Life – Page 43

Chanukiyah’s evolution

When the Second Temple was destroyed, its menorah was said to have been taken to Rome. This is depicted, with the menorah being carried by Jewish slaves, in a carving on the inside of the Arch of Titus. (photo by Steerpike via Wikimedia Commons)

In the Temple of Jerusalem stood a seven-branched candelabrum or menorah, which was lit each day by the high priest. There were also other candelabra for ornamental purposes. When Antiochus removed the Temple menorah, Judah Maccabee had a duplicate built – called a candlestick with lamps upon it, in one Apocrypha translation – and he lit it, although there is no mention of oil to light it.

Lighting a chanukiyah, or eight-branched candelabrum with one to serve as the shamash (one who lights the others), is a popular Chanukah custom. Originally, eight individual ceramic or stone lamps with wicks were lit with olive oil. Jews from Yemen and Morocco also used rough stone lamps with scooped-out places for the wicks and the higher one for the shamash.

At some point, people began the custom of hanging their lamps on the left side of the door, opposite the mezuzah, because Jews were commanded to affirm the miracle in public. When it became dangerous to display the chanukiyah out of doors, people began lighting them inside the house, frequently placing them by a window.

A wide variety of those chanukiyot, in diverse decorative styles and materials, have been preserved throughout the years.

As early as the 12th century, replicas of the Chanukah menorah, with the two additional branches, were found in synagogues, so that poor people and strangers could still benefit from lighting. Eventually, this design was used for home chanukiyot, but some people criticized the custom of lighting in the home. As well, discussions ensued about on which wall to place the synagogue chanukiyah – by the 16th century, lighting the candelabra in the synagogue became established as an addition to lighting one at home.

According to Michael Kaniel in A Guide to Jewish Art, in Morocco in the 11th century, the chanukiyah was the most widely used ritual object. They were made with a wide variety of materials: gold, silver, brass, bronze, iron, lead, glass, wood, glazed ceramics, terra cotta, bone, pomegranate shells, walnut shells and bark. Then, the brass style became popular, with North African Arab designs of flowers, foliage, fruits and animals. Those from Iraq often used the hamsa, the open hand symbol against the evil eye.

Chanukiyot dating back to 13th-century Spain and southern France display a straight row of holders with a back plate. One can also find chanukiyot made of bronze from the time of the Renaissance (14th century), depicting Judith with the head of Holofernes, who she killed, thereby saving her people, but that’s a story for another time.

European chanukiyot, mostly after the 17th century, were made in brass with animals symbolic of Jewish folk art. Later on, they appear in silver and were commissioned from silversmiths; European artisans often created chanukiyot from silver, using plant designs.

An 18th-century lamp from Germany depicts the prayers for lighting the candles. A 19th-century lamp, either from Libya or Morocco, is made of ceramics. Twentieth-century designs in Morocco were of silver and used animals and plants in the design.

Originally, wicks and oil were used, but, in the 18th and 19th centuries, many people replaced these with candles. Traditional Jews, particularly in Jerusalem, still use wicks and oil and hang the chanukiyah outside the house in a glass-enclosed container.

Electric chanukiyot atop public buildings are also customary in Israel as are home-style chanukiyot of all varieties, displayed in stores, offices and public places.

The primary rule for a “kosher” chanukiyah is that all eight holders should be at the same level, with the shamash placed higher than the others.

Sybil Kaplan is a journalist, foreign correspondent, lecturer, food writer and book reviewer who lives in Jerusalem. She also does the restaurant features for janglo.net and leads walks in English in Jerusalem’s market.

