I used to be the kind of person who’d get mad when someone wished me a merry Christmas instead of a happy Hanukkah.
I’m proud of my Jewish identity, and it gets aggravating sometimes to be lumped in with a certain group of people just because they’re the majority. But I don’t mind so much anymore, because I’ve softened up a bit: It took me a while to realize it, but I’ve learned that people are just being kind and well-meaning when they wish me a merry Christmas; they’re not implying that they’ll see me at church.
The truth is, we make way too big a deal over Hanukkah. And I’m over it.
To the gentiles who may be reading this, have you ever wondered why Hanukkah can never seem to measure up to its goyishe counterpart? It’s not because of Christmas’ all-powerful sway over the American people… Well it kind of is, but it’s mainly because Hanukkah is simply not our biggest holiday. It has an inflated sense of urgency by being pitted against Christmas for so long, but if we could just admit that we’re out of our depth, I think everybody would be better off.
Here’s a history lesson that anybody who’s been to Hebrew school will already know:
Hanukkah was not celebrated in a big way until around the middle of the 20th century, and today’s traditions are a complete amalgam of biblical (reading prayers in ancient Hebrew), modern (eating latkes, playing dreidel, chocolate coins) and postmodern (exchanging presents because that’s what the goyishe kids do.) Long story short, there was a big push in the 1970s by a rabbi named Menachem M. Schneerson to have menorahs lit in public; one thing led to another, and here we are.
I liken it to Cinco de Mayo. It’s not actually Mexican Independence Day, it’s not actually a big deal in Mexico, and sometimes ― just sometimes ― it feels like it belongs more to the group that’s on the outside looking in than the group who’s supposed to be celebrating.
Looking at it empirically, Hanukkah is just a bad choice for the most visible Jewish holiday. While you can make an argument that Passover is Jewish Thanksgiving, Rosh Hashanah is Jewish New Year’s, and Purim is Jewish Halloween, Hanukkah doesn’t really fit the bill as Jewish Christmas, which of course is the mother of all Christian (and secular) holidays.
It just doesn’t line up that perfectly: The monstrosity that is Christmas happens to take place in December, and while there is a Jewish holiday around that time. It’s not really about gift-giving or holiday cheer or dreams of dancing sugar plums; it’s a survival celebration that goes heavy on the food, music, and family. We have a lot of those.
A bit of disclosure is needed here, lest I offend anybody: I am a secular jew, and I believe there are religious and secular ways to celebrate Hanukkah, just like there’s a religious Christmas and a secular Christmas.
I’m not making this argument toward those who celebrate Hanukkah by going to shul and reading the Torah. This is more geared toward Jewish people who are looking for a representative December holiday to combat Christmas. And that’s really the root of the issue. Why are we setting ourselves up to fail?
Because I prefer a full day of relaxation and merriment to the anticlimax of eight nights’ worth of watered-down celebration, I have become what I used to despise: A Christmas Jew. My cousins have scorned me because of it, but I don’t really mind. After celebrating both holidays, I’ve discovered you can add as much or as little religion as you want, and neither becomes less of what it is. It’s very easy to have a secular Christmas, and honestly it’s hard not to get swept up in it. Christmas rocks.
To those who have made meaningful family memories at Hanukkah, you are valid. But if the Festival of Lights were to disappear tomorrow, we’d still be able to sing Dayenu over a plate piled high with Passover food, dress up in a fake beard and get wine drunk on Purim, and listen to beautiful music during a Rosh Hashanah service. Our religion has a lot going for it in the holiday department, and we should be proud.
So, come one, come all and wish me a merry Christmas ― or happy holidays, if you prefer ― and I’ll appreciate you taking the time to put a smile on my face. I’ll think of you when I’m sitting under the tree (it’s actually a potted cactus) opening presents with my dearly beloveds.
(Just don’t wish me a happy Easter. I’m not quite ready for that yet.)
