He grabbed the Menorah, adjusting it right in the center. You were standing beside him. Music was playing but you two weren't focused on it. You placed a hand on his back, warm and soft, he looked back at you for a second, cracking a smile.

Joe grew up with Judaism, his family is highly religious. Did he believe it? No, not really. Not anymore. But he didn't want to give up his childhood for a basic American Christmas. Not with the memories of standing around the table, lighting the pretty candle with the pretty glow, while Hebrew prayers slipped from his parents lips. He couldn't understand it, language wasn't his thing.

So that's what he did. He grabbed the first shamash candle, placed it in his hand, and snapped his lighter open, holding the wick to the flame. Then, he leaned over and lit the first candle of Hanukkah. He whispered a soft prayer, the same his mother used to do. Just in English this time.

"Praised be, our God, who has given us life and sustained us throughout the seasons."