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Tropicana Christmas
By Lucy Gillespie
When I was a kid, I had a tutor to help me prepare for Secondary School. She had me write a creative piece on Christmas and so I wrote about Christmas in England – the one I had read about in Enid Blyton books, and had seen suggested by intricate shop windows. My mum happened to be in the kitchen when I read it, and she laughed out loud. “What the hell do you know about Christmas?” she asked. Even Mrs. Gilby agreed that the piece was not up to my usual scratch.
“Nothing,” was my answer. I knew absolutely nothing about Christmas.
Going home to see my mother’s family was part of the contract when my parents moved to England. Three weeks in Florida from December 6th until December 31st, or divorce. Every year, the great battle of the Maccabees was reenacted in my house as my mother fought tooth and nail against our Elementary School for a much, much higher purpose than Education. Sicknesses were faked, high airline ticket prices were invoked – anything to get us onto that plane and into the steamy Florida air, where Blue and Silver joined Red and Green upon the walls, and where “Happy Holidays” had long since won out over “Merry Christmas.” The three of us called her “mum,” and she had gotten used to it, but singing Christmas Carols was far, far beyond the line.
Our Channukah feasts were America’s feasts – the grand, spic-and-span carvery table of the Sizzler, and it’s breakfast equivalent, Shoney’s. And it simply wouldn’t be the holidays without a soft mint and a toothpick to cap up our mid-afternoon dinner, then falling asleep, stretched out in my grandparent’s Cadillac on the drive home. Pulling into the drive of Galt Towers, we (the cousins) would alight sleepily in the Florida air as winds of hurricane-capability splayed and tossed the palm trees.
On Christmas Day, when the Flea Markets and Dollar Stores were closed, my grandmother would take us to the movie theatre at 10am, and we would sneak around from screen to screen to concession stand and back to screen. Then, charged with popular culture, we would head back out to the great Churches of Retail – for we were truly in the Jerusalem, the Bethlehem, the Mecca of beloved stuff – and buy sneakers emblazoned with Aladdin or The Lion King motifs. When we got back to England, they would be the talk of the playground. We saw those films months before anyone else, and we had the merchandise to prove it.
In my mid-teens, the Florida trips dwindled, and my dad showed his true colors one year, unloading a plastic tree in a box from the car after a trip to Costco. Since then, we’ve carried out the traditional routine – presents, stockings, Mince Pies. But however hard we try to adapt to this beast called “Christmas Spirit,” the magic is gone. I can’t help but think that the big draw to a stereotypical Christmas is the anticipation, and the sense that you’re getting something you need – spirituality and presents alike! Thanks to my mother, what I need to make my year complete is that trip to the travel agent in June, three weeks to pack my suitcase and perfect my American accent, and eighteen hours of five large individuals at boiling point in airports before the sweet, sweet relief of a beach-front condo. I still dream about those buffets, the Swap Shop Flea Market and its Three-Ring Circus, the pile of presents on my grandmother’s wraparound sofa, half-hazardly covered in a sheet to protect them from the vying fingers of all of the cousins. Tables a mile-wide with relatives that look like me, and who know what I know - that it’s Channukah and Channukah alone that has brought us together.
Christmas, frankly, will never hold a candle to that.
Photo by Arthur Smokes, licensed under Creative Commons.
Kosher for Christmas
By Lila Miller
No one makes Christmas dinner like my dad. Turkey, brisket, stuffing, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, brownies…my mouth waters just thinking about it now. Best Kosher Christmas dinner you’ve ever tasted. Just because it’s Christmas dinner doesn’t mean it has to be treif too, right?
It’s hardly breaking news that a Jewish kid grew up celebrating Christmas and Hanukkah. But, when you’re Jewish and your maternal grandfather is an Episcopalian priest, Christmas takes on a particular significance. I have incredibly fond memories of going to church on Christmas, singing Christmas hymns, and being proudly introduced as the priest’s granddaughter (a very important association, I assure you). I can sing multiple verses of Silent Night from memory, and I bet I know the nativity story as well as most Christians.
