Disclaimer: Not mine.

This is a little meditation in honor of Chanukah on the healing power of a functional family unit … even if the family is someone else's. Any errors in custom, tradition, etc. I apologize for in advance and assure you they are entirely mine. Shalom alechem.

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"Healing"

Adam Schiff sighed and ran a hand slowly over his dark hair as he laid down his pen. Glancing appraisingly at the fading light, he closed the case file in front of him and picked up his coat and hat. Usually, he didn't worry unduly about keeping to the Orthodoxy, but tonight marked the beginning of Chanukah and he'd promised to be home before sunset. He deliberately pulled on his coat and picked up his briefcase as he exited his office.

He stopped briefly at a small cubicle down the hall. The young man working there was pale under his shock of dark hair and five o'clock shadow. "Jack."

"Almost done," the young man grunted, writing furiously without looking up. Adam sighed again.

"I need to be able to read that," he pointed out. Jack looked up and Adam was disturbed by how haggard he looked.

"It's legible," Jack objected mildly. Adam grimaced.

"Finish your sentence, then pack up," he instructed. Puzzled, Jack stared at his mentor.

"Why?"

"You're invited to dinner," Adam replied gruffly. Jack opened his mouth to reply, then shut it.

"It's Monday … and doesn't Chanukah start tonight?"

Adam nodded.

"I … don't want to intrude." Jack turned his attention back to the case file he was researching. Adam tugged it away.

"You're not intruding," he said before Jack could give voice to his objection. "Get your coat."

"What will Rachael think?"

"Whose idea to you think it was?"

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During the cab ride to the Schiff residence, the two men talked about inconsequential matters—the murder case that was to go to trial after the New Year, the forced-prostitution ring that had just been broken up. Adam briefly instructed his Irish-Catholic assistant in Chanukah tradition. As he had been doing for weeks, Jack avoided the subject of his own holiday plans; that refusal told Adam all he needed to know. He suspected the young man had been planning to spend the evening inside a bottle.

Upon arrival at the brownstone, Adam paid the fare and led the way to the front door. As the door opened, the smell of frying latkes drifted over them.

"What's that?" Jack asked alertly. Adam suppressed a smile at the sudden increase in interest. The young man still thought at times with his stomach.

"Latkes," Adam replied.

"What?"

"Latkes." Adam stepped inside, glancing at the menorah as he passed it. "You'll find out." He hung his coat and hat inside the closet, replacing the hat with a yarmulke. "Come on."

Quickly, Jack shucked his own coat and hung it beside Adam's, then followed into the kitchen.

"Adam, you made it," greeted the dark-haired woman who was already there. "And Jack, you came … good. The house has been so empty since Josh and Leah moved out to San Francisco."

Jack glanced curiously at Adam. "Hasn't Josh had his own apartment for ten years?" he asked in an undertone, and Adam nodded. Louder, Jack commented, "It smells wonderful, Mrs. Schiff."

"Thank you, Jack," Rachael replied gracefully. "It looks like it's time to light the menorah … I'll be there in a minute."

Taking the unsubtle hint, the men retraced their steps to the entryway. This time, Jack noticed the chairs grouped around the small table on which sat the polished silver menorah. With a gesture, Adam invited Jack to sit and handed him another yarmulke.

A moment later, Rachael bustled in, her own head covered. She took the free chair and nodded slightly to Adam, who began,

"Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has sanctified us with Your commandments, and commanded us to light the Chanukah lights."

He took the center candle from the menorah and lit it with the match that had appeared in his hand, continuing, "Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who performed miracles for our fathers in those days, in this season."

He touched the flame to the single candle that stood at the far right of the menorah, ending, "Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who has granted us life and sustenance, and permitted us to reach this season."

He replaced the candle in its raised, central holder and picked up the prayer book that lay beside the menorah. Jack bowed his head as Adam began to intone the Hanerot Halalu:

"We kindle these lights to commemorate the saving acts, miracles and wonders which You have performed for our forefathers, in those days at this time, through Your holy priests. Throughout the eight days of Chanukah, these lights are sacred, and we are not permitted to make use of them, but only to look at them, in order to offer thanks and praise to Your great Name for Your miracles, for Your wonders and for Your salvations."

"Amen," Jack breathed, echoed by Rachael's "Oman."

Replacing the book, Adam sat back and regarded his wife fondly for a moment. "Long ago," he began, "more than two thousand years ago, in the days of the mad, wicked King Antiochus IV, who tried to destroy everything the Jews held sacred …"

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Jack sat quietly with his elbows on his knees, eyes closed, for several long moments after Adam finished the story of the Maccabees and the miracle of the oil. His face was downturned, so Adam couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"Jack?" Rachael prodded gently, finally. "It's time to eat."

He sat still for a moment more before looking up. The smile he gave was tired, but genuine, and Adam hoped that the wound of the boy's divorce had finally begun to heal.

"Thank you, Mrs. Schiff," he said quietly. "That sounds … that sounds good."

Pleased, Adam grimaced and extinguished the lights in the order opposite that in which he had lit them before following his wife and his protégé back into the dining room, where their traditional supper awaited.