There's No Such Thing as a Chanukah Bush, Thomas Ryan

"I'm coming." Tom stumbled slightly as a woman knocked into him.

"Hey, watch where you're going, clumsy," she snarled.

"And a merry Christmas to you, too." He looked at Cassy over arms laden with boxes. "What happened to peace on Earth, good will towards men?"

"It's two weeks to Christmas, good will be damned; there's shopping to do and we're all running out of time." Pulling a small pencil and notepad out of her purse, she began methodically checking off items. "Okay, we've got stuff for your family, Amanda and Daniel, the office secret Santa is taken care of, I've bought gifts for my sisters, and my new niece." She chewed thoughtfully on her pencil. "Am I forgetting anybody?"

"Your partner? You know, the guy who gives up what little free time he has to go Christmas shopping with you, lets you into his apartment at four in the morning when you want to talk and he wants to sleep, and makes you look great as a detective. What'd you get for him?"

Her head jerked up. "Hmm? Did you say something?"

"Never mind." He shifted the packages in his arms. "C'mon, Cass, this stuff's getting heavy. Can't we quit?"

"No. I know I'm forgetting someone." She chewed again at the pencil, mentally comparing the list in her head with the notes in her hand. "Harry and Frannie! I forgot to buy a Christmas present for Harry and Frannie. Tell me what you got them."

"Why?" Tom's eyes narrowed suspiciously. It was just like Cassy to find out what he'd bought his captain and wife and then buy them something better. Just for once, he wished she'd forget about having to always be the best.

"Well, I don't want to buy them the same thing. It's no fun opening presents on Christmas morning if they're duplicates." She looked around the busy department store. "So what did you buy them for Christmas?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

Tom turned on his heel, heading for the exit. "I didn't buy them anything for Christmas. I never do."

She ran after him, fighting her way through the crowd, a part of her amazed at his ability to dodge through the throng, and a part of her mad as hell that he left her there. He was loading his car by the time she caught up with him. "How the hell did you get out of the store so fast?"

He gave her his most charming smile. "I played football for FSU. This is no different than charging through the offensive line."

"You could have waited for me." She frowned, remembering his parting remark in the store. "What did you mean, you never buy them anything for Christmas?"

"They don't celebrate Christmas."

"That's stupid, everyone celebrates Christmas."

"Oh, kinda like everyone's Irish on St. Patrick's day?"

"Yeah."

Tom shook his head. "It's not the same. Harry and Frannie celebrate Chanukah."

"I know that." She frowned at him. "Chanukah's the Jewish Christmas." Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her car keys. "I'm gonna make one more stop. I'll meet you at the office later and you can give me the other stuff there."

"I'm not going back. I've got plans tonight."

"Okay, then I'll get it tomorrow. Just make sure you get it all wrapped. Bye."

Tom watched her weave through the sea of cars in the lot. As usual, he was parked in Hell-And-Gone, while Cassy'd managed a space closer to the stores. Shaking his head, he folded himself into the Volkswagen and wrestled the car into gear.

The drive back was relatively quiet once he'd managed to get out of the mall parking lot. The usual kamikaze drivers all seemed to be elsewhere. "Probably doing their Christmas shopping," he muttered. Then he remembered Cassy's remark. "It's not the same, Cassy, not at all." Shaking his head, he let part of his mind wander to a day several years earlier.

His hands were still shaking, Tom noted absently, reaching for the handle of the captain's door. It had been the most frightening day of his life. He and his partner had collared a perp inside an old warehouse. His partner had gone to call for backup while Tom waited, gun drawn, just outside the building.

He'd done this before, dozens of times while he was working Robbery, but this was the first time since he'd switched to Homicide that they'd gone after an armed killer. He'd made other arrests, solved other murders, but most of those turned out to be crimes of passion rather than cold blooded killings. Moving in to arrest a wealthy socialite was a whole lot different than knowing a serial killer was just behind the wall.

"C'mon Bert," he muttered under his breath. "Get back here. What the hell's taking you so long?"