Dreidel’s lasting popularity

Dreidels from the author’s dreidel collection. Clockwise from the top left: a hand-painted dreidel with an open top; a hand-painted dreidel on a base; a felt dreidel; a hand-painted dreidel; and, in the centre, a tiny hand-painted glass dreidel. (photo by Barry Kaplan)

Dreidel is the most popular game for Chanukah. In Hanukkah: Eight Nights, Eight Lights, Malka Drucker writes that it evolved 2,000 years ago when the Chanukah story took place, at a time when Antiochus ruled over Judea in ancient Israel. “Groups of boys who had memorized the entire Torah would secretly study together until they heard the footsteps of the Syrian soldiers. Then they would quickly pull out spinning tops … and pretend to be playing games,” she writes.

Whether this is true or not, we do know that, by the Middle Ages, the game became more complicated, as rules were borrowed from a German gambling game. According to Encyclopedia Judaica, during the long nights of Chanukah, while the lights were burning, it became customary to pass the time by spinning tops and playing the ancient “put and take” game. This was in fulfilment of the commandment that the Chanukah lights should not be used for any utilitarian purpose – “they are only to be seen.”

While playing cards and other games has been prohibited by the rabbis over the years, as the games were considered frivolous because they took away from Torah study, the custom continued.

In medieval Germany, dice were used for the game, and they were inscribed with N, G, H and S. N stood for nichts, nothing; G stood for ganz, all; H was for halb, half; and S meant stell ein, put in. All players would hold an equal number of nuts, raisins or coins. Each player would put one in the middle, and the first player would spin the dice. Each letter stood for a move in the game – putting in or taking out nuts, raisins or coins, according to where the dice landed.

Later, boys carved tops or dreidels out of wood or poured hot lead into a form to make a spinning top. The letters were then changed to Hebrew and said to stand for the Hebrew letters nun, gimmel, hey and shin. The rabbis were less reluctant for boys to play with these tops because the letters were interpreted to stand for the phrase, “Nes gadol hayah sham,” “A great miracle happened there.”

photo - An assortment of plastic dreidels. The two larger tops have removable lids — An assortment of plastic dreidels. The two larger tops have removable lids. *(photo by Barry Kaplan)*

In modern Israel, the Hebrew letter shin is replaced by a peh, standing for poh, meaning here – “A great miracle happened here.”

The rabbis felt even more comfortable about the game when it was also realized that, when the Hebrew letters, which have numerical value, are added together, they total 358, the same number of letters as the word for Messiah. (Nun is 50, gimmel is three, hey is five and shin is 300.) The letters of the word Messiah or Mashiach in Hebrew are mem, which is 40, shin which is 300, yud which is 10 and chet which is eight. Since the Jews are still waiting for the Messiah, this would show the way for a miracle.

Another mystical interpretation of the Hebrew letters is described by Philip Goodman in The Hanukkah Anthology. He writes that nun stood for nefesh (Hebrew for soul); gimmel stood for guf (body); shin stood for sechal (mind); and hey stood for hakol (all), implying all the characteristics of humankind.

Among the most-sung Chanukah songs are those about the spinning top – dreidel, in Yiddish, and s’vivon, in Hebrew.

The origin of the song “I Have a Little Dreidel” – “I have a little dreidel, I made it out of clay, and when it’s dry and ready, then dreidel I shall play!” – was the subject of an interesting article by Melanie Mitzman a few years ago in Hadassah Magazine. She wrote that Joshua Jacobson, a professor of music and Jewish studies at Northeastern University, explained that the song was originally in Yiddish and the opening line was “I made it out of lead.”

Samuel Goldfarb is said to have penned the English lyrics, and Goldfarb, a Jewish liturgical composer employed by the Bureau of Jewish Education of New York between 1925 and 1929, wrote the melody for the English version. Goldfarb’s granddaughter, Susan Wolfe, recalls telling her public school class that her grandfather had written “The Dreidel Song,” but they did not believe her.

The popular Hebrew song for this game is “S’vivon”: “S’vivon, sov, sov, sov. Chanukah hu chag tov,” “Spinning top, turn, turn, turn. Chanukah is a good holiday.”

As for dreidel games, here are the rules for three.