Despite the years spent visiting Santa in the mall, going to church, and decorating our Christmas tree, there was never any doubt that Judaism was the guiding tradition. When my parents got married, my grandfather (the priest) told them: “Pick one religion and raise them right. Don’t do any of this wishy-washy crap.” So my sisters and I went to Jewish schools, spent most Saturdays at shul, and can chant Torah with the best of them.
But no matter what we did for Hanukkah, Christmas was the main event in the month of December. Over Thanksgiving this year, my 15-year-old sister bluntly quipped, “Christmas is clearly the superior holiday.” I sorta agree. Don’t get me wrong, I love Hanukkah as much as the next latke, but compared to the rest of the Jewish calendar, Hanukkah is nice but relatively unimportant. It’s hardly surprising that it would be over-shadowed by one of the most important holidays of the Christian tradition.
Now, come April, in the unofficial contest between Passover and Easter, my sister will tell you that Passover wins, hands down. And if you thought Kosher Christmas dinner was weird, just wait til you’ve experienced an Easter feast that is Kosher for Passover.
Photo by The Shifted Librarian, licensed under Creative Commons.
Happy Holidays, From Alef
From our “home” to yours, however you celebrate, Shabbat Shalom, Happy Hanukkah
and Happy Holidays!
From,
Rafi, Emily, Richard, Emily, Sarah, and Ruvym
My Guilt-Free Holiday
By Nava Szwergold
It’s certainly not the most significant holiday in the Jewish calendar, nor does it appear in the Torah or carry with it many mitzvot (commandments). Actually, Hannukah’s apparent lack of importance has an interesting effect on me: it eases much of the tension and guilt that I usually feel as a secular Jew around the holidays. I don’t sign on to all the beliefs and rituals that religious people do and have often felt uncomfortable celebrating Shabbat or other chagim with them. There are just too many rules to be followed and too many ways to break them.
However, my own Hannukah tradition of lighting candles and singing songs doesn’t differ all that much from traditions of more observant Jews. One evening in Israel I saw a religious family lighting their Hannukah candles in the lobby of my hostel. Later that night I saw a secular Jew do the exact same thing in a bar. Both times I found familiarity and joy in the ritual and songs, and more than that, I appreciated the diversity of people and places reflected in Hannukah.
Hannukah is one of the few weeks of the Jewish calendar when things feel relatively simple for me; it is a respite from the discomfort and uncertainty that come with many other holidays. Having learned them as a kid, I understand my Hannukah traditions and can easily share them with others. More importantly, they come with many joyful memories for me. So, even though Hannukah is not a very important part of the Jewish calendar, it is one of the most special parts of my Jewish year.
Photo by Lackac, licensed under Creative Commons.
Waiting for Adam Sandler
By Julie Naturman
As Chanukah comes to an end, it makes me think about what I used to do as a kid with my family. I admit it – I’m definitely guilty of getting way too excited about Chanukah. Growing up, the highlight of the holiday season for me was when the radio stations started playing Adam Sandler’s Chanukah Song. I got so excited and if I was fast enough, I would record it on a cassette tape (remember those?). I would play that song over and over again until my parents practically begged me to find something else to do.
You see, The Chanukah Song was much more to me than just a fun song to sing along to on the radio (or on my cassette tape, for that matter). With each version that came out, Adam Sandler listed celebrities that were Jewish and celebrated Chanukah just like I did. As a kid, I loved hearing about all of them; I would take pride in bragging to all my non-Jewish friends about how many awesome famous Jews there were. Honestly, I think I wanted my friends to be jealous of me for celebrating Chanukah instead of have the Jewish kids be jealous of them for celebrating Christmas.
Adam Sandler has always been my favorite (which, of course, was why I loved the song so much). In most of his movies, he plays a Jewish character—the name Sunny Koufax, in Big Daddy, bears a strong resemblance to that of Jewish baseball player, Sandy Koufax. Sometimes the Judaism is even more overt–who could forget the scene in I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry when he insists that a yarmulke be worn for the wedding, so as not to disappoint his mother. Always so proud to be Jewish, Adam Sandler is an amazing Jewish role model.
It has been quite a few years since the third version of Adam Sandler’s Chanukah Song came out, and I am dying for a new one. Come on Adam – give us Jews what we need! I will anxiously await every Chanukah season for number four.
Photo by Ihdren, licensed under Creative Commons.
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