Another Christmas Post from a Jewish Blogger

Looking at the back of my car, you might think you'd caught up with Santa's sleigh.

Toys for kids of all ages!

As I have done for probably about 30 years or more, I have been a happy partner in a toy drive in conjunction with a Hebrew School for the holidays.  This year is no different, and I will deliver the toys today to a shelter which keeps women and children safe from abusive situations.

Typically, like today, I deliver the toys alone, quietly in the middle of the day.  According to Jewish tradition, this is the way to go actually.  Anonymously (although when I remember, I do get a form for our taxes), and allowing the recipients to keep their dignity.  They don't know the donors, and the donors, in this case, members of our congregation, don't know where I am bringing the toys. 

But one year, things happened a little differently.

In a turn of events I never could have expected, I found myself in the middle of Hackensack, NJ with a car overflowing with toys, and my own toddler son about to engage in a mitzvah (elevated good deed) that I would never forget.

That year I had been asked to collect toys for Jewish young people who lived in several group homes in Hackensack.  The students in my Hebrew High School delivered above and beyond.  The night we were to wrap the gifts, the amount was simply overwhelming.  Back in those days, I drove a big old Chevy van, and it's a good thing. 

My van was full of huge garbage bags of gifts, each wrapped in Hanukkah paper, and labeled for a boy or girl, and the age for whom the toy was appropriate.  Also in my car was a small pile of toys we deemed inappropriate for donation:  Christmas books, baby toys, and anything that looked used.  I'd deliver those to a shelter at another time. 

I got to the drop-off location, and they took as much as they could use.  But, to our surprise, I really had too much.  The director asked me to come to their Hanukkah party so I could see the faces of the young people when they opened their gifts, but I had to teach that night, so I had to miss the fun.  But I left with my van still HALF FULL of wrapped Hanukkah presents. 

This was before smart phones, so home I went.  I opened this book we used to get called a phone book  and started to look for homeless shelters in Bergen County.  I made a few calls and I found a shelter - coincidentally right back in Hackensack - and even more coincidentally - if I could come back tomorrow - it was their Christmas Party!  And their usual donors had not come through- they had nothing under their tree as of now.  I wanted to tell them it was beshert (meant to be) but I think they knew that.  I made a plan with the director of the shelter to meet the next day.

That day, Thursday, my little son Jacob, who was about 3, did not have his pre-school, so I popped him into his car seat, bundled up in his little snow suit.  No MapQuest or GPS - I navigated by sense of direction back then! And with Jacob's favorite Hanukkah cassette tape playing we drove back to Hackensack with a car full of toys.  Every so often I'd hear his little sing-song voice say, "Waldo!" as he had found the "Where's Waldo" Christmas book from the pile in my van and was finding Waldo in the North Pole scene, then in the busy shopping scene, then in the snowball fight scene.

I got to the shelter, and it was set up like an apartment house, with a common room and a front office.  At first I didn't see any residents, just the office staff, who helped me bring the heavy bags into the common room.  There was a little Christmas tree, decorated with ancient decorations and bright lights.  There was an old television, that was on for no one in particular.  The old couches and chairs looked comfortable, but worn and threadbare.  The room was clean but smelled like smoke and although decorated for Christmas, was anything but festive.  

As promised, there was nothing under the tree.

The director as me if I wanted to put the presents under the tree. 

Um, sure, ok.  I un-bundled little Jacob and took my coat off and we got to work.  I was a little worried he would want to open the presents himself, but he had fun putting the presents around the bottom of the tree, and quickly learned that the side with ribbon and the tag had to go up.  With the tv news as our background music, the job went along smoothly.

While we were working on this I realized we were being watched.  A mother and her baby had come into the room.  He must have been 2 or younger.  Despite the fact it was freezing outside and pretty cold inside, the baby was dressed in only a t-shirt and diaper.  Nothing on his feet.  I'll never forget the juxtaposition of my bundled up boy sitting amid plenty and this little guy, in just a shirt and diaper.

The mom and I smiled at each other.  Jacob and I were almost done.  I said to them both that I thought Santa might be coming soon.  I went in to the office to let them know we were finishing up.

The director had a shocked look on her face.  I asked her what was up?  She told me that their Santa was just arrested.

"Do you want to be our Santa today for our Christmas party?"

Wow.  I'd would have loved that!  But I had to say no,  I had to pick up my other two children at school and then go to work.  But what an opportunity for a Jewish woman!  Still to this day, I think I would have been a great Santa!

