When my son Cole was old enough to speak a sentence, he started asking for a Christmas tree. This might seem like a no-brainer if you celebrate Christmas every year, but we’re Jewish and our December decorations usually include an old brass menorah and a small blue and white Happy Hanukkah sign. Cole’s early plea raised a dilemma: Do we want to be as full of Chrismukkah as Adam Brody’s character in the movie? olympic committeeor stick to ancient writing?
If you’re not familiar with Chrismukkah, it’s exactly what it sounds like – you can mix and match Christmas and Hanukkah traditions to your liking, wait Look! This is your hybrid vacation. It has less to do with religious beliefs and more to do with decoration. brody’s Oak Seth Cohen turned the concept into a pop culture (and holiday marketing) touchstone early on, but it apparently originated with 19th-century German Jews, who called it “Weihnukkah.” Then as now, it was not about giving up your religion or traditions. This is an attempt to create a sense of belonging within the culture at large.
As a Jew who grew up in Texas, I completely understand the urge to pick a big old tree and sing “Silent Night” by the fireplace. I barely had any Jewish friends growing up, so other than my sisters and cousins, no one I hung out with had a menorah and had no idea who the Maccabees really were. My father, who is 5 feet 8 inches tall and carries centuries of Jewish sins on his shoulders, won’t let us put up Christmas decorations. My mom converted to Judaism a few years after marrying my dad, so she grew up with stars in the treetops in the winter and Easter egg hunts each spring (she was known to sneak in the occasional red velvet bow and pine needles) -Scented candles come into our houses).
We have our own version of Chrismukkah, though, as we celebrate Christmas and Easter every year at my grandparents’ house. Because of this, my parents found a way to incorporate their family traditions in a way that suited everyone. As a kid, I knew I was Jewish, but my sisters and I had the best of both worlds when it came to all the fun things, like opening gifts wrapped in green and red paper, or hunting for pink and yellow eggs.
My grandparents passed away years ago, so now it’s my husband (who was also raised Jewish) and I to navigate Chris Muka. Since Cole was born, we’ve adopted traditions like hanging red and white stockings on the mantle and preparing a plate of cookies and carrots for Santa and his reindeer to eat on Christmas Eve. This year, though, the Jewish guilt I feel about conforming isn’t coming from the ghosts of my father or my ancestors. It comes from my 7 year old.
I I loved seeing Cole’s surprised face on Christmas morning when he found cookie crumbs and nibbled carrots on his plate. I also loved hearing him try to recite the Hanukkah prayer in Hebrew each night as he lit the candles on the menorah.
When he was in kindergarten, I enrolled Cole in Sunday school at a Jewish temple in Austin so that he might connect with his ancestors and his heritage (so that I would be less—yeah—because there was no Feel guilty for continuing) the traditions of the above ancestors). I just didn’t expect that studying the Menorah and Torah would inspire my son to suddenly reject the Christian traditions of our past. It’s nice to see him develop a Jewish identity, but this holiday he even refused to wear a snowman or Christmas tree stocking on “Holiday Sock Day” at school. “Mom, no! We are Jewish. I need to wear Hanukkah socks. When I mentioned getting the annual cookies and carrots for Santa and Rudolph, his response was, “Mom, no! I feel guilty. We are Jews and there are not many of us left!
He’s in first grade, so I don’t know where he learned it, but I’m starting to think he might be a rabbi when he grows up. if he were a cool rabbi loves brody’s character no one wants thisthat’s fine. But still.
I I loved seeing Cole’s surprised face on Christmas morning when he found cookie crumbs and nibbled carrots on his plate. I also loved hearing him try to recite the Hanukkah prayer in Hebrew each night as he lit the candles on the menorah. He calls it French instead of Hebrew, but whatever. In October we were picking out a gift for our dog’s birthday and out of all the decorated dog cookies in the box, Cole picked out candlestick cookies. I’m shocked they even have Candlestick Cookies in Hutto, Texas, where we live, but it’s there. In some cases, our local grocery stores carry zero Hanukkah cards, not a single ream of Hanukkah wrapping paper, and if you ask an employee at these grocery stores where you can find white bread or matzo balls, they will look at you like You are speaking in tongues.
That day at the pet store, Cole proudly handed the cashier a menorah of dog food and declared, “We are Jewish and our dogs are Jewish!” He then went on to tell the patient woman the story of Hanukkah, which A woman thanked him for explaining the festival to her.
Cole is no longer the 5 year old begging for a Christmas tree, but he did change his mind about Santa cookies when I told him we could be Jewish but still be able to do fun things like not eat the snacks. Also, what if Santa Claus is hungry?
“Okay, okay,” he said when I presented my perfectly logical argument about Santa’s growling belly. He’s an empathetic kid, so he doesn’t want to deny that there are happy, bearded, absolutely real Arctic residents in his cookies.
Because the Hebrew calendar is lunisolar, the date of Hanukkah changes every year. The winter holidays start on December 25th this year, so if there was ever a year to embrace some Christmas traditions, it’s this one. We would light the menorah and hang the stockings, and if my kids wanted to recite some French/Hebrew prayers to the pet store cashier, that would be great. The twinkling lights on a winter night are lovely no matter what shape they are in.
Dina Gachman is a Pulitzer Center laureate and award-winning journalist. she often new york times, Texas Monthly, teen fashionand many more, and publishers weekly call her a collection of essays Sorry for your loss“a deeply personal exploration of grief.” She lives near Austin with her husband, son, and dog.
