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Drop a latke on your platter:

Taste its crispy, salty edge.

See those little shredded pieces,

Rippling with their oily pledge.

For inside is spreading, spreading

More than empty calories-

There’s a tale in there of magic

Spanning countless centuries.


Drop gelt into small outstretched palms:

Watch its shine reflect their smiles,

For young children know the secret-

There’s more than money to be found.

Inside these coins are bright tradition

Passed from father down to son.

This holiday is full of wonder,

And these small coins reflect each one.


Drop a flame onto a candle:

Watch it flicker merrily,

And as it spreads its light around you,

Sing the words of praise and glee.

For those eight flames stand in silence-  

Testament to our victory,

And in those flames are promises

That just as then, we’ll persevere.

Drop a dreidel on the table:

In a minute it’ll stop;

But as it circles, circles madly,

There’s a story spinning round.

This is no small simple top,

And these are no plain circles,

For on each side is one small letter

Symbolizing miracles.

There’s no such thing as small tradition,

And miracles are never small.

There’s so much magic all a-swirling

In the guise of oil and fire.

And when you’ve lit and sung and played

On each of these eight nights,

You’ve added links to an age-old chain

Dropping messages of hope and light.

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