The door he'd been half leaning against jerked open. He staggered, almost falling into the dark interior just as he felt something whiz by his ear. The sound that followed a second later told him that he'd narrowly missed a bullet to the head. "Oh, God." His heart was pounding, where the hell was Bert?

A figure moved in the darkness.

**BANG!**

His heart was in his throat. Training took over and he dived for cover.

**BANG!**

A second later and he would have been dead.

"Hey, cop, I see you." The killer's voice sing-songed through the air. "Come on, stand up and take it like a man."

Tom lay still, hugging the ground. It happened so fast his eyes hadn't had time to adjust to the darkness.

"Ryan!"

Bert. He was just outside. If he came in, he'd be dead.

Footsteps shuffled in the dark. "I know you're there, cop. Come and get me before I get you and your partner."

Tom looked around, trying to pierce the darkness. The warehouse door opened. His partner was silhouetted in the frame. The killer took another step. "NO!" Lunging up, he fired at the sound, expecting to feel the fire of a bullet tearing through his body. The roar of his gun nearly deafened him. He felt nothing.

"Ryan? Tom?"

Bert. It was Bert, calling him from far away.

"Here," he managed to whisper through a dead-dry throat.

"Tom, you okay?"

"Fine." He was shaking so hard he couldn't feel anything else except the tremors.

"You got him, Ryan, you got him."

A heavy hand gripped his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

"Hey, you sure you're not hit?"

He managed to take a shaky step forward toward his partner. "I'm fine. Is he...?"

"Dead." Bert wiped a hand across his own forehead. "Thanks, Ryan. I couldn't see him. He would have got me for sure if you hadn't dropped him. I'll go call it in."

Tom nodded, stumbling toward the doorway while sending up a silent prayer of thanks to anyone upstairs who happened to be watching over new Homicide detectives. He shook all the way back to the station.

He was still shaking as he walked into Lipschitz's office and put the report on his desk.

The captain looked up, squinting over the tops of his glasses. "You okay, Tom?"

"I'm fine."

"Good." Lipschitz nodded once and turned his attention back to his desk. "Nice work, Detective Ryan."

Tom knew a dismissal when he heard one. "Thanks," he said softly and backed out of the office.

"Ryan, what are you still doing here?"

Tom's head jerked up. He'd lost track of the time. It was seven o'clock, and his shift had ended at three. "I?I just wanted to finish up some paperwork."

Lipschitz cast a critical eye over his newest detective. The young man was pale, his lips were dry, and his hands were still trembling. He'd been staring off into space completely unaware of his surroundings until he'd been called. Harry smiled inwardly, he'd seen this before. Hell, he'd gone through it himself. He did a quick mental run through Tom Ryan's personnel file. No family living nearby, newly transferred from Robbery to Homicide. Knowing the unspoken rivalry that existed between the two departments, he knew Ryan wouldn't go to his old companions for company. And he hadn't been in Homicide long enough to build up any bonds with the other members of the squad.

Harry smiled at his young detective. "You got any plans tonight, Ryan?"

"No. Is-is there something you need me to do?"

"Yes, there is. Come home with me." He hurried on at the confused look on the other man's face. "I'm late. It's the first night of Chanukah and Frannie's made a special dinner. If I bring home a guest, she'll have to wait until later to kill me. And maybe by then she'll have cooled off." He smiled, an open friendly smile. "How about it?"

"Um, sure, I guess."

"Okay, how about I drive and then we can bring you back for your car later?"

"That's okay. I-I can follow you."

Harry smiled again. There was no way he was gonna let the kid drive in the shape he was in. "No problem, besides, after we drive you back, I can swing by the beach. A ride in the moonlight never hurts." He didn't wait for a response, just turned and walked out of the squad room, confident that Tom would follow.

The Lipschitz house was quiet when the two men entered. A table was set with linen, china, and crystal. Tantalizing aromas hung in the air, but there was no sign of life.

"Oy," Harry said. "If she's gone to her mother's I'm dead." He cleared his throat. "Frannie? Frannie, sweetheart, I'm home, and I've brought a guest."

