Millions of kids before me had spun the dreidl on this holiday and millions more would do so in many years to come. I saw myself as a passing bridge, a peon, a crucial component in an infinite chain. The accident of my Hispanic birth had only added a different cultural flavor to the already plentiful gallery of childhood smiles. I was, all Jewish children are, time-travelling Maccabees reenacting a cosmic festival of self-definition. This thought made me stronger, a superhero of sorts, a freedom-fighter with a mission: to smile was to remember, to insert myself in history.