Put and take

On the sides of the dreidel are the four letters described above. To play the game, each player puts in one or more nuts or coins as agreed. A player spins the dreidel. If it falls on N, the player does nothing. If it falls on G, the player gets all. If it falls on H, the player takes half. If it falls on S, the player takes the whole pot. The next player takes their turn after each player once again contributes to the pot.

Endurance

All players spin the dreidel at a given signal. The player whose dreidel spins the longest is the winner.

Play for score or time

This game uses the fact that each Hebrew letter of the dreidel has a numerical value: N = 50, G = 3, H = 5 and S = 300. Players agree on a specific score to reach or time in which to play. Each player spins the dreidel. The scorekeeper credits each player with the numerical value of the letter on which his or her dreidel falls. The game continues until a player reaches the agreed-upon score or until the allotted time has passed, in which case the player with the most points wins.

The genie in the chanukiyah

Alan Dean was the world’s largest manufacturer and distributor of Chanukah menorahs.

“You what!” Zoe’s father was yelling at her. Again. “You traded my lamp?”

Nothing Zoe did seemed good enough for Dad. Her room was too messy. Her grades weren’t high enough. Her clothes were too expensive, too ratty or too “inappropriate.” He was always screaming at her.

“I didn’t mean …” Zoe began. She gazed into the first light burning on the new chanukiyah and tried to hold back the tears.

Ever since her mother had died, Zoe had tried to take good care of her father. Only 12 and a half, she wasn’t a good cook. She didn’t like cleaning the toilets. But all she wanted was to help.

Her dad’s office was a mess. The whole house was a mess. Alan Dean was the world’s largest manufacturer and distributor of Chanukah menorahs. There were candelabras all over the place. They were in the bedrooms, the kitchen, dining room, living room, even in the bathrooms. Every single morning, there was shouting about something that had gone missing: a wallet, keys, a cellphone, a cleaning bill, a shoe.…

That morning, Zoe had taken a black plastic garbage bag into the office to clean out some clutter. Which was when she got a weird text on her phone.

“@Jenny.Hunter New Lamps for Old. Want to trade?”

Zoe happened to be staring at this old, dusty and tarnished chanukiyah on her father’s bookshelf. It was squat and primitive. Her father hadn’t touched it in years.

Before she could think too much, she replied and, a moment later, there was a knock at the door.

“I was in the neighborhood,” Jenny said, smiling into the video intercom. She was a well-dressed woman, a little old, and her teeth could use braces. “Do you have a lamp to trade?”

Zoe was careful. “Let me see yours.”

The woman opened an aluminum suitcase from which she pulled a beautiful stainless steel Chanukah menorah. It was very sharp and very shiny.

Zoe nodded and opened the door a crack. “Why would you trade that for an old lamp?”

The woman smiled again. “Call it a present. Or an almost free sample, with the hope that your father will buy more.”

Now Zoe smiled. Dad always liked a bargain. She nodded, took the steel menorah and gave the woman the old brass one.

“Finally it is mine!” the woman said with something that sounded like a cackle.

Before Zoe could change her mind, the woman was gone. It was as if she had vanished.

That evening, her father was distracted. He didn’t even notice the new chanukiyah until after they’d said the blessings and Zoe lit the candles.

Then he saw it. “Where did that come from?”

“I traded it for your old lamp,” Zoe answered, happily.

Her father rushed into the office. When he came back, he began yelling.

“You went into my private space and…. Don’t you start,” Dad shouted. “Don’t you start quivering that lower lip. Don’t you start tearing up.…”

Which was when Zoe lost it.

Alan Dean stared as his beautiful daughter cried.

He didn’t know what to do. He never knew what to do.

For seven generations, the Dean family had produced boys, and the story had been passed from father to son at the bar mitzvah. The lamp was found in a cave. A genie inside gave each owner three dangerous wishes – guard the magic lamp and use it well.

When his daughter was born, Alan was surprised, even upset.

