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Muriel hadn’t witnessed human history, but they’d spent their existence with access to most of the files and very little to do but read them. In some ways, they knew quite a lot.
In other ways, they knew absolutely nothing.
For instance, Muriel knew about the events in Judea around 140 BC, when there’d been a Jewish rebellion against the Syrians. Principality Aziraphale (now Supreme Archangel) had been sent to help with a miraculous military victory over the mighty Syrian army. The Holy Temple had been desecrated, so Cherub Semnael had been sent to help with the restoration, which had involved miraculously long lasting oil. Muriel also knew that the humans had a holiday about it.
Now that they were on Earth at the right time of year, Muriel was curious about that holiday, but they didn’t know what it was called. They resolved to ask the humans.
Maggie and Nina were the only humans who knew Muriel was an angel. Maggie had made a point of helping Muriel adjust, so she was the one they went to first.
“There’s a holiday that I know is coming soon, but I don’t know what it’s called,” they began.
“Oh, Christmas!” Maggie said brightly.
“No, not that one,” Muriel said. Heaven had lots of files on Christmas. “I mean the holiday about the rebellion and the temple.”
Maggie stared at them and blinked. “...The… what?”
So Muriel explained what they knew, and Maggie pulled out her phone and typed a question into the ‘internet’ to try to figure it out.
“Oh… Hanukkah!” Maggie said, and she showed Muriel her screen. “Well that’s a Jewish holiday. No wonder I don’t really know about it.”
“Oh. That makes sense,” Muriel said sheepishly as they made a note in their notebook. “The Jewish people won, so I suppose they’d be the ones who celebrate it.” They carefully copied the spelling of the holiday’s name in Hebrew letters, as well as three different spellings in English letters.
“I’d imagine you should ask a Jewish person about it,” Maggie said.
“Right,” Muriel agreed, and they looked at Maggie. “Where would I find one?”
Maggie stared back at them. “...Um…”
And the search began.
Nina didn’t know anyone’s religion. “I know faces and coffee orders. I don’t bother much beyond that. Not my business.”
Mrs. Sandwich was next. “Excuse me!” Muriel called, waving as they approached. “I was just wondering if you happen to be Jewish, or know anyone who is?”
“Who’s asking?” Mrs. Sandwich said defensively.
“Oh, I am! My name is Muriel. I’m the one looking after the bookshop for Mr. Fell.” Odd question. They were certain they’d introduced themself to Mrs. Sandwich before.
Mrs. Sandwich was giving them a flat look, keeping one fist on her hip. “Why are you asking?”
“Well, I’m hoping to learn about something called Hanukkah,” Muriel explained. “It’s a Jewish holiday.”
“...Uh-huh,” Mrs. Sandwich said. She tilted her head to one side and decided something. “Talk to Mr. Arnold. He can help you.”
“Thank you!” Muriel said eagerly, and they went to Mr. Arnold’s shop. “Hello, Mr. Arnold!” they said cheerfully as they entered. “Are you Jewish? Or do you know someone who is? Mrs. Sandwich said you could help me.”
Mr. Arnold looked baffled. “...Help you… with… what, exactly?”
“Well I’m hoping to learn about Hanukkah,” Muriel said. “It’s a holiday—”
“Oh,” he said, and sighed. “I’m Jewish.”
“Really?” Muriel said excitedly.
“I’ll tell you what I know, but I’m not exactly an expert,” Mr. Arnold said. “I could help you more if you wanted to learn about music or Doctor Who.”
“Wait, what doctor?” Muriel asked, taking notes in case they did want to learn more about it later.
“Doctor Who,” Mr. Arnold said.
Muriel furrowed their brow. “...That’s… what I’m asking…?”
Mr. Arnold’s blank stare changed to something deeply pained as he realised they weren’t joking. He took a slow, deep breath, and he calmly said, “Okay.”
The rest of the visit was devoted to Muriel’s education about a science fiction television show that was, apparently, a fundamental part of life and culture on Earth. (Or possibly just on Whickber Street. They weren’t entirely sure how large an area Mr. Arnold meant when he said “here.” They would ask Maggie for clarification.)
Mr. Arnold did check when Hanukkah started this year, explaining that Jewish holidays “moved” because they followed a different calendar. He also agreed to come to the bookshop on the first night of Hanukkah to give Muriel a “crash course” (which didn’t involve actual crashing).
So on the evening of 7 December, Mr. Arnold arrived with a large bag full of everything they would need.
“Technically, the holiday started at sunset, because that’s when days start on the Jewish calendar,” he explained. “But that was around four, and I was teaching a lesson then. I usually just light the candles whenever I get home.”
“Candles?” Muriel asked.
“Candles,” Mr. Arnold confirmed, pulling out a little box labelled Hanukkah Candles. “A lot of our holidays start with candles, but it’s a big part of Hanukkah. It’s also called the Festival of Lights.” He hesitated. “Technically, since it’s Friday night… This is also Shabbat, and we should have candles for that, too. But one holiday at a time’s plenty for now.”
Muriel made a note to ask about “Shabbat” another time.
“The menorah always goes in the window. Or at least, it’s supposed to. I don’t know why, but that’s tradition,” Mr. Arnold said. He showed them the candelabra he was taking out of his bag. It had nine branches, one of which was higher than the others. “That’s for the shamash,” he said, pointing it out. “That’s the ‘helper’ candle. You use it to light the others. There’s eight other candles, one for each night. Hanukkah lasts eight days because—” He stopped abruptly. “...I should probably start with the story of Hanukkah. That would help.”
