In 1993, in Billings, Montana, someone threw a brick through a window that displayed a child’s drawing of a menorah.
That was the year I bought an electric menorah.
I had always turned up my nose at them: ugly, commercial, crass, nowhere near as beautiful or meaningful as real flames. But candles burn out within an hour and I wanted the light to shine all night long—to stand with the family whose children were terrorized and with the town of Billings, which rallied against anti-Semitism as thousands hung images of menorahs in their windows.
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