Old Scroogemacher was as sour as a pickle and had a tongue like horseradish. He was a tyrant to the poor workers in his waistcoat factory, and even on the last night of Hanukkah, he had the nerve to set the clocks back. What a shtunk. When his nephew Moshe protests, Scroogemacher laughs. "Hanukkah, shmanukah," he says. "It's just another night to me."Oy vey iz mir, was he wrong! Who would have thought that not one, not two, but THREE ghostly rabbis would visit him that night? As Scroogemacher travels back and forth with his wise spirits from the time of the Maccabees, to the present-day tenements and then on to the wonders and horrors of the future, he begins to understand that some good can happen from a little remembering. Especially on Hanukkah, Shmanukkah.
