that's why we light the menorah for eight nights of Hannukah up 'til today!" Yaakov said, bringing them all back to the present.
Batman nodded soberly. "Thank-you."
The small boy blushed. "I'm sorry," he said. "Batman, thank-you for reading us the story."
He shook his head. "No. I meant, really. Thank-you. I think," he hesitated. "I think I needed to read that to you tonight almost as much as you needed to hear it.
The aroma of potato pancakes permeated the room, and he realized his mouth was watering. "Food's on the table," Devorah called. "And when it's gone, that's IT until tomorrow, because I'm not going to peel any more potatoes!"
A chorus of laughter greeted her remark as Batman followed the Leider children to the table. Soon, too soon, he would have to face the cold and the darkness again. But there was no darkness so impenetrable that it could not be banished… by the light of a candle.
We light these lights During all eight days of Chanukah
for the miracles and the wonders,
For the redemption and the battles
that you made for our forefathers
in those days at this season,
Through your holy priests.
These lights are sacred
And we are not permitted to make
Ordinary use of them,
But only to look at them;
In order to express thanks
And praise to Your great Name
For your miracles, Your wonders
And your salvations.
"Hanerot Hallalu" (Traditional prayer recited after the kindling of the Hannukah lights)
Note: Latkas are pancakes. Although potato pancakes are most often prepared for the holiday, other vegetables often used include carrot, zucchini, and sweet potato.