A door slammed at the back of the house and a small woman appeared, breezing through an entryway. "Harry, darling." She smiled through tight lips. "How wonderful to finally see you." She turned, noticing the tall young stranger in her dining room. "Hello, I'm Fran Lipschitz."

He bowed slightly, taking her offered hand. "Very nice to meet you, Ma'am. I'm Thomas Ryan."

"Tom's the new guy on Homicide. Remember, Frannie, I told you about him?"

Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at her husband. "I remember. Will you excuse us a minute, Detective Ryan?"

"Tom."

"Tom." She nodded in acknowledgment. "I need Harry's help in the kitchen."

"Sure."

They left him standing awkwardly in the dining room.

"Okay, Hesh, what's going on, and this had better be good." She crossed her arms over her bosom, waiting.

He knew the signs. You don't live with a woman for over twenty years without knowing what she's really thinking. If he didn't come up with the right answer, she'd kill him, guest or no guest. "He's all alone down here, and it's the holiday."

"His name's Ryan. Somehow I don't think he's an expert at playing the dreidel game."

"Okay." His shoulders slumped. "I'm worried about him. He had his first kill today."

All the anger left her. "Oh, God."

Harry shook his head, he couldn't help but think about his own first time. If it hadn't been for Frannie, he didn't know how he would have gotten through it. "He's new to the squad, he just came from Robbery, and his family's up in Boston."

"Say no more." "It's a holiday, maybe not his, but still a holiday. And it's not good to be alone at a time like this." She moved into her husband's arms. "So first we'll feed him, we'll talk to him, we'll get him home safely, and then I'll kill you for almost ruining my dinner."

They found him in the living room, gazing out the front window.

"I love to look at the lights at Christmas," Tom said softly, turning back to the room. "It's such a happy time, a celebration of life. Peace on earth and all that...." His voice trailed off.

Frannie came up to him, placing a hand on his arm. "Yes, it's beautiful. Harry and I usually go for a late night drive on Christmas eve and look at all the decorations. They're almost magical."

He nodded, looking absently around the room. "You haven't put your decorations up yet. Christmas is only a week away. I-I could help you, if you'd like."

**He's a sweet man,** Frannie thought. **I like him.** "We don't put up decorations, we're Jewish. We celebrate Chanukah."

"I know," Tom nodded. "But, that's the Jewish Christmas, right?"

The Lipschitzs exchanged a look. Harry walked over to the dining room table, motioning Tom to follow him. "Do you know what this is?" He asked, indicating the centerpiece.

"It's a candelabra," Tom said. "It's beautiful." He turned to Frannie, while gesturing toward the piece. "May I?"

"Of course."

He picked it up, turning it around in his hands. It was a heavy thing, made of bronze and burnished with the patina of age. Eight branches were evenly spaced along the front, with a ninth set slightly higher in the center.

"It's a menorah," Frannie said. "A special candelabra we use at Chanukah."

A box of small candles was placed on the side of the table. Next to it was a leather bound book with the words 'The Union Prayer Book' inscribed in gold letters on its front. Tom picked up the book, running his fingers over the worn leather. Like the menorah, it had the feel of age. He turned the book lightly in his hands. "Why is the title on the back cover?"

"It's a Hebrew prayer book." Harry said, taking the book and opening it to a marked page. "Hebrew is read from right to left, and the books are read back to front. So, for this book, the title is on the front."

"I see," Tom nodded. This was all new to him. He'd grown up in a very Catholic neighborhood in blue collar Boston. He knew Jews, went to school with some, worked with others, but he'd never really known any on a personal level.

"Tonight," Harry explained, "is the first night of Chanukah. Christmas celebrates the miracle of Christ's birth; Chanukah celebrates a miracle of another kind.

"Centuries ago, the city of Jerusalem was captured by the Syrians. Their king, Antiochus, ordered the Jews to reject their beliefs and worship the Greek Gods instead. Not everyone obeyed and one man, Judah, and his four brothers, formed a troop of soldiers. They called themselves "Maccabee" meaning hammer, and after three years of fighting, they finally drove the Syrians out of the city. The fleeing invaders destroyed everything in their wake, and the temple was in ruins. Everybody worked hard and on the twenty-fifth day of Kislev, the temple was ready to be rededicated.

