In Toronto, where I grew up, a white Christmas was even-money; a white Chanukah was a long shot. However in 1960, on the first night of Chanukah, it snowed like hell. But for that snowstorm, I wouldn't know the story I am about to repeat; I would not have known that my zeyde had an encounter with the Baal Shem Tov (This was truly miraculous, since the Besht died 104 years before my grandfather was born); and ! would never have gone to work for my Uncle Davy, making book.
Prior ...