About this time last year, I remember walking around the streets of Jerusalem, counting the menorahs I could see in windowsills and doorways. I was excited and inspired—I had never seen such a prevalent, and beautiful, public display of Jewish ritual before.
On Hanukkah, we are told to light the menorah and place it at the entrance to our homes, a place easily visible to those passing by in the street. Over the years, the tradition has changed and many place the menorah in the window, facing the street. The rabbis say that one should choose the window most visible from the street, whether that window is in a bedroom or a family room. If many people pass by the entrance to an apartment (say, in the stairwell), the proper place for the menorah is just outside the entrance to the apartment. All this is to say that the menorah should be positioned in the place where it will be seen by most people, in order to publicize the holiday.
This year, I’m going to place the menorah in my front windowsill of my apartment in Jackson, Mississippi. I’m going to do so without a second thought. I have the privilege of placing a menorah in my windowsill without the fear of persecution in response to this public display of observance. What’s more, I do so with great pride and ownership of the ritual.
This year, next to my menorah, I’m going to place a banner that signifies the meaning of Hanukkah to me, a holiday that’s meant to bring light into our world. As a Jew devoted to social justice, to me that light represents equal rights for all. That light represents my belief that all people, regardless of religion or race or gender, should be able to walk down the street without fear of persecution or violence. Everyone should feel privileged enough to place the equivalent of their menorah in the windowsill.
Over the past weeks, as crowds have gathered across the country to demand an end to police brutality and racial violence, I’ve often wondered what I can do as a Jew and an ally to support this work. So this year, I’m adding a simple object to my windowsill—a sign that reads “Black Lives Matter.” There are similar Hanukkah campaigns and initiatives being encouraged by many national Jewish organizations, such as Bend The Arc and Jewish Social Justice Roundtable.
Hanukkah means “dedication.” This year, I am re-dedicating my Hanukkah. I hope you will join me.
“December Dilemma” is the perfect way to describe the mixture of emotions I feel during the holiday season.
I like twinkle lights, but I don’t like how stores start playing Christmas music before Thanksgiving. I love old Claymation Christmas cartoons, Christmas cookies, and Christmas carols. Red and green are great colors that go well together, but I prefer blue and silver. I like shopping for presents, but I hate how busy the mall gets.
I am similarly conflicted about Santa Claus. After years in public school of having to write him letters, and receiving nothing for my efforts, we have a complicated past.
So in the spirit of Sam’s recent delightful letter to Santa, here is mine.
Season’s Greetings. I am sorry that haven’t written since grade school, when my teacher made me write to you. I do not remember what I said in that letter, but it was probably grumpy and insincere. You see, I was the only Jewish kid in my school and I was so tired of having to write you a letter every year. It just seemed fruitless. You bring presents to children around the world, but only those who celebrate Christmas. I understand, I don’t celebrate Christmas and you deliver Christmas presents. It’s like why I don’t get presents on my sister’s birthday.
Even though I knew you would not leave me presents, I still insisted that we leave you your favorite snack, Christmas cookies. I think my Dad knew that you still wouldn’t come, because in Kindergarten I caught him eating your cookies. Bet that never happened to any Christmas-celebrating child…
And now, Santa, I would like to take this time to formally apologize for what I think is probably the biggest rift in our friendship: I am so sorry that I told my Kindergarten class that you were not real.
I don’t remember doing it, but my parents said that they got the call telling them about the horrible lies I was spreading throughout the preschool. I am sincerely sorry, I was just a sad and bitter little Kindergartener. I am sorry for denying your existence. (If it is any consolation, I do not think that the other kids believed me). I regret my actions and any pain, trauma, and trust issues I may have caused those poor children. I hope they didn’t spend too much time in therapy because of this incident.
In the spirit of friendship I would like to invite you to celebrate another holiday together. No it’s not Hanukkah or Kwanza, Festivus or Saturnalia, it’s my birthday. In an odd twist of fate, my birthday is on December 26th. (I must admit, this less than ideal birth date may have added to my dislike of Christmas) But this year, I will keep my chimney chute open and leave out some cookies. We can chat and discuss our differences. It will go down in history as the Great Birthday Mediation of 2014. We can lay a solid foundation for further Jewish-Santa relations in the future, and maybe figure out a way to stop clogging your mail box full of letters from Jewish kids whose teachers make them write to you….just a suggestion.
P.S. I would really love a stand mixer this year.
While some of my friends and neighbors are getting ready for the holiday season by watching Christmas specials, I recently decided to watch a different sort of “tradition-al” film— Fiddler on the Roof.
“Fiddler” is celebrating 50 years since it first opened on Broadway. Like many people, I associate the musical with old-world life in the shtetl. But, watching it recently, I was struck by how much remains relevant to Jewish life today, particularly during the holiday season.
As Tevye, the main character, and his family face the influences of secularism and Christianity, he struggles to reconcile his love for his family with his love of tradition. And, when his daughters’ pursuit of love comes up against his passion for tradition, he is willing to adapt, and he does…until he can’t.
The struggle reaches a climax when his third daughter marries a Christian. After his dreams of arranging his daughters’ marriages has already been shattered by his two older daughters (with the eldest marrying a poor tailor, despite Tevye having promised her to a wealthy butcher, and the next one leaving home to join her political prisoner love in Siberia), the final straw comes when his third daughter proclaims her intentions to wed outside the faith. When she and her beloved come to him, their exchange is painful:
CHAVA: Papa, I beg you to accept us.
TEVYE [to himself/to the heavens, as the others all freeze]: Accept them? How can I accept them? Can I deny everything I believe in? On the other hand, can I deny my own daughter? On the other hand, how can I turn my back on my faith? My people? If I try and bend that far, I will break. On the other hand…No. There is no other hand.
What I find most beautiful about this musical is that regardless of whether one thinks Tevye should be more accepting of his daughters’ choices or if you think that his daughters ought to have more reverence for the traditions with which they were raised (matchmaking included), one cannot help but admire the characters’ willingness to struggle.
Holidays seem to bring this struggle to the forefront as our observance of tradition is made public with whether and how we celebrate Hanukkah—whether we put a menorah in our windowsill for all to see, whether we have people over for latkes and whether we give children gelt or gifts. Perhaps though, the more confusing dilemmas are related to whether and how a Jewish family acknowledges and/or celebrates Christmas.
I encourage everyone who struggles to watch Fiddler on the Roof. If nothing else, it is proof that those who struggle are not alone and that the struggle is not exclusive to our generation. I also believe that an even more profound message is in this classic film – a lesson not to be too quick to judge others for their choices during the holiday season. Remember, for each “on the one hand,” there is an “on the other hand.” Because even though Tevye initially says “there is no other hand”…. His struggle does not end there. He only seems to reach a wall—but the wall is porous, as we see Tevye’s love for his daughter shine through. When the Jews of Anatevka are forced to leave, Tevye’s daughter Chava and her Christian husband come to bid farewell to her family. They express that they, too, cannot stay in a place where people are treated so poorly. At first, Tevye does not acknowledge her but as she walks away, he mumbles: “And God be with you.”
During this holiday season, let us honor the struggle Jews have faced for centuries and recognize that there is a myriad of ways in which we could honor tradition and the choices of our families, friends and neighbors. And, as we try and stay true to our “on the one hand,” let us always remember that somewhere there lies an “on the other hand.”
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