His wife forbade him from calling her Aileen.

“It has to stop sometime,” Shana had said. “A new girl, a new beginning.”

And she was right. Al’s life, which was always about business, had broadened into a wonderful family, until Shana had passed.

Alan hadn’t told his daughter that their fortune was based on a magical lamp. Zoe wasn’t 13 yet, and he didn’t want her to laugh, but mostly because Shana had been the last one to touch it.

“Make enough so we are happy,” Shana had said as she rubbed the chanukiyah. “And not a single one more.”

The genie, which was now barely a flicker said, “Your wish is my command.”

Instantly, the entire factory was automated, with only enough jobs to keep all the existing employees busy, while increasing production tenfold. The whole system was computerized and efficient. Orders came in, and candlesticks went out. No one worked too hard. The bank accounts swelled. It was every businessman’s dream!

Then Shana had gotten sick and, in one day, she died.

Alan’s world collapsed. After a week of shiva, when he’d finally wandered into his office, he saw the lamp on the shelf and his heart broke.

Could a wish have saved her? In the mournful chaos, he had completely forgotten the power of the lamp. He couldn’t bear to touch it, and it had gathered dust on the shelf. His wife was gone, but he still had his work. He had thrown himself back into it, and barely had any time for his daughter.

Now the lamp that had sustained his family for centuries was gone, too, and he knew that the factory would soon go silent.

Zoe stood in front of him, tears running down her face.

How could he do this to her? Yes, he was unhappy, but his daughter didn’t have to be.

Shana had known. “Make enough so we are happy,” she had wished. “And not a single one more.”

Alan thought for a moment. His mind tallied the amounts in the bank, the value of the factory and the land. The good will of the Alan Dean brand name. He would sell it all. It would be enough.

Alan wrapped his arms around Zoe’s shoulders and pulled her close. He hadn’t done that in years.

“It’s OK,” he said. “Let me tell you the story of that lamp. It has always been a story of magic and wealth, greed and fear, but now I think for us there will be a happy ending.”

Zoe felt warm and safe in her father’s arms.

The lights from the Chanukah candles flickered.

The End.

Mark Binder is a Jewish author and storyteller who tours the world sharing stories for all ages. His life in Chelm stories and his latest collection, Transmit Joy! an audio storybook, are available on audio download and CD.

Decembers of my childhood

This story comes from the book Life Doesn’t Get Any Better Than This: The Holiness of Little Daily Dramas (Read the Spirit, 2015).

***

My father used to take showers with the lady next door.

It was all pretty kosher. We rented half of a “duplex” house at 89 University Avenue in Providence, and the Winn family occupied the other half. “Duplex” means different things in various places; in Providence, a “duplex” was a house with two separate entrances and two mirror-image units. Ours had three floors and a basement suitable for Cub Scout den meetings.

The way the house was designed, the bathrooms on the second floor shared a common wall, tub alongside tub and toilets back to back. The insulation was fairly thick, but subdued sounds could get through, and soon after the Winn family moved into 91 University Avenue, my father and Ruth Winn discovered that they observed similar morning shower routines. The muffled knocking back and forth on the tiles at 7:15 a.m., then a cute neighborhood joke, is now a piece of family folklore.

My mother and Ruth became friends immediately; 40 years later and 400 miles apart, they still dearly love each another. Laughter is what started it all off, but it was a hurricane called Carol that really brought us all together.

For eight days, Providence was without electricity, and neighbors drew closer to one another. Cold food went into the Keoughs’ old gas refrigerator at 85 University Avenue, while our battery-operated radio was the source for news and entertainment. The Winns’ vast quantities of sporting equipment helped everyone pass the time until that late afternoon when we were sitting on our porches and my mother suddenly yelled, “The lights are on!” Everyone rushed inside.

The bonding held.

The Winns’ oldest son Cooper David Winn IV and I were classmates, though never best friends. Still, we spent lots of time together, as neighboring kids do, and some of the most memorable moments occurred around the December holidays. Chanukah at my house. Christmas at his house.