“Oh no, I know that part!” Muriel assured him.
Mr. Arnold looked confused. “...Really?”
So Muriel recited what they remembered about the events in ancient Judea, although they said “an angel” instead of naming any. Humans tended to omit angel names.
Mr. Arnold continued to stare at them. “...We usually attribute the miracles to God, not angels, but… yeah,” he said.
He was trying very hard to make sense of Muriel. They had an English accent, but knew nothing of Doctor Who; they knew the story of Hanukkah, but nothing else about the holiday. He decided to stick with the working theory he’d been nursing since the Whickber Street Trader Ball: Mr. Fell and his replacement, Muriel, were aliens who’d been sent here to study humans. The nasty people who’d been outside the shop were another hostile alien species. Mr. Crowley was probably a third alien species and had previously worked with the mean ones, but liked humans too much to stick with the bad guys.
“So, uh… Hanukkah is eight days, because that’s how long the oil lasted,” he said. Then he winced. “Okay, please don’t judge the artwork on this drip tray. I think I made it when I was five.” He pulled out a large rectangle of sturdy glass adorned with childish paintings of happy faces and candles.
“Oh, it looks lovely!” Muriel cooed over it. “…What’s it for?”
“It’s to catch the wax when the candles melt,” he said. “But it’s big, so if the candles fall over somehow, they’ll still land on the glass.”
They picked a relatively empty window and cleared the books away before he set up his menorah on the drip tray and explained about adding candles each night. Tonight, they only needed the shamash and one more. He lit them and sang three blessings in Hebrew, pausing after each one to try to translate them to English. (Muriel understood the Hebrew perfectly, but thought it might be rude to say so.)
“Okay, now the good part,” Mr. Arnold said. “The food!” He proudly took a plastic container out of an insulated bag. “I’m hoping they’ll still be at least a little warm. These are called latkes. They’re potato fritters.”
Muriel had not been expecting there to be food involved. In hindsight, they should have; he had asked about food allergies. Mr. Arnold opened the container to reveal a lot of golden brown latkes, which he was very proud of having made just for Muriel, so it would’ve been rude for them to not eat any. They had to at least try a bite, didn’t they? They suppressed their panic by taking notes while Mr. Arnold explained about fried foods being traditional because of the oil miracle. He’d also brought plates and tableware.
“That’s… very kind of you,” Muriel said faintly when he handed them a plate.
Mr. Arnold noticed their discomfort. He tucked his head down. “You, um… It’s okay if you don’t like it,” he said.
“Oh! No, uh… it’s not that!” Muriel said frantically. They hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings! “I’m just, um… not accustomed… to…” Bother. They couldn’t say they didn’t eat.
Mr. Arnold looked at them and took a moment to consider his ‘alien’ theory. “...Would it help if I show you how I eat it?” he offered.
“Um… maybe?” they said.
So they watched how Mr. Arnold cut a bite-sized piece of latke, and he demonstrated eating it.
Muriel drew themself up and carefully imitated his actions. They stared at the bite of latke on their fork, braced themself, shoved it into their mouth, and closed their eyes.
And then their eyes opened.
“Mmm!” They gave Mr. Arnold a wild look, and he grinned.
“You like it?” he asked.
They nodded excitedly. Then they remembered the bit about chewing and swallowing.
Muriel ate slowly, but they enjoyed the latkes. While they were eating, Mr. Arnold took out a dreidel and explained a game with it. Muriel practised spinning it in between bites. They were both still nibbling on latkes when Mr. Arnold took out a bag of sweets and split it into three even piles: one for him, one for them, and one for the pot. “It really doesn’t matter what you use to play with,” he explained. “I usually just play for sweets and don’t worry too much about who actually wins what. It’s more about just playing than actually winning.”
They had each taken a few turns when the door flung open and Crowley shot in, charging straight to the window. He slid to a stop right in front of the menorah and stared at it, assessing the flames.
“Hello, Mr. Crowley!” Muriel said.
Crowley spun around and bolted to the back of the shop. Muriel and Mr. Arnold shared a confused look. Crowley reemerged with a fire extinguisher in his hand and rushed back to the window. He looked at the flames again. Very gently, he set the extinguisher down beside the drip tray. Then he turned and sauntered over, grabbing an empty chair on his way. He set it down at the table and dropped himself into it. “Chag sameach,” he said to Mr. Arnold.
Mr. Arnold had been more than a little nervous about Crowley’s intentions with the menorah, but that yielded to shock. “Chag sameach,” he replied. “Are you Jewish?”
“No,” said Crowley. “Learning about Hanukkah, Muriel?”
“Yes! Mr. Arnold’s been teaching me!” they said excitedly.
“Mmm. Where’d the latkes come from?” Crowley asked, nodding to them.
“I made them,” Mr. Arnold said. “You want some?”
“They taste really good!” Muriel added.
Crowley raised his eyebrows at that endorsement. “Sure,” he said. “Mind if I join the game, too?”
“If you don’t mind playing for sweets,” Mr. Arnold said, already working on redistributing them.
Crowley shrugged. “Sure. Not really about the pot anyway, is it?”
And so it was that an angel, a demon, and a human spent the first night of Hanukkah playing dreidel and eating latkes at A. Z. Fell & Co.