As we were getting ready to go, I whispered to Jacob, "Do you think that little baby would like that Waldo book?"  Jacob thought that was a great idea.  So we went out to the van and got the book.  Jacob handed it to the baby who clutched it to his chest tightly.  His mom got tears in her eyes that matched mine.  I looked over at the director of the shelter.  She was wiping away tears as well. 

We turned around and looked at all the Hanukkah presents under their little Christmas tree.  The room seemed to sparkle in a way it didn't when we got there.  The director turned the tv on to cartoons for the little boy. He was still clutching his book  when we left.  The mom was thanking us.  Jacob scored a candy cane, probably his first. 

I forgot to ask for a receipt.

Maybe I did get to play Santa after all. 

Santified version of me by Peter White 2015

The First (and only) Noel

A True Story.

I have never had Christmas envy.  

Growing up in a Jewish home, we celebrated all the Jewish and American holidays in full style.  We have enjoyed each at its given time, with the proper full table and decorations.  As a little girl, I never dreamed of waking up to see what Santa might have left me, I knew that was for the other kids.  I was happy with my eight nights of Hanukkah, my gelt and dreidels and latkes and knowing I was that anomaly at school who didn't blend in.  

But... one year... things were different.

It was 1969.  That year, my family had moved from Newton Centre, Massachusetts to Cherry Hill, NJ. Shortly after we moved in, we watched with amazement as Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walked on the moon. I went from not understanding Red Sox fever to not understanding Mets fever.  (AGAIN with the kids and their transistor radios!)

I was in 4th grade, and my little brother Geoffrey was in 1st. Of COURSE we walked to school, and it was quite a hike.  As we walked along, we met up with our neighbors and friends.  We made friends quickly and summer turned to fall turned to winter.

I remember one very cold and slightly snowy morning, and our usual friends were sparse.  As we approached the "major" intersection where the crossing guard usually protected us from the dozen or so suburban cars, who slowly made their way toward the school, we saw she was not there.  Being the big sister, I took my little brother by the hand when the light turned green.  We boldly crossed, me feeling proud and accomplished.  When we arrived, unscathed at the school, we found, to our delight, it was a snow day!  Our small group turned around and trudged back home, through the inch and a half of accumulated snow, most likely to my mother's chagrin. 

As was the norm back then, the school was decorated beautifully. As you walked into the lobby, there was a huge Christmas tree, and it made the foyer smell great.  The tree had ornaments and lights, and back in those days, that metallic tinsel that came in single shreds. The lobby had other decorations as did every hallway and classroom.  The school was positively festooned with Christmas decorations. 

Was there the obligatory menorah in the lobby?  I doubt it.  Did one or two teachers hang up some Hanukkah decorations?  Maybe. Was there a Kwanzaa candelabra up?  There wasn't even Kwanzaa yet. I don't know what other parents told their children, but I just knew it wasn't my holiday.  I knew when I got home there would be my holiday waiting for me... and it was okay. 

And then, it was time for Christmas vacation.  The school did what they had always done, they entered every child's name into the raffle to see who would get to bring the giant Christmas tree home.  They did not ask who wanted to enter.  They did not consider who might not want a tree, or who might already have one.  And little Juliet Cantor, one of a handful of Jewish children in the school won that Christmas tree.

I didn't think for a second to argue with the principal of the school, or turn down this tree.  At 9 years old, I had not yet even considered standing up to authority, and it was true, we didn't have one...

So.

There I was. 

At 3:30 on a snowy afternoon at the beginning of Christmas break with a giant naked pine tree. 

To my surprise (and probably dismay) winning the Christmas tree did not mean winning any of the lights, ornaments or that pretty tinsel.  The custodians had made quick work of that while we were in our last classes of the afternoon.

I rounded up my friends, which included my boyfriend Andy and his best friend Paul (both Jewish) and little Geoffrey (we let him carry the top of the tree, since he was only 6).  And the four of us schlepped

this thing all the way home. 

As a parent... I can't imagine what I would do if any of my kids EVER came home with a Christmas tree.  But I can tell you what mine did. 

They let me keep it.

My dad configured some kind of stand for it in our den.  And I was allowed to make decorations for it... origami and snowflakes... and we admired it.  Since we didn't know about watering it, it dried out nicely, dropping its needles all over the place.  My cousin happened to be visiting and he taught me to draw a perfect 5-point star and we colored them in, punched holes, used Mom's yarn to make loops, and hung them up on the tree. Then we taught Geoffrey how to draw Stars of David, as I had just learned in Hebrew school, and did the same with them.  We did not see the irony.  