Mutual envy.

For me, Chanukah generally meant one gift from my parents per night, but factoring in additions from grandparents, other relatives and friends, I averaged 16 to 20 each season. Not bad. I would even feel a bit on the smug side as I walked to school in the morning reporting to Cooper on the prior night’s take.

That is, I felt smug until early Christmas morning, when I would race over to the Winns’ side of the house to inspect the mountains of presents, the massive quantities strewn about the living room, such a volume of stuff that even the recognition in later years that the haul included a suspiciously large amount of underwear and socks could not make me rationalize away my jealousy.

The feeling of Chanukah has remained with me: our old tin menorah and the look, the smell, the soft, smooth texture of its candles, sometimes dripping their orange wax across my fingers. There were the traditional songs, the latkes and applesauce, and our one decoration, “Happy Chanukah,” printed on colorful paper dreidels and placed across the dining room entryway. The sign was worn, faded, but it was our tradition, and for eight days it transformed the room into a chamber of happy expectation.

Most of my presents were modest. I loved to make Revell models of antique cars, and so something like a Stanley Steamer one night might be followed by a Stutz Bearcat the next. Another year it was accessories for my small American Flyer train set: one night it might be a new caboose, and another night a little building to place near the tracks. I remember categories of gifts, but the particulars have long faded.

Except for two presents that I’ve never forgotten.

The first was a 26-inch English bicycle. It arrived on the year when I went for the gold in the “eight small presents or one big present” option game. Friday was the designated night and, as soon as the candles were lighted and the songs sung, I dutifully complied with the “Close your eyes tight” directive. The waiting seemed to go on forever as I listened to my father’s grunts and a bumping noise coming up the cellar steps. When he approached the dining room, I heard the rhythmic, metallic sound of a spinning tire, and knew that my yearlong series of unsubtle hints had been acknowledged.

Later we went to synagogue and, before the service began, I stood in the foyer for what seemed like hours, watching as every person entered, brushing the snow off their coats and stomping their boots. I scanned the arrivals, looking for Joey or Sammy or Ricky or anyone else I knew. “Guess what! I got an English bike!”

Other Chanukahs, though, were not as festive. My parents constantly struggled financially, one of the consequences of my father’s checkered career and made worse, later, by the albatross of medical bills from my sister’s long illness.

My father was always involved in the paper business. During the eight years when we lived on University Avenue, he worked for at least six different companies in waste paper, paper chemicals and wholesale tissue. Each position would begin with optimism and end with him returning home one night carrying his electric typewriter.

He always bounced back, always landed another job somewhere, somehow. Yet the process was draining, and the weeks or months between paychecks grim. One of those dark periods coincided with Chanukah.

I knew things were tough that season. We didn’t starve, but everything had to be cut back as we tried to make do on the salary my mother earned fitting women into corsets at the Peerless Department Store. “I know it’s hard,” she would say, “but some day our ship will come in.” I believed her. Sometimes I could even visualize “our ship,” a small speck on the horizon slowly, surely heading right for us.

“Our ship,” burdened with riches, was still far out to sea when Chanukah began. This year, I knew, would not be like other years. The grandparents and a few of my parents’ friends came through, but, my parents explained, I would need to understand that they just couldn’t afford presents this time. Just this year. Next year will be better.

Chanukah overlapped Christmas, fortuitously. The Winns were busy with their preparations, so I didn’t see much of Cooper. I was glad school was already on vacation; there was no need to report to friends on my Jewish version of an empty stocking.

That Christmas morning I didn’t rush next door.

On the final night of Chanukah, my parents surprised me with a gift. It was a small one, they warned. Nothing very special. But I’d been so understanding of what was happening that they wanted me to have it. I felt a slight twinge of guilt over their sacrifice as I accepted the little package.

