After the story she had planned an "experience"for us. We were all given a small candle. There was a large candle in the front of the chapel. She lit the large candle and turned out the lights. The sputtering flame did little to light the room as the first person sitting in the first row slowly walked up to the candle and lit his small candle from it. He then returned to his seat and lit the next person's candle from his small candle. The second person lit the third person's and so on. We sat in silence while 1 by 1 the growing number of candles brightened the room. When all the candles were lit, there was a golden light spread throughout the room that allowed us to see each other.

I thought it was a nice ceremony but a little too obvious and too goody goody. It almost made me want to roll my eyes and say ," well isn't that special". However I didn't do that. After all I was a guest.

The director surprised the audience by asking for volunteers to tell stories from their life that demonstrated the principle of giving that we had just practised in the candle ceremony. Everyone sat frozen in their chairs with a "not me" expressions on their faces. If they had been turtles they would have drawn their heads into their shells. I felt sorry for the director who was clearly becoming uncomfortable. After all these were her teachers. They were supposed to be communicators. Although I was under no obligation to rescue anybody, I saw a chance to exercise my subtle antagonistic sense of humor. So I raised my hand and told this true story.

" Just last weekend I went to the bagel store to buy some day old bagels. Of course I can afford fresh bagels, but there's something special about getting them on sale that makes them taste better."

At this people were starting to wonder who this guy was, talking about bagels and his buying habits regarding them.They shifted uncomfortably. I was enjoying myself immensely.

"The clerk said that they were all out of day old bagels," I continued. "The clerk noticed my disappointment as I turned to leave. 'Hey,' he said 'Wait . Here I'm just wrapping up these bagels for tomorrow. Why don't you take this bag for $2. ' He handed me a bag with about 20 bagels and smiled broadly. I thanked him profusely and left the store. I ate 2 bagels right away as I drove to the Berkeley campus. Every year around Christmas they close off Shattuck Ave., the main street that runs right into the heart of the campus, for the merchants to sell their Christmas wares. As I left my car I decided to bring the large bag of bagels with me. Surely I couldn't eat them all in the next few days by myself. I could give them away to the homeless.

I always feel a little ambivalent about giving money to street people. Many of them have drug and alcohol problems and if you give them money they may use it to by more drugs and alcohol. Sometimes I ask people if they are hungry and want food. If they say yes, I buy them some food and feel good when I see them eating because it means I've really helped someone. As I walked down Shattuck Ave toward the campus I started asking street people if they wanted a bagel. Some said yes and some said they really weren't interested in bagels. After I had given away 6 of the bagels, I saw a scary black man ahead. He was big and mean looking. His scarred face was proof that he'd been in his share of fights. He may have been drunk. I wanted to avoid him. Yet something in me prodded me to take a risk. I approached the man. "Would you like some bagels,brother?", I timidly offered. He swung around and glared at me.

"Naw. I don't want no bagels,man 'he growled. He hesitated for a moment and added,' but Happy Hanukah to you ."and a smile broke through his ragged face.

I smiled and nodded my thanks. As I walked away I thought about what a great day it had been. A day of giving. Where each person gave what he could. The bagel man gave me a bag of bagels. The beggar who had nothing but good will to give ,gave that.'

As I finished my story some people smiled at me and some people seemed relieved that I was finished telling this rather strange story. The director thanked me for my story and went on to give the final part of the sevice. I felt a little awkward and wondered if I had gone to far and embarrassed myself and my friend.

After the service there were refreshments. The director walked over to me. "I just want to talk to you about that story you told. ," she said in her crisp schoolmasters English. I shrunk down a bit. "That was exactly the kind of story I was hoping someone would tell. It was a beautiful story. Thank you so much for sharing it with us".

Greatly relieved I lied politely, saying that I had enjoyed the ceremony and our "spiritual exercise". It wasn't until days later that I realized that every time I had done a good deed, no matter how big or small, I had thought of that image of passing the light, one small candle at a time, one good deed at a time. And you know, although it all happened many years ago, I still do.
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