When Christmas came, there were no presents under that tree.  We didn't hang stockings with care, or leave cookies for Santa.  But for one year, we had that intoxicating scent of pine wafting through the house.  After that, my dad took it outside, chopped it up, and let it dry, and we used it for firewood.  It smelled wonderful in the fireplace.

It's funny to think of it now.  A Christmas tree in our house.  My parents acting like it's no big thing.  And because they acted that way, it wasn't. (Although I did ask if we could buy tinsel and lights, and they said no.) 

When I reminded them of this story, family lore at this point, I asked them if there were photos I could use to enhance the blog. They both looked, but, not surprisingly, there were no photos to be found.

Since that time, we've always enjoyed Christmas as guests, celebrating with others. Enjoying their traditions, foods, stories, and Christmas trees.  And definitely the music.   But that one year was the beginning and end of Noel in our house.

The author, as artistically  "elfed" by @pawhite. 

To read more of my Jewish blogs about Christmas, click on these links:

http://myso-calledblogat.blogspot.com/2013/12/why-theres-plaster-jesus-in-my-basement.html



http://myso-calledblogat.blogspot.com/2011/12/in-memory-of-friend-at-christmas.html

Yes, Elizabeth, there is a Thanksgivukkah

I'm celebrating Thanksgivukkah tomorrow.  

I know many of my colleagues have written blog posts,  Facebook updates and tweets telling the world we should stop mixing the two holidays.  But guess what folks.  We have no choice!  Hanukkah begins tonight at sundown, (the 25th of Kislev) making tomorrow, Thanksgiving Day, the first day of Hanukkah.  If you are an American Jew, you are celebrating both on the same day.  And it's FINE!

What's to worry about?  Are you afraid we will Americanize Hanukkah?  Are you worried we will start giving gifts on Thanksgiving?  (Actually my mom has been giving chocolate turkeys to the kids since forever... kind of like gelt... hmmm... maybe there is some crossover.)

The truth is, and you'll know this if you read my last blog about Thanksgiving (click here to read it again) my kids have always thought Thanksgiving WAS a Jewish holiday.   Look at the evidence:  1. We are Jews. 
2. There is ritual involved... we say the shehechyanu (a prayer expressing our thankfulness of being back together and reaching this auspicious time) candles on the table (though no blessing) and we go around the table and say what we are thankful for and we get our flu shots 3. there's a huge meal for which 4. we are a little bit dressed up and 5. the good dishes are used.  

And then there's Hanukkah... which always falls on the 25th of Kislev, which whether you are Jewish or not, you'll know that could be any time between November and January.  A fun holiday, great for kids, a big hit in the Religious School world, but not necessarily in the religious world.  

So why are people getting so worked up that we are mashing them up together like a delicious concoction of latkes and cran-appple sauce?  

American Gothikkah
Some people found this one a bit offensive

One signifies our the Jewish people's freedom from oppression, the other celebrates the American people's day of thanks for the bounty.  You want to get real nit-picky, go ahead. Want to go all negative?  Save it for your grown-up talk when the kids go to sleep.  Let's have fun.  These holidays are fun, and  are meant to celebrate the best things:  Freedom, lights, appreciation, family.  I am fairly certain they go together as about well as latkes and turkey, which by they way, will be deep fried in oil this year, at our celebration.

What else will we be doing?  Well, lighting the menorah and giving gifts, of course.  Because for the first time in many years, I will get to celebrate Hanukkah with MY children, who do not live home any more.  Thanks to this fluke of the calendar, I will have my three children lighting the Hanukkiah (Hanukkah menorah) together, not just with their parents, but with their grandparents and cousins! Maybe the kids will be getting chocolate gelt and chocolate turkeys!

My T shirt from ModernTribe.com
I have been wearing it every day.

Parents, I don't think that your children will complain in perpetuity that they do not get gifts every Thanksgiving.  I think if you do this one up right, your families, like mine, will remember with a smile, that funky year when the secular and the Jewish calendars collided and we got to celebrate both together.  And eat jelly donuts with our pumpkin pie.

