Stone Fox Bride

When I was younger, few things were more disgusting than the smell of my hebrew tutor's house during his annual Hannukah party. Cramped, hot + sizzling with oil from greasy fried latkes, my brother and I dreaded it. We used to hide under the stairs stealing donut holes and spinning dreidels. When you're a kid, you don't get why these things are important. Rituals. Holidays. Sitting around the table in the dark saying thank you, your whole family's faces lit by flames. Last year we celebrated Hanukkah in the hospital with my dad. You're not allowed to light candles in the Bone Marrow Transplant Ward, so we plugged in an electric menorah. Once Chabad volunteers came by to sing Rock of Ages. It made Dad happy. Dad got his transplant on the 8th night of Hannukkah. 8 million stem cells. I thought all the 8's were an auspicious sign. On the day we learned that his cough might actually be a life-threatening complication, I sat at his bedside reading: "A Parakeet Named Dreidel" by Isaac Bashevis Singer — the same short story he used to read to me and my siblings when we were kids. This is my first ever Hannukah without him. Recently @urbanrootsnyc planted an evergreen garden (cyptomeria, cephalotaxus, chamaeacyparis, parsley + pine) on my patio meant to endure the most frigid and brutal of NYC winters. Kind of like what I'm prepping my heart for these next couple months. Tonight my kids and I light another candle. We say thank you. For lessons found in darkness, another summer gone, a new winter on the horizon. The miracle of light, rebuilding broken temples + tradition. #cluboflostdaughters photo @michaelleneff