A Santa Claus uncommon

The winter that followed the tragic September 11, 2001 was difficult for me. He had just left office as a rabbi in Greenville, South Carolina, to fall in unemployment over a long season, and half my life in endless days of depression. My only joy was visiting my grandchildren, Sophie and Simeon, during Hanukkah [Jewish holiday], but when they went back to my sorrow and my inner emptiness.

Then my wife, Linda, deputy director of an organization to help homeless people suggested I make Santa Claus for 30 children in a local Christmas festival. As Linda said, I though the character: I have a good belly and a beard almost white.

The idea beyond the limits of religious customs did not bother me, I've always urged people not to defend with such zeal such rigid rules. But for reasons entirely unrelated to religion, I confess that this year was in no mood. But Linda insisted, so I started practicing the loud "ho, ho, ho."

It took me by surprise, the reception I gave the children:

- Santa Claus! Look at my new shoes! I've been good. Are we going to sing Christmas carols?

They rushed upon me, hugged me and kissed me. One by one they sat on my lap to get us a photo, and everyone gave a gift: a teddy bear, a doll, a paint by numbers game ...

His uninhibited joy and excited voices moved me to tears. I felt a wave of compassion. These kids were the most precious gift of God to a cold world, a gift of innocence. Their presence confirmed for me the profound truths of God's word.

Those little homeless took me out of insecurity and disillusionment. In those sweet moments left behind discouragement and regained sanity.

Marc Howard Wilson
The State (Columbia, Carolina del Sur)