I was raised in a Catholic household, so what did I know from Hannukah? In my elementary school brain, it was the Jewish equivalent of Christmas. I didn’t know about holiday traditions evolving over time. For me, the manger in Bethlehem was decked out with a tree, inflatable Santa decorations, live animals, angels on high, the Three Kings, the seven fishes, and a big piñata. There was inclusiveness in 6 BC. Let the choir sing—Away in a Silent Night Christmas Bells are Ringing Feliz Navidad.
I grew up learning about the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, the Virgin Mary, Noah and the Easter Bunny. I also knew the Ten Commandments and that Moses, with his burning bush, traveled to the Planet of the Apes after he led his people out of slavery.
As a child, there weren’t Jewish families in my neighborhood. Esther Appelbaum and Sidney Finegold were in my class but they lived across town. While I was schlepping my way to school every day Esther was dropped off by a Lincoln Town Car, her father was a dentist, and Sidney arrived in a Cadillac Eldorado, his dad owned a car dealership.
There was no discussion about religious differences. Sidney always wore a small beanie on his head. A classmate told me Sidney used it to cover a bald spot. Evidently Jewish men had a condition known as yarmulke that caused hair loss.
Once I asked Sidney if I could see the bald spot under his cap and he said I was “meshuggeneh.” I didn’t know what it meant, but the cap never came off. I assumed it was a rite reserved only for the Jews. Kind of like the Shirley Temple curls orthodox men sported.
I was unsure why Sidney and Esther didn’t participate in the Christmas activities at school. If Jesus was Jewish, shouldn’t they take the lead in the holiday celebration? They’d know all about the first Christmas. But instead, they celebrated something called Hanukkah. Evidently, for the Jewish people the birth of Christ was no big whoop.
When I was told there were no decorations for Hanukkah—I hyperventilated. How could anyone go through the holiday season and not deck their halls? No tree, no lights, no carols, no way!
My inquiring mind had to know how Hannukah was celebrated, so I interrogated Sidney. He said the Jewish holiday was better than Christmas because they celebrated for eight days. The holiday revolved around the lighting of the manure and saying a blessing. I was horrified.
In my Christian head I was still trying to tie Hanukkah to Jesus. So, I asked him if It was because there were cattle in the manger? He said it was because of a temple and having enough oil to light the manure. Sidney had to be pulling my leg. According to him, Hanukkah sounded like a load of crap. After eight nights it would take months to fumigate the house.
He said after the flaming turd was lit, they would eat potato pancakes, jelly doughnuts and spin a top to get chocolate coins. I couldn’t get past the manure. Who could eat or even breathe to celebrate anything? Christmas was without a doubt the most wonderful time of the year compared to the horror of Hanukkah.
Esther told me her family always put their manure in the window for all their neighbors to see. I’m sure there was an increase of 911 calls during those eight nights. “911, what’s your emergency? I’d like to report a non-yule log burning in the picture window of the Goldstein residence.”
I wondered if gifts were received for Hanukkah since there wasn’t a Jewish Santa Claus. Esther said she received gifts from her relatives. No toys. Only socks, underwear—practical stuff. She said sometimes the leader of their temple, Rabbit Eli, would give her a book.
Both Sidney and Esther had to have brain damage from the noxious fumes in their homes. She thought a rabbit was her priest. I asked her if he was the Jewish Easter Bunny. She said Jews didn’t celebrate Easter but observed Passover. Which is basically the retelling of the Charlton Heston movie where he parts the Red Sea. They read the story and eat a meal of bitter herbs and they chop up liver.
I told my Catholic parents I would never become Jewish because their holidays would kill me. There was no way I could imagine saying prayers with Peter Cottontail or firing up a pile of dung to celebrate a temple.
They assured me my knowledge of Jewish culture was lacking and there were rabbis and a candle holder called a menorah. Wow! I slept better knowing Sidney and Esther were not insane and, that a giant rabbit wasn’t dicing up a liver to the smell of a cattle field on fire.
Ironically, I now celebrate both holidays. My house is set-up for Chrismukkah. My partner is Jewish and I give equal time to lighting the tree and the menorah. I’ve adapted to the culture, but I still miss pouring a big helping of Mrs. Buttersworth’s® on a pancake made of spuds.
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