by Keren Copperman Close your eyes, and imagine yourself maneuvering throughoutyour typical morning. The alarm clock goes off at 7:00 AM, and youbegrudgingly climb out of bed and make your way to the bathroom,readying yourself to hop in the shower. A bolt charges through yourzombie-like self as the hot water comes sprinkling down from theshower head, but your eyes are still half closed. As you reach forthe shampoo, you make an effort to blink and clear your eyes inorder to distinguish the shampoo bottle from the conditioner. Now stop. Let's say, this one morning, hard as you try, your eyesjust refuse to cooperate. Although you can feel your eyelids rising,all you see is black, with hints of color here and there. There yougo, you see the two blue bottles. But how will you know which oneto use? Normally, you'd just read the label. But today, everything isa huge blur. You frantically run your hands over the plastic to tryand find a difference in the textures, but they feel identical. Youare now, temporarily, experiencing a sliver of a blind man's world. There is so much the average human takes for granted that theblind population is unable to do. The obvious comes to mind, suchas driving a car or reading a book that doesn't come in Braille. Butthere are so many little pleasures in life we'd never even think of. On the Jewish holidays, we are particularly visual-dependent. On Hanukkah, for example, we get a great feeling watching the menorah being lit, watching the dreidle spin in anticipation of seeing that “gimmel”. Yet, the blind Jewish population are often unable to experience such pleasures. Sure, they can spin the dreidel. But how would they have the means of distinguishing a taf from a lamed, a nun from a hey?Thanks to the innovative and compassionate artwork of Marsha Plafkin Hurwitz, now Jewish blind people, young and old, male and female, can participate in this joyful Hannukah game.