Two Hanukkah stories from the New Yorker
"What's the matter, Ringo?" John said, handing him a handkerchief.
Ringo blew his nose. "It's already the fourth night of Hanukkah," he sniffled, "and I haven't got a single present."
"Well, that won't do," John said, and he set off to tell the rest of the Beatles.
"A present?" Paul said. "Well, I suppose I could give him this banana."
"A present?" George said. "I suppose I could give him this zipper."
Then John took a Mason jar and filled it with dirt. "My present is dirt," John said.
That night, the Beatles threw a tremendous Hanukkah party in Ringo's honor. Ringo was overwhelmed. He had never imagined that Hanukkah could be so fun, or so rewarding—especially since he had learned of its existence only that morning.
Incidentally, it was around this time that the Beatles were doing a lot of drugs.
In the Book of the Redemption (c. 1263), the celebrated medieval Jewish philosopher Nahmanides describes a distant land where everything—the houses, the roads, even the synagogue—is made from potato latkes.
And running through this savory land are two broad rivers, one flowing with applesauce and the other with sour cream.
And on Hanukkah the Jews of Latkeland gather at the confluence of the two rivers, so they can top their latkes with a dollop of each.
Incidentally, it was around this time that Nahmanides was doing a lot of drugs.
More stories at: http://www.newyorker.com/humor/2009/12/14/091214sh_shouts_brenner