"Among the ruins was a lamp, an eternal light that always burns in every synagogue. The liberators were disheartened to see that only enough oil was remaining in the lamp to burn for a single day, and they knew it would take eight days to bring in oil from outside Jerusalem for the lamp. Never the less, they lit the lamp. It was a symbol of their victory, and that symbol burned for eight days and eight nights, long enough for the oil stores to be replenished." Harry smiled at his guest. "That's the miracle of Chanukah. So every year on the twenty-fifth day of the Hebrew month of Kislev, we light the menorah, one candle each night for every night the lamp burned."

"I never heard that," Tom said. "But what's that got to do with Christmas?"

"Nothing," Frannie said. "It's traditional for Jewish families to celebrate the holiday, and give gifts of small coins, or candy to the children. There are games played and special foods prepared, so in that way you could say it's similar to Christmas, but then most holidays have family and food in common, don't they?" She smiled, and was glad to see Tom smile in return.

"As for its relation to Christmas. The only thing they have in common is that they both fall at approximately the same time of the year. Granted, the presents given to the children tend to be a little more elaborate than they were in the past, but I think that's more a case of keeping up with the neighbors, so to speak, than anything else.

"I can remember going to school after the winter holiday and hearing my Christian friends talking about all the great presents they got. I was so jealous." She smiled, remembering that time.

"So was I," Harry added. "I really think Chanukah became such a big deal as a way of Jewish parents getting their kids to stop kvetching about Christmas."

"I guess that was a pretty dumb thing I said, huh?" Tom asked, feeling the blush of shame creep up his neck.

"Not at all," Frannie assured him. "You were just trying to relate something you didn't understand to something you did."

"Well, I won't make that mistake again."

"Hesh," Frannie said, "it's already long past sundown. Shall we light the menorah and eat before the dinner's completely ruined?"

"Frannie, my love, nothing could ruin your latkes."

"Potato pancakes," Frannie translated, seeing the confused look on Tom's face. "Wait a minute, Hesh." Moving to a breakfront drawer, she snatched out a small round scrap of fabric and handed it to Tom.

He'd noticed another just like it next to Harry's place at the table.

"It's a yarmulke," Harry explained, placing the small skullcap on the back of his head. "We wear it when we say prayers. You don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No," Tom protested. "I don't mind." He set the small cap on his head. "So, how do I look."

"Just like an M.O.T." Harry said, grinning.

"A what?"

"Member of the Tribe," Frannie translated with a smile.

Harry picked up the prayer book and read the Hebrew, then followed with the English translation for Tom's benefit.

Frannie lit the center candle on the menorah, and then lit the first candle from its flame. Shaking out the match, she looked at Tom. His eyes were on the small flames, but she knew his mind wasn't in the room. "Let's eat, gentlemen," she said softly, moving back to the kitchen to bring in the food.

"Dinner was wonderful," Tom said, pushing his plate away before Frannie could put anything else on it. "I'm stuffed."

"You said the right thing, Thomas." Harry's voice was warm. "Nothing pleases a Jewish woman more than complimenting her food."

Tom laughed. "That's what my dad says about my mom's cooking, too. Except he substitutes Irish for Jewish."

"See," Frannie laughed, "we're more alike than you'd think." She paused, seeing the smile gone from their guest's face. She knew exactly what he was thinking. She'd been through this before with Harry, and she didn't want this nice young man suffering alone. "Okay, Captain, time to take of your badge and put on your apron. I cooked, you clean, remember?"

"That's the deal," Harry said, rising and gathering up dirty plates.

Tom stood quickly. "I'll help you."

A knowing looked passed between husband and wife.

"You'll do no such thing, Tom," Frannie said, rising from her chair. "This is another Chanukah tradition at the Lipschitz house. You come and sit with me in the living room. We'll look at the lights outside and talk."

They'd settled on a small sofa facing the windows. Frannie watched Tom closely. His face had a pinched expression, as if he was holding something back from her. **Or holding it in,** she thought. "The lights are beautiful, aren't they?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah." He nodded, never taking his eyes away from the window.

