Back in July of 1973, a Jewish woman married a Catholic man. Years later, they became my parents. Back in the '60s and '70s, such a union was somewhat of a big deal. But even after briefly separating in college based on their different religions, true love won. And in order to start fresh, they chose to become Unitarian Universalists and raise my sister and I as such.
While we didn't observe all of the Jewish holidays growing up, we made a point to celebrate two of the biggest — Passover and Hanukkah. As children, my sister and I huddled around our kitchen table. Our menorah at the time was an interesting one, of people similarly crowded together. Their hands would hold each candle. And each year, I panicked, thinking that the candles would topple over. After asking my parents if we could blow out the candles to alleviate this fear, their response was simple: "That'd defeat the whole purpose."
The purpose was, of course, celebrating the fact that while the Maccabees had only enough oil to light their temple for one day, it managed to last for eight. Blowing out a candle on the menorah is unheard of.
Since my parents have both passed, it became extra important for me to pass on these traditions to my daughter. And that meant that I needed to really refresh my memories and find the best way to tell her the meaning of Hanukkah. Or at least, why it's celebrated. As she's nearing 4, I thought this year would be the most ideal — especially since we're all looking for things to celebrate.
She seemed puzzled that there was a holiday before Christmas.
I'm not going to lie and say that my daughter doesn't watch a lot of television. While we try to avoid a bunch of channels that air toy ads (I'm looking at you, Nickelodeon), she still knows that Christmas is on the way. After all, when you're 3, it's hard to avoid the big Santa displays at Home Depot.
I started opening up the topic by reading Clifford Celebrates Hanukkah to her. It's a book she's read plenty of times before, but it was a good introduction. She knew candles and singing would be involved — and she's always looking for an excuse to sing.
Books were a wonderful way to brush up on the concept and explain it in a child-friendly way. We actually picked up a few new titles this year, including The Very Hungry Caterpillar's 8 Nights of Chanukah, which came out this year.
I also tried to tie in a treat.
Christmas often comes with cookies and candy canes. Hanukkah celebrations also come with a lot of food. I, personally, hadn't eaten them in a long time, but sufganiyot is a very popular Hanukkah snack. It's similar to a jelly donut.
At the grocery store right before our first night of celebrating, I found something kind of similar — Hanukkah cake pops. But as time goes on, I plan on introducing more traditional foods to the table. And who knows? Maybe baking will be part of the Hanukkah experience as well as time goes on. Perhaps the two of us will one day make a perfect latke, which is a bit difficult to master.
Since we celebrate both Christmas and Hanukkah, we've opted not to do presents for Hanukkah. As a kid, my parents often just gave one on the first night, and it was never anything too big. Usually, just a book or a pair of socks.
That means that for my family today, one of the biggest parts of celebrating is the Hanukkah blessing. On the first night, the song has three main verses. For the nights that follow, it's just two. The blessing is something I'd never forget, despite not speaking Hebrew fluently. When I was younger, it felt special to sing together.
Upon hearing me sing, my daughter was immediately taken. She held my hand during the song, which felt even more special. After singing all three verses, she immediately asked whether or not she could sing it again. And she picked up the melody pretty quickly. It was honestly a magical moment — and a moment I knew my mom would be proud of. In a way, I had flashed back to my own childhood as we sang.
There was also the presence of the Mitzvah Moose.
The Mitzvah Moose is a relatively new concept, but I saw him at Target last year and had to buy him. It's also a safe way to celebrate if you don't happen to have a menorah at home. Every night, you can "light" a new candle on his antlers. It's a cute concept — and a much better plush holiday companion than Elf on the Shelf. (I'm sorry, but I happen to have very strong feelings about the elf.)
Being able to create our own traditions also helped. While many of my ideas came from my own childhood, it's also freeing to make Hanukkah special in your own way.
Night two wasn't as flawless.
Still riding on the glow of our first day of Hanukkah together, my biggest fear happened during night number two. A candle temporarily fell out of its holder, still lit.
It was literally everything I feared during childhood, feeding into my paranoia over open flames. Not only do I have a burn mark on my island to remember this special night, but I watched those candles like a hawk as they slowly burned out. Even though I was a bit fearful of starting a mass Hanukkah fire, I still didn't blow them out. Because, again, that'd defeat the purpose.
Yet still, once again, my daughter held my hand while singing. Already by night two, she was anticipating the Hebrew blessing.
So far, things are going well. My daughter knows that Hanukkah has eight nights, and it's nice to hear her asking about the candles. As time goes on, the stories will improve. The traditions will be set. And I'll invest in a menorah I have slightly more faith in. And of course, I plan on teaching her how to play with a dreidel.
Recognizing Jewish holidays is important, as they make up my personal history. And I understand that the lessons we learn and the latkes we make may someday inspire my daughter's own traditions when she's old enough to have her own family. With every night of Hanukkah, I think of my mom. And I flash back to the kitchen in my childhood home and immediately remember how I felt during those eight nights. It's a true joy to pass that experience on.
