Menorahs, the lamp that is lit as the basic ritual during Hanukkah, tells the story of the Jewish people reclaiming their temple from pagan conquerors, relighting the temple’s eternal light for eight nights with only enough oil for one — a miracle from God for their faithfulness.

But each menorah also has its own origin story that makes it unique and meaningful — the reason a person choses it to celebrate the holiday. 

From a menorah made from donuts to an artist whose design ended up on a stamp, here are five stories of 50-plus adults from across the U.S. with menorahs they've held dear for years.

Liz Lauter's colorful terra cotta menorahs can be found in museums, galleries and high-end decor emporiums from San Francisco to Manhattan. In her work, the West Marin, Calif. artisan merges her Jewish faith, the Italian pottery technique called majolica, and Mexican folk art representations of thearbol de la vida (the tree of life).

To hold the menorah candles, the lifelong painter, designer and retired ceramics teacher creates branches dripping with flowers, vines, and tiny ceramic fruits like the pomegranates, lemons and oranges mentioned in the Bible and forest creatures. 

The 68-year-old grandmother says, "A tree of life menorah is an invitation to children to touch it and play and feel joy. It's about making memories."  In keeping with the Hanukkah story, lighting a menorah, Lauter says, is a commitment to the future.

This year, Lauter will light one of her favorite menorahs. Like a baker who eats the imperfect cookies and serves the good ones to everyone else, Lauter kept the menorah that is "too tall, so, no one will buy it because people are sure it's going to tip over." It never has, she says, perhaps befitting a holiday centered on a miracle.

Dollars to doughnuts you've never seen a menorah like the one Rabbi Jaime Korngold builds with Jewish kids in Boulder, Colo. It's made entirely with stacked doughnuts, the traditional holiday Hanukkah treat fried in oil, recalling the miracle at the center of the holiday.

It's fun for a reason, says Korngold, 58, who wants to see people of all ages take part in the holiday’s rituals. “You don't have to have a big expensive menorah,” she says. “You can take a Snickers bar and put nine candles in it. It's not the lamp that's important, it's the candles.

The idea that a menorah does not have to be fancy might have come from her mother. When Korngold was four, she made a menorah in her nursery school, ran to show her mother and tripped; the menorah shattered. Her mother picked up a little nub, the top of Jaime's shamash (the candle used to light the others) and declared, "This is the super shamash!” We will use it to light the shamash on the menorah. Korngold has kept that shamash to this day.

At home, Korngold has several menorahs, but she says, the dearest one is her late father's last menorah. It's electric because when he was in a nursing home, they were not permitted to have open flames. "It's just a little plastic thing, not a beautiful menorah. But it is to me."

Mike and Barbara Beckerman don't wait for Hanukkah to bring out a menorah. They have a collection of nine — grand and simple, contemporary and traditional — on display year-round in their apartment in Hendersonville, N.C.

Barbara, 78, and Mike, 79, have two favorites: The first one is from her parents given to them decades ago. When her parents planned a trip to Israel they asked what she wanted for a gift.

“I said, 'Well, you can get a menorah.' I think we had a $20 tchotchke in mind," says Barbara. Instead, they received a 50-pound, silver- and gold-plated menorah created by the late acclaimed sculptor Frank Meisler. Her parents bought a smaller Meisler menorah for themselves, which Barbara and Mike later inherited.

Their other favorite, which is just as meaningful: One their son Martin made when he was in preschool at their synagogue in Anchorage, Alaska, where they lived at the time. It's made of blocks of wood glued on a base with thumbtacks on the top where you can impale a candle.

When Hanukkah comes and a menorah or two is ablaze, Mike says, "I think about freedom. We are pretty secular Jews but there are certain symbols that really connect us, and certainly the menorah would be one of them." Barbara adds, “Yes, the lighting menorah ties us all in."

Among the most treasured menorahs among nearly 1,100 held by The Jewish Museum in Manhattan is a humble lamp made of cartridge scraps and shell casings. It was made by Jews who survived the Holocaust and were in living in a displaced persons camp.

On it are two plaques. One, a dedication to General Joseph T. McNarney, who was the U.S. Armed Force commander in charge of several such camps. The other says, in Hebrew: "A Great Miracle Happened There."

Research by museum staff found that McNarney, a Christian, was honored with the menorah because he helped ensure the survivors had had the holy books and ritual objects they needed to celebrate their faith. After the war, he donated it to a Judaica collection that became part of The Jewish Museum, along with a letter he wrote that this menorah "symbolizes the restoration to health of these victims of Nazism and their will to live productive and useful lives."

Abigail Rapoport, the museum's Judaica curator, says this menorah is one of the highlights of their collection because it "symbolizes humanity and resilience and the importance of traditions. I get chills whenever I look at it."

Cathy Lynn Grossman is a veteran journalist based in Washington, D.C. She covered news and features at the Miami Herald before moving to USA Today, where she led coverage of religion and spirituality. She is a contributing writer to Publishers Weekly. She also won two blue ribbons at a very small pie contest.