A Season of Miracles Read Free

ground, and in the
camp, had nothing to do with presents or fancy decorations, or huge trees. The most wonderful tree
he had ever seen was a scrawny pine in a barracks, little candles dancing light among the branches.
The light on the faces of the American soldiers, far from home and lonely, singing their carols in the
midst of the human wreckage of war, this light was more than all the lights on Fifth Avenue, and all
the mechanical elves in the world.
    In magical America, there was no magic in Christmas. Amidst all the lights, there was no
light in people's faces.
    Sammy brooded. Everyone noticed, but no one could make him tell what was on his mind.
An almost-eight-year-old in a moral and philosophical crisis is not the usual thing. But Sammy grew
up in a cave. This was all fresh and new. Irv and Marsha noticed nothing, Sammy realized, because
this was always the way it was for them. Just like the big tree. It was just a big tree for Marsha, not a
vision. And the other kids, who celebrated Christmas, all they talked about was what they were going
to get. They were like thieves planning a heist, and spending their loot before the fact.
    Matters reached their climax the next Monday in school. The class was making Christmas
ornaments, singing carols, writing a class letter to the North Pole asking, no, demanding gifts from Santa. Sammy was fuming. No menorahs, no candles, no dreidl tops for
Hanukkah games, and, to top it off, not even a discussion of what the meaning of Christmas might
be.
    Mrs. Catalano was nattering on, and said, "Of course, we will all be off from school to
celebrate the birth of the Savior, which we call Christmas and the little Jewish children call
Hanukkah."
    "No." said Sammy, under his breath. He looked around at the other Jewish kids. They sat
impassively. There was no sign of outrage on their faces. Irv just sat there and took it. And Sheldon
Weinberg, and Miriam Glass, and Murray Melzer. They said nothing.
    Then, Sammy said "No" in a conversational tone. Then "No" a little louder. The children
sitting near him began to look at him. Mrs. Catalano was lost in her own discourse.
    "No," said Sammy. " No . NO. NO. And NOOO!"
    Startled, Mrs. Catalano, reacted typically. "Samuel Itzkowitz, please stop your yelling. I
don't know what's bothering you, but you are spoiling it for the other children."
    Sammy arose. "You are bothering me, Mrs. Catalano. Hanukkah is not what we call
Christmas. Hanukkah is a wonderful holiday that happened before there was ever a
Christmas. And the worst thing is that none of the other kids says anything. The Jewish kids sit here
like they don't know the difference, and the rest will believe a lie for their whole lives. And
Christmas is not just decorations and presents. Why are you lying to us? Or are you just stupid?"
    The class gasped as one. Mrs. Catalano's face became red with rage and embarrassment, for
she truly did not know any better, and was angry at Sammy for exposing her.
    The Jewish kids rolled their eyes. They had been taught over the years that invisibility was
the best way to survive, and now their cover was blown.
    "Samuel Itzkowitz, your behavior is disgraceful! You will go down to Mr. Sullivan's office immediately . But first, you will apologize to me and the class."
    "NO! No, Mrs. Catalano. You will apologize to us for lying or for being stupid.
You will say you're sorry for telling us things that are not true. Then I will go."
    The class was riveted. They had never seen such a display of defiance. Nor had Mrs.
Catalano. She was barely able to get the words out. "All right, then. You stay here. I am
going to get Mr. Sullivan."
    She left the room. The class stared silently at Sammy. Irv finally managed to speak.
"Sammy, sit down! Don't be a shtunk . Say you're sorry and get it over with. You'll be in a lot
of trouble."
    "Irving, I'm surprised at you. You never take anything from the kids on the street. How can
you sit here and take this?"
    "Sammy, this is