Inside the box was a plastic model for my collection, a replica of a Chris Craft cabin cruiser. Probably cost about $2.95. I glued it together the next day and, for years, until I went off to college, the little boat sat on a shelf in my bedroom. It was far from being my fanciest model. Long discarded, the thought of it means more to me now than it ever did back then.

When I look back on all those Decembers of my childhood, those often wonderful days of mystery, anticipation, celebration, I know for a fact that I received many dozens of presents over the course of the years. They form an indistinct blur. After all, a long time has passed.

In truth, of all those gifts, I can actually remember only two. Only two. One was 26-inch English bicycle. Shiny black, three-speed, with a headlight powered by a generator that spun alongside the tire and its own silver air pump latched to the frame.

The other was a plastic model boat.

Rabbi Bob Alper (bobalper.com) is a full-time stand-up comic, performing internationally.

Lovin’ from the oven

A young Dawn Lerman with her grandmother, Beauty (photo from Dawn Lerman via JNS.org)

In her memoir My Fat Dad, New York Times wellness blogger and nutritionist Dawn Lerman (@dawnlerman) shares her food journey and that of her father, a copywriter from the Mad Men era of advertising. Lerman spent her childhood constantly hungry, as her father pursued endless fad diets from Atkins to Pritikin, and insisted the family do the same to help keep him on track. As a child, Lerman felt undernourished both physically and emotionally, except for one saving grace: the loving attention of her maternal grandmother, Beauty. Below is an adapted excerpt from My Fat Dad, in addition to a recipe for a healthier version of a Chanukah staple.

***

When I lived in Chicago, Jewish holidays were spent either at my Grandma Beauty’s house or my Bubbe Mary’s house. My grandmothers lived near each other on Chicago’s north side. I saw Beauty every weekend, but I would only see Bubbe Mary, my father’s mother, on occasional holidays. While my grandmothers had a lot in common – they were both amazing cooks – they were also very different.

Beauty adored me, but Bubbe Mary did not seem to have much time to see me. Also, Beauty was all about being healthy, using a lot of fresh fruits and vegetables in all her dishes. Bubbe Mary was all about recreating the dishes that made her feel closer to Old World traditions she left behind in Romania.

Every year at Chanukah, the whole family was invited to Bubbe Mary’s for a traditional Jewish dinner. She even included my mom’s parents, Beauty and Papa. What I loved most about holiday gatherings at Bubbe Mary’s house was seeing my first cousins, whom I adored but rarely ever saw – and listening to both grandmothers speak Yiddish. I never knew what they were saying, but something about the sound of the dialect combined with intense hand gestures and the aromas of the Jewish food left a lasting imprint.

Bubbe Mary grew up in Romania and traveled by boat to the United States when she was 13. She traveled with some of her sisters and brothers, but many family members were left behind.

Bubbe Mary used schmaltz to cook everything – from matzah balls to latkes to chicken livers. Everything was fried with schmaltz, which she kept in a glass jar above her stove. For Chanukah, she often went through a whole jar. She fried and grated so many potatoes for the latkes that her knuckles would bleed. She made sure if you were eating at her home there was plenty of food, and you would not leave without a full belly and a doggy bag.

The most memorable Chanukah at Bubbe Mary’s was when I was 8, the last one before my family moved to New York, and one of the last times I ever saw her.

Figuring out family holidays

Adam Brody played Seth Cohen in the show The O.C. and celebrated “Chrismukkah.” (photo from cookiesandsangria.files.wordpress.com)

If nothing else, The O.C., the popular 2003-07 American television show that featured the overblown dramas of hyper-privileged Orange County teens and their self-obsessed parents, can be credited with making a household name of “Chrismukkah” – the handy portmanteau that character Seth Cohen used to describe his interfaith family’s fusing of Christmas and Chanukah.

With intermarriage on the rise, many Jews in Canada and the United States are partnered or raising children with spouses of Christian backgrounds. Jewish Federations of Canada-United Israel Appeal’s 2011 National Household Survey found that the intermarriage rate in this country is 25%, about half the rate in the United States.

