All of us experience moments of poetry.

They may come from events in our personal lives - the reuniting of long-lost family, a birth, a death. Or these moments of inspiration may spring from this world of teeming splendor, from our sense of joy and wonder at the creation.

Little children find it very difficult to do things by themselves. They need a constant helping hand, constant encouragement. They can be bold, but only when daddy is close by. When he's out of sight, tears quickly replace bravado until once again they feel the hand that comforts.

Six fifteen a.m. Avenue of the Stars, Hollywood, California. fifteen years since I drove this road. A long fifteen years. In the quiet light, I see two concrete monoliths hidden away from the road, looming above the trees. hours ago these concrete monsters, giant Hollywood sound stages, had already risen from their slumber. In the dawn glow, they seem more formidable than I remember them.

The dreidel.

A children's game, played in the firelight of a cold winter night, the menora silently glowing in the window... The dreidel. four sides spinning around the still point in the turning circle; spinning so fast that its sides blur into nothingness... The dreidel. So seemingly insignificant - and yet this little dreidel contains the story of the Jewish people; the history of the whole world.