No hate. No violence. Not in our town.

What with one thing and another, I haven’t gotten to light even a virtual menorah yet.But here’s my personal Chanukah celebration: just about every year I repost the lyrics to my favorite Chanukah song, Peter Yarrow’s “Light One Candle”, to remind myself what the lights in the darkness are for. I’ll post that here tomorrow. Today, I’m posting another Chanukah story I’ve just reminded myself of, the lyrics to Fred Small’s “Not in Our Town”. Because when you kindle the flame in a menorah to bringht light into darkness, there’s a reason you place it in the window instead of keeping all the light inside your own house. And because I think there still are more of us than they have stones.

(I have bleeped one word in the first verse, not because I can’t stand the word in context, but to sneak it past any work-safe filters.)

Not In Our Town
Words and Music by Fred Small
Copyright 1994 Pine Barrens Music (BMI)

When the Klan came to Montana, they made no grand parade.
No hooded knights on horseback, no banners boldly raised.
Spray paint and bomb threats, a voice on the telephone line:
“Kill the n—-rs, kill the homos, Jew bitch die.”

Five-year-old Isaac woke screaming in the gloom.
“Mommy, there’s a man at my window, looking into my room.”
“Son, there’s nothing out there but the shadows branches make.”
The little boy went back to sleep, his parents lay awake.

For Isaac’s bedroom window showed their faith for all to see
The candles of the menorah stood for hope and memory.
The next night, out of the darkness, a cinder block was hurled.
It shattered Isaac’s window, and the boundaries of his world.

Chorus:
One moment of conviction, one voice quiet and clear,
One act of compassion, it all begins here.
No safety now in silence, we’ve got to stand our ground.
No hate. No violence. Not in our town.

The cop was not unfriendly. He said, “Ma’am, if I were you,
I’d take down that menorah, the Star of David, too.”
Isaac’s mother Tammy said, “I’m sure that’s good advice.
But how then could I ever look my children in the eye?”

Then at their doorway a little girl did stand
A gift for her schoolmate in her outstretched hand.
A menorah drawn in crayon, from a Gentile to a Jew
It read, “To Isaac, From Rebecca, I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Chorus

Bridge:
Have you seen the paper? Did you hear the news?
What kind of people are we? We thought we knew.
Can children primed in prejudice in peace together dwell?
If we look out through this shattered glass, do we see ourselves?

Margaret McDonald called her pastor on the phone.
“This time the Jews will not face their foes alone.
We’ll make paper menorahs, display them from our homes.
We’ll show the bigots there are more of us than they have stones.”

Volunteers printed up menorahs by the score.
Children in their Sunday schools colored hundreds more.
Grocers and dry cleaners gave out the design, singing:
What’s a little broken glass when freedom’s on the line?

Now in the town of Billings live not 100 Jews,
But menorahs now were everywhere, on every avenue.
Thousands upon thousands, in windows rich and poor.
When a neighbor stands in danger, we will not close our door.

Bridge:
Through the drifting snow, Tammy drove her children round
To see all the menorahs in the windows of the town.
“Are all those people Jewish?” asked Isaac as they went.
“No,” his mother answered, “they are your friends.”

Chorus
repeat last line twice more:
No hate. No violence. Not in our town.