With Christmas being the centrepiece of the Christian calendar in the West – even for the increasing number of North Americans who celebrate Jesus’ birthday only culturally – many intermarried Jews find themselves in a quandary: should they embrace “Chrismukkah,” observe Christmas and Chanukah separately, or focus on creating an exclusively Jewish home by just celebrating the Festival of Lights.

While every family’s situation is different, it seems that many interfaith couples are finding ways to mark both holidays, but with the emphasis on each one’s cultural value.

This lines up with findings from the Pew Research Centre’s 2013 study A Portrait of Jewish Americans, which notes that younger generations of American Jews – 32% among Jewish millennials – often identify themselves as Jewish on the basis of ancestry, ethnicity or culture rather than religion. This matched the broader U.S. public’s shift away from religious affiliation, which is particularly prevalent among those in the 18-to-29 age range.

As for “Chrismukkah,” the Pew report found that about one-third of Jews surveyed said they’d had a Christmas tree in their home the year prior. Among those married to non-Jews, that number was 71%.

Tyler Irving isn’t Jewish, but his wife is, and the couple had their first child last year.

“So far, I’ve found it pretty easy to celebrate both sets of holidays,” he said. “We’ve been thinking about holidays as chances to reflect on culture, spend time with family and build strong bonds, and putting less emphasis on the religious aspects.”

Because Christmas is when they visit Irving’s parents, who live in the country, he expects that his own kids will view Christmas as a time to “be with Grandma and Grandpa,” while Chanukah will be “the chance to go to spend time with Bubbie and Zaide.”

Arielle Piat-Sauvé grew up in Quebec with a Jewish mother and a Catholic father.

“We always celebrated both holidays,” she said. “We went to my dad’s family for Christmas, though we did have a tree and did gifts at our own home. On Chanukah, we’d light the candles and do something with my [maternal] grandma and cousins. When I was younger, I’d get a gift for each night, but that wore off.”

If the two holidays coincided, her family would first light the Chanukah candles and then go to her grandparents’ for Christmas dinner. She stressed that neither holiday celebration focused on their religious components, but tradition and family time.

“Often, it’s easier for families to add than subtract,” said Rabbi Jordan Helfman of Toronto’s Holy Blossom Temple, a Reform synagogue that has among its members quite a few interfaith couples.

Interfaith families with children enrolled in Holy Blossom’s supplementary religious school are asked not to celebrate Christmas in their own homes, but going to a non-Jewish relative’s place for Christmas is OK, Helfman explained.

“My experience is it’s not hard for children to make that distinction, especially when the parents are clear about, ‘This is what we do in our house, and this is what Grandma does in her house.’ Kids are smarter than we give them credit for,” he said.

Rabbi Tina Grimberg of Congregation Darchei Noam, Toronto’s Reconstructionist synagogue, said her congregation has a number of interfaith families, many of whom get involved in the shul’s Chanukah festivities, or who light candles in their own homes.

“Do I go into people’s homes and see Christmas trees? Not often at all. Do trees come up in [interfaith congregants’] homes on Dec. 24? Most likely not … though if people do celebrate both Christmas and Chanukah, they don’t tell me,” she said.

Just because a non-Jewish partner hasn’t converted doesn’t mean Christmas is central in their life, she emphasized. And, ultimately, when addressing interfaith families’ practice of Judaism, there’s a larger conversation at play.

“It’s about how to live life in a Jewish context when you have deep roots in another reality. It’s not about, ‘I’m Jewish because I don’t celebrate Christmas.’ It’s ‘How many Jewish things do I do … do I do Shabbat, go to synagogue, have a seder, do mitzvot, say Shema in the morning?’” she said. “Some people will still have a tree, because it honors their grandma, while others feel they have enough of a rich Jewish life that they no longer need it.”