Other "mashups" I've heard of out there: 

• menurkey (or menurky): referring to a menorah in the shape of a turkey
• gobbletov: a silly made up greeting usable just this once
• and my favorite Tur-brisk-a-fil ... like a turducken, except this delicacy, just in time for Thanksgiving, is a turkey, stuffed brisket, stuffed with gefilte fish!  Hold me back! (No, seriously, hold me back.)

That's enough, I think I've made my point and anyway it's time to make the latkes for the Thanksgiving feast.  

And yes, I did sew tiny little yarmulkes onto the heads of the turkeys on the banquet-sized tablecloth I got for my mom at Bed Bath and Beyond. 

In Memory of a Friend at Christmas

Click here to hear Christmas Wrapping By the Waitresses


What's a nice Jewish blogger like me doing with a Christmas opening like that?

Whenever I hear this song, I think of living in Boston in my early 20's, Christmas of course, and I think of my friend Patti.


Patti was my college roommate, randomly chosen, but deliberately kept.

Massell Quad, Brandeis University, Fall 1977, Usen Dorm is to the right.
Photo Credit: Michael Eggert

It might seem like we were opposites back then, in 1977.   We were both young, obviously, but Patti had been a bit more sheltered before she stepped foot on the Brandeis campus.  Catholic school, all girls, until then. Good clean living, right from Lowell, Massachusetts. Here comes Juliet from New Jersey with big plans for college.  I remember I got there first on move-in day, in our little third-floor dorm room double.  Mom and Dad helped shlep my stuff up all those stairs, and set up the stereo (record player and cassette deck, of course) with all my Billy Joel, Beach Boys and Beatles records, among many others, in alphabetical order in milk crates, which held up the huge speakers. The little fridge and hot pot, as Patti and I had discussed by letter, were all set up, and I went off to get my mealbook and phone.

Yes, I've saved my meal book all these years.

Hours of waiting on line, filling in forms, and getting settled. Mom and Dad left and still, no roommate.  When she finally arrived, I couldn't tell whether to be happy or not. She was with her sister, not her parents, and they appeared to have been fighting.  I offered to help her with  her stuff and there wasn't much to bring up.  The good-bye between Patti and her sister was brief and made me uncomfortable.  I remember I started to talk too much to ease the tension, and Patti was very quiet.


That night Usen dorm had a "getting to know you" event. It helped.


Two nights later they had a wine and cheese party.  That REALLY helped.  We got to know quite few of the people who are still good friends today.  Little by little, I got to know this shy, quiet person.


Classes started and I got busy and involved and met lots of other people.  I had a  boyfriend and joined the chorus.  I got connected with the people in my Hebrew class so we could practice our Hebrew at lunch.  (I just realized how lame that must have looked, but we had fun.) I made it into the Gilbert and Sullivan Society.  I joined the Waltham Group and became a "Big Sister" to a young girl in town. But there was always Patti, back at the room at the end of the day.  More often than not, we headed to dinner together.  And before I knew it, we were becoming true friends. When Christmas came around, I brought home a few scraggly branches from Faneuil Hall and made her a little Christmas tree in our dorm room.  She and I exchanged small gifts and shared stories of our family traditions. (No, Patti, that was not a latke that you had in the cafeteria.  That was a hash brown.  Wait until you taste a real latke.)  At the end of the year, we agreed to room together as sophomores.

Champagne brunch on a Sunday at the Marriott Hotel in Newton.  High Times.

Our friendship grew stronger, with only a few moments of tension here and there.  We socialized together and our group of friends grew bigger.  When Patti's mom died, we all supported her, and spent the day in Lowell, attending the funeral.  During breaks, she would visit me in New Jersey, or we'd both visit another Brandeis friend somewhere else. 


 After college, Patti and I lived together one last time, in Brighton, Massachusetts. It was just the two of us, with her cat, Sugaree , my cat Jasmine, and thousands of cockroaches.  We had a lot of adventures that year.  Most were great:  a Halloween party that couldn't be beat, a road trip to see Simon and Garfunkel in Central Park with half a million of our best friends.  Some of the times were challenging, like the break-in to our apartment that left Patti without the precious earrings that had been her mom's.  The most difficult was the death of her beloved father, Jack.  Jack spent weeks sleeping on our couch as he traveled back and forth from Lowell  to Boston for his Cancer treatments. When he died, I knew that Patti was changed.  I think she wanted to get closer to her brother and sister then, but didn't know how.   I finally broke the news to her that I was going to live with my boyfriend, Michael.  She knew that it was bound to happen.  