"I like Christmas time. It's a time to celebrate peace, and love, and life."

"Life." His chin quivered, and he bit at his lower lip.

"You know, Tom, I've been married to a cop for over twenty years. I know all about the life, the dangers, the fears. I know it intimately. It's the hardest job on earth, and it takes special people to do it." She placed a small hand on his arm. "I know we've only just met, but I can tell you're one of those special people."

He shook his head, still staring bleakly out the window. "No, I'm not."

"Harry told me what happened today."

"I killed a man."

"I know. A serial killer."

"I had to shoot him. Bert?my partner?he was in the doorway. The-the guy would have killed him. I had to do it. I had to."

"You saved his life, Tom." She felt sympathetic tears rising as she watched him in his grief.

"I'm no better than he was. I saved my partner, but I had to take a life to do it." He turned to her, his face etched with pain. "What does that make me?"

"I don't know." She paused, choosing her words carefully, finally finding them in words she'd said a long time ago. "How do you feel? Are you proud of what you did?"

"No! I feel sick. I don't understand. I should be proud, happy. I saved Bert's life, I stopped a monster from ever killing again, I should be glad."

"But you're not."

"No." He swallowed, looking as if he was about to cry. "I feel dirty. All I want to do is hide."

Frannie smiled, gathering the troubled young man into her arms. "You're a good man, Tom Ryan, one of the best. Don't ever stop believing that. You did your job, and there are people celebrating Chanukah and Christmas and all the other holidays because of men like you. It's a fearsome thing, being a police officer. Most people don't realize the true meaning of the job. You serve, and protect, and sometimes in order to do that, you have to take a life. But you must never?never, think that makes you a bad person."

"She's right, Tom."

Tom looked up to see Harry standing over them. He flushed, realizing he was sitting on a sofa and hugging his captain's wife. He sat up, quickly putting a few inches between them. "I-I didn't see you."

Harry smiled, placing a friendly hand on Tom's shoulder. "Frannie's a wise woman. She knows what you're going through. We both do. I don't think I'd be here today if it wasn't for her." He bent down, kissing his wife. "You remember what she said. It'll help."

Tom stood, brushing at his slacks. "It's getting late, and I'm on duty at seven tomorrow morning."

"I'll get the car and take you back to the station. Frannie, will you come for the ride?"

"Do you think we could drive along the beach on the way back."

"Better. We'll stop and look at the ocean."

"I'm coming."

Husband and wife exchanged warm smiles.

Watching them, Tom realized how lucky he was to have Harry Lipschitz as his captain, especially today. "I want," he began, then licked dry lips and tried again. "I want to thank you both. For the dinner, and the Chanukah celebration, and for ? for helping me," he finished softly.

Frannie hugged him again. "That's what friends are for. And I hope that's what we've become tonight."

He hugged her back, feeling a lightness in his heart he thought he'd lost forever. "Friends."

"Tom," Harry said, looking critically at his detective. "What you're feeling. It's gonna stay with you for a long time. Taking a life is never easy. Hope to God it never becomes easy. If you ever need to talk, anytime, you can always talk to us."

"Thanks, I will."

Tom and Frannie stood together a moment more, watching the twinkling holiday lights and waiting for Harry to bring the car. "So," he said, grinning and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "you don't need help decorating the Chanukah bush?"

She poked him playfully. "There's no such thing as a Chanukah bush, Thomas Ryan."

Tom smiled as the memory of that night washed over him. He'd spent every Chanukah since then at the Lipschitz home. And whenever he spent Christmas in Palm, he always had them in for a quiet dinner to return the joy.

**Chanukah, that's the Jewish Christmas, right?** Cassy's words slipped through his brain once more. "Wrong, Cassandra. You are so wrong." Pulling up to his apartment, he parked the car and began unloading the packages from the back. He wanted to hurry and shower and change. Tonight was the first night of Chanukah and he couldn't wait to dive into Frannie's latkes.

Christmas carols spilled from a neighbor's open window. Tom smiled, then countered with a tune of his own. "Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made it out of clay?.."

~finis~