Rabbi Jillian Cameron is director of the Boston chapter of InterfaithFamily, a U.S. organization that supports interfaith couples exploring Jewish life. It provides families with educational materials and connections to inclusive organizations, programs and local clergy.

She stressed that, while she doesn’t see a single trend with regard to how families led by intermarried couples approach the holidays, at this time of year, many of them are focused on figuring out how to be respectful of both Chanukah and Christmas, whether they celebrate the holidays in their own home or that of an extended family member.

While Christmas can be tough to give up for many who are raised with it, Cameron said, the religious element is secondary to “the family connections, the music, the smells, the tree … there’s a big pull to the sensory nature of Christmas.”

She added that this speaks to the wider trend of younger people finding value in tradition, but focusing on things outside of the theological realm.

While families with one Jewish and one Christian parent observe the holidays at this time of year in all sorts of incarnations, it’s clear that many, as in the general population, are most concerned about preserving tradition and a sense of family togetherness.

– For more national Jewish news, visit cjnews.com

Getting through Chanukah

It’s that time of year again! For many, the holiday season is spent with family and is filled with nothing but joy, love, laughter, gratitude and giving. If this is you, you can go ahead and stop reading now…. This piece is for those of us who don’t live on the Hallmark Channel.

Let’s be honest with ourselves. We love our family. At the same time, getting together with our families or our in-laws around the holidays can get stressful, awful or even painful. Some people end up in my therapy office after the holidays, shattered from family celebrations.

If you’re tired of the stressful dynamics in your family, maybe this year it’s time to try something a little different. Let’s call this an early Chanukah list.

Set boundaries. Setting boundaries is the foundation for standing up to the family difficulties that we deal with every year. Maybe the lessons we learned in childhood were to not “stir the pot” and to avoid conflict. The end result of this is that we end up acting as if we are OK when, quite frankly, we aren’t.

When your mother–in-law pulls up an old dig about your weight, you don’t have to sit quietly and let your blood pressure go through the roof. Instead, you can say, “I don’t like it when you make comments about my weight.”

Another way to set boundaries is to put space between yourself and whatever or whomever you’re trying to set boundaries with. You may not be able to control what others say, but you can certainly move yourself to another room or go for a walk.

Don’t regress. Perhaps you always got dragged into being the mediator or the scapegoat in your family when you were growing up. When we, as adults, spend time with our families in the present, we tend to slip back into old roles. Don’t be who you were when you were 14. Be who you are now, even if your family doesn’t see it. If they continue to define you as your past, don’t stoop to their level by doing the same to them. Be the grown-up in the room.

Don’t be held back by the prospect of negative outcomes. You might plan to do things differently around your family, but it doesn’t mean the results will be rosy. You might set boundaries and get a lot of backlash.

This is not advice for the faint of heart. It’s advice to help you survive your family holiday. These are suggestions for people who are tired of getting sucked into the same old family patterns, and are ready to find their voice and get unstuck.

There’s no way to know for sure how your holiday will turn out as you try some of these ideas. At best, you might become a catalyst for actual change in your family and holidays might get better.

But, whether family time improves or continues on as it always has, you can at least know that you are taking charge of your life and taking steps toward a happier you.

Enjoy the latkes!

Lynn Superstein-Raber is a registered psychologist who helps people overcome depression, anxiety and relationship problems. For more information, visit lynnsuperstein.com.

This week’s cartoon … Dec. 9/16

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This week’s cartoon … Dec. 2/16

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Mystery photo … Nov. 25/16

United Synagogue Youth Cycle-athon, 1971. (photo from JWB Fonds, JMABC L.09838)

If you know someone in this photo, please help the JI fill the gaps of its predecessor’s (the Jewish Western Bulletin’s) collection at the Jewish Museum and Archives of B.C. by contacting archives@jewishmuseum.ca or 604-257-5199. To find out who has been identified in the photos, visit jewishmuseum.ca/blog.