The Ninth Man

The Ninth Man stood on the corner under the darkened skies which wept uncontrollably. The rain came down in buckets and bathtubs. The umbrella I had seemed puny and insignificant against the torrential effects of the deluge, as I struggled onward, but was surprised when the Ninth Man called out to me: "Hello, My friend!"

His voice was the quintessential Brooklyn (New York City) accent. He could have sold used gold on those annoying late night TV infomercials. He was elderly, Jewish, with long gray hair and had an even more wizened, silvery beard.

I stopped to see what he wanted. He shook my hands, a good firm handshake, and I warmly wished him, "A Happy Holidays!" He asked me, "Are you Jewish?"

"No, I'm sorry," I said. "I'm Christian."

He seemed a touch disappointed, but then curiosity overwhelmed me, and I asked him: "Why are you standing here out in the rain?"

"It's a long story," he said. Then paused, "We need a Tenth Man so we can begin our prayers."

"Ahh," I thought to myself, "I have heard of this tradition."

"Happy Hanukkah" I said merrily to him.

He shook my hand again.

"God bless your family," were my final words to him... "and yours too," I heard him say, and I hoped the Tenth Man would arrive soon...


Image Credit: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hanukkah