While I still lived in the Boston area, we spent a lot of time together.  We both worked jobs where the hours were 3 - 11pm, so sometimes we would actually go out after work.  One night we saw The Cars play a midnight show in Boston.  We really thought we were hot shit.  Another time we saw Hot Tuna at Jonathan Swifts in Cambridge and realized it was too late to take the "T" home.  I felt it would be fine to accept a ride from a couple of guys we didn't know.  The whole time she kept frowning at me and reprimanding me with her eyes.  Or  the time I picked up a hitchhiker on the way back from Martha's Vineyard because he looked cold.   Patti glared at me til he got out of the car.  (He did not stab us, you'll be happy to know.  But she was furious with me.)


Then I moved away.  Michael and I took off for Durham, NC.  And Patti continued with her life, caring for adults with developmental disabilities.  She had moved up in this field and was working 9-5 now.  She was a compassionate, caring person who was no longer shy, especially when it came to speaking up for the needs of the clients she served.


Over the years, Patti would visit me wherever I lived.  North Carolina, Portland Oregon, San Francisco, and especially New Jersey.  When my kids were born she'd be here, and when she needed a little vacation, this was where she'd pick.


In the late 90's she began to have health issues.  I brushed them off as unrelated.  Maybe she did too, or maybe she was being deliberately vague with me.


One time, though, in the summer of 1998 or 1999, she called and said she had to go to the hospital.  She had been at Cape Cod, with some friends, but had to leave due to what she referred to as "hemorrhaging," had driven herself all the way back to Boston.  It didn't make sense to me.  When I asked her questions, I didn't get answers.  When I went to visit her, she had received a transfusion and was seemingly okay, but I was alarmed.


I made several more trips up to Boston and Lowell to visit Patti, in and out of the hospital after this.  I never really understood what was wrong.  It was as if her body was just breaking down.  But at the age of 42, this didn't make sense.


Patti had moved out of her own place, and into the apartment of a dear friend who agreed to help her out. On one visit, she collapsed as we walked down the hallway.  I tried to help her up.  I could smell smoke on her skin, and another smell too.  I wondered if the friend smoked, or if Patti had started smoking.  She offered me a beer.  I took one, and asked if she were having one.  She said no, she had to stop drinking, those were just for me.  I sipped at it and started to wonder about that.


While we sat, Patti asked me to "do her funeral when she died."


Patti, a lapsed Catholic, asked me, a Jewish Educator to "do her funeral."


I said ok. I asked what she'd want.  She said I'd know.


Patti died on February 11, 2002.


I did her funeral.


I put together a playlist of music and invited everyone to get up and speak about Patti.  It was a beautiful and touching tribute to our dear friend and sister.
I think she would have liked it.


Sometimes I get mad at her for missing these great moments life has offered up since she died, nearly ten years ago.  She loved her niece and nephew deeply.   She adored my kids, how she'd kvell to see them now.  She could never understand how I could let them go away for a month to camp.  Imagine how she'd feel as I now face imminent empty nest-hood. 


How many more people could she have helped in her work?  Patti was patient, calm, and never judgmental.


Mostly, now, though, I just miss her. And I think of her with love. I think of the Beatles albums she snitched from her brother.  (Yes, Jeff, that's what happened to them.)  When I see an SNL skit that's actually funny, I think of her, or wear the jacket we bought together, or the earrings, or that leather bracelet...  When I think of Christmas, I think of Patti.


And when I hear a song by Sting (her favorite) I stop what I am doing and I remember Patti.


Fields of Gold




By the way,  I inherited Jack's guitar, and I plan to learn to play it.  That's my New Year's  Resolution.  I think she'd tell me it's about time. 

The Music Never Stopped

Click here for some appropriate background music.

Dead Freaks Unite... remember that?

When I first started my job, I was introduced to the people in my new office, and I remember going into Arthur's office at the end of the hall.  Arthur has two computers, one for his work and one for his music.  As I was brought in I heard Sugaree loud and clear from computer number two.  He didn't bother to turn it down, and we could barely hear each other.  And as I stood there, I spaced out for a second on our conversation as I wondered, "Jerry Garcia band, or Grateful Dead? No, must be the Dead, because that's defnitely Phil, not John Kahn.  That must be early 80's judging by the keyboards, gotta be Brent... I wonder if that's the Lewiston show..."  When I realized that it was my turn to say something, I said the only thing I could..."Nice to meet you Arthur!"


Our boss, who was introducing us did not seem to notice the secret handshake, or the quick acknowledgement of shared shows.  Well, that's because we Deadheads don't have a secret handshake (though some of us are huggers) and Arthur and I have not had the "favorite show" conversation yet.  


There's a T-shirt I've seen at shows that says "We are everywhere."  And I love how that's still true.

Yesterday, the Spring Tour was announced!


Yes, Furthur Fans, Deadheads, and Fellow Freaks on the East Coast spent yesterday calling, emailing, tweeting and texting each other to spread the news.  Boston, Connecticut, and, can you believe it?  The Beacon Theater in New York City.


So, while the rest of the world is up and at 'em, doing things like Christmas and Hanukkah shopping, driving their kids to sports, going to synagogue, and of course, sleeping, a tiny percent of us were decorating envelopes and taking out huge amounts of cash to be turned into postal money orders.  What am I talking about?  Read on.


The Grateful Dead has always been deadicated to their fans, in a way that has paid off for them with not only financial success but a fan loyalty that has spawned its own culture.  It's lasted since the early sixties and survived the decades of change, including the early and tragic death of beloved band leader (and now ghostly tie designer) Jerry Garcia.  One way in which the Dead shows their love is the fact that they allow people to tape their shows, despite the fact that you can buy the show from the website. 

He just keeps making them, and you guys keep buying them.  

Another way they have shown their love for us is by reserving blocks of tickets for all their shows for the fans to recieve via mail order.  It used to work by calling in to a certain phone number an writing down the info, now it appears online  at the Furthur website.  One of the sadder days in my life was receiving my tickets for the show right after Jerry died in 1995.  I still have those unused tickets.  That was the last time I did the mail order.    

My unused tickets.  Of course, they were horrible seats, but, oh how I wish we could have seen that show.

Until today.


After the news went viral yesterday that tickets were going on sale, I was pumped. I knew I could not be by my computer on Monday morning to try order online for the the eight night stand at the Beacon.  (I do actually have to work.)  Because they are playing in April during Passover, I have the whole week off, so it means I can go out late, sleep late, and just not eat or drink anything!  (Unless the Beacon has Kosher for Passover vodka, and this being New York City, that could be!)  So I got my mail order together, modestly decorated my envelope, and went to the post office with a huge wad of cash.

Waiting in line with everyone with their stacks of Christmas cards, and bags of gifts to be mailed, I smiled.  I hadn't done this in a while.  The geniuses at the post office, not thinking that today would be busy day, had two people working, so the line was out the door.  


As I waiting, I scrolled through the tweets on my phone.  Hot Tuna played last night at the Beacon.  I am going tonight, so I searched for the set list.  I texted a friend who went last night and asked for a run down of the show.  


After trying to ignore two very whiny children, a woman having a loud conversation on her cell that none of us wanted to hear, and three extremely inappropriately dressed people among a line of about 30 of us, it was my turn.  I asked for my postal money order for the exact amount for my four tickets.  $298.  I'm grinning ear to ear.  I take it to the filthy little work table where someone is addressing a pile of 110 Christmas cards.  (I know this because I heard him ask for 110 Christmas stamps 20 minutes ago.  He's nowhere near the end of his pile.) As I take my groovy envelope and put it into the mail slot, I hear the scruffy guy at the counter request a postal money order for $298 along with a stamped number ten envelope.   He and I did not do the secret Deadhead handshake... but I couldn't help but think...
"We are everywhere!"

P.S.  This was the first time I got my money order back.  I had to buy my tickets online with the rest of the world.

I'm Dreaming of a Green Hanukkah

This is my article from the Rockland Jewish Federation Reporter December Issue.  Thought it would make a good blog posting as well.  Enjoy.

I’m “rededicating” myself to Hanukkah.

Get it?

As far as Jewish holidays go, Hanukkah is aminor one.  It pales in comparison toRosh HaShannah and Yom Kippur, Sukkot and Simchat Torah.  But still, it’s here in December when thedays are short and cold.  It celebratesmiracles and light.  There are gifts andgelt.  And latkes.  Not a bad list for a minor holiday! 

The days of being volunteered by my kids tobe the class “latke mom” are behind me. I am no longer in a position to buy 300 bags of nut-free gelt to feed anentire Hebrew school.  By the time theholiday arrives, chances are I won’t have told the story or recited theblessings over a dozen times. 

Hanukkah, which means “dedication”remembers the rededication of the Holy Temple by the Maccabees .  So, I am rededicating myself to Hanukkah thisyear.  I am looking for ways to find newmeaning in the holiday, while not losing the aspects I love about it.  By a small coincidence, I’ve come up witheight.

1.      Fair Trade Gelt:   The truth is, I don’t even likechocolate.  But my family does.  So this year, I am getting guilt-freegelt.  After just a little bit ofresearch, I found two great options, and there are probably more.  Equal Exchange (www.equalexchange.coop) sells what they call “non traditionalHanukkah pieces.”  A bag of little darkchocolate pieces, saving the hassle of the gold foil wrappers from getting allover the place.  And they donate $.15from each sale to the American Jewish World Service (www.AJWS.com). If you feel like you are not ready togive up the good old gelt shape just yet, there’s Divine Chocolate (www.divinechocolateusa.com). They have a bag of gold coins that you can feel good about giving.  Both products have Kosher certifications.

2.    Home-made candles: I can’t remember thelast time I took the time to make beeswax candles with my kids.  This is a fun and easy project that makes thefestival of lights more meaningful. Buying the beeswax and rolling your own candles is a nice way to connectto the holiday, and even little hands can do it.  Homemade candles also make a nice gift if youare invited to share a night of Hanukkah with friends or family.  You can buy a kit that will make enoughcandles to last all eight nights from Kosher Krafts (1-800-9KRAFTS or www.kosherkrafts.com) or other craft supply stores. 

3.    Use less wrapping paper:  I won’t pretend that I don’t appreciate anicely wrapped gift, but let’s face it… gift wrap is a waste of paper.  If you are not ready to eschew the use ofgift wrap altogether, why not pick one night where you don’t wrap thegifts?  Or use the Sunday comics to wrapyour gifts?  At the very least, recyclegift wrap and reuse!  Your family won’tmind.   This year I am going to trywrapping gifts in scraps of cloth and use ribbons to close them.  I’ll let you know how that goes.

4.    Donate a gift:  Pick one night and have that be a night thatyour family shops to donate a gift to a toy drive.  Teach your children valuable lessons aboutG’milut Hasadim (Acts of Loving Kindness) by doing them!

5.    Teach: I mentioned earlier that this year, I may not have taught the story ofHanukkah dozens of times by the time the holiday arrives.  But that doesn’t mean I should not teach itat all.  As a parent, don’t leave all theJewish education up to the synagogue! Teach your children and learn with them. Tell them about the Maccabees, read a good book to them or tell how youcelebrated when you were their age.  Orfind a new way to explore the holiday!

6.    Tzedakah night:  On one of the nights of Hanukkah, when youare lucky enough to have your whole family together, I might suggest Friday, have an agenda.  Set a tzedakah box in the middle of the table.  and introduce a family tzedakah project forthe year.  Take suggestions.  What is meaningful to all of you?  Did you know that Heifer International(www.heifer.org) works to end hunger and poverty on family at a time?  Or that the Jewish National Fund (www.JNF.org) not only plants trees in Israel, butprovides clean drinking water for Israelis, not to mention the safe playgroundin S’derot.  And, I can’t help butmention our own Federation right here in Rockland County (www.jewishrockland.org) where your dollars go to educational, social,and supportive programs here and in Israel. Once your family decides on a cause, every Friday each person can put adonation into the tzedakah box before Shabbat. See how  much you can accumulatebefore next Hannukah and make a nice donation from your family at that time.

7.    Share: I think about sharing Hanukkah in two distinct ways.  Share the holiday with friends, both Jewishand non-Jewish.  Try someone else’s latkes,even though you know yours are better.   Invitea family with young children if your own are long grown and moved out… or adopta grandparent if you are missing yours. Most synagogues are great resources for helping make theseconnections. 

8.    And Share again: The other way to sharethis holiday is to share what you have with others in a more anonymousway.  Donate your coats and warm clothingto those who need them.  Tell yourchildren to find 5 books or toys to bring to the shelter.  Help the food pantries keep their shelvesstocked.  Other faiths are celebrating aholiday that is, in fact, a very big deal, and people of all faiths are stillfeeling the burden brought on by our recent financial recession.  If you are in a position to help others,there are countless ways to do so.

So, there you have it, my eight ways torededicate for each of the eight nights of Hanukkah this year.  No matter what you celebrate, it's time to thing about celebrating more consciously and with a conscience.    If you have any more ideas, I’d love to hear from you.