As a kid, growing up in Philadelphia, my family's social world was limited to relatives. Some lived on the same street, others we visited on Sundays. Thus, my world was a Jewish world. There were neighbors who were Catholics, and many of my friends wore uniforms and attended St. Tims, the parochial school across the street from my elementary school.
Chanukah was special because it was the only Jewish holiday observed primarily at