Holiday tale of neighborly love a bright light in dark world

It’s a story that brings comfort here whenever it’s recalled, telling how the menorah and the manger, those timeless symbols of Hanukkah and Christmas, combined to offer a great example of what St. Francis of Assisi no doubt had in mind when he implored the faithful to “preach the Gospel at all times and, if necessary, use words.”

Indeed, in a world where what divides us has a louder voice than what unites us, it’s a story that’s more relevant than ever.

The setting was a cul de sac in a small Northeast community where every home but one was inhabited by Christians. The remaining home was occupied by a Jewish family whose matriarch had survived the horrors of Auschwitz.

When sunset came every lawn was aglow with shepherds, angels and wise men, with the exception of one that was graced by an illuminated menorah.

One morning at dawn, a resident named Lisa was awakened by the shrill sound of hammering; across the street she could see her Jewish neighbor boarding up his picture window, then riding off with his family in its car.

When she then saw the shattered remnants of their vandalized menorah it made her heartsick.

“I can’t imagine how terrifying it must have been to be singled out that way,” she said. “We’re Catholics, but I know the menorah represents a miracle by our God before our faith was known as Christianity. Why anyone would use a symbol of God’s love for hatred, I just don’t understand.”

Neither did her neighbors who soon joined her in hitting every big box store in town, searching for a very specific item.

When the targeted family returned home after sundown there wasn’t a Christmas ornament in sight; instead, every home had an illuminated menorah on its lawn.

“At first I didn’t catch on,” the housewife who fled recalled. “But as soon as I saw what they had done I had tears in my eyes. It was so touching. They even bought a new one for us.”

When the story was first shared here, reporters and TV crews began arriving at her door, prompting her to call here.

“Thank you for telling it,” she said. “But we’re private people, so being in the newspaper is not our cup of tea. Would you please leave out our names and address if you write about it again?”

Fair enough. So their names have never been mentioned again. But their story is still being told. Why? Because this is a world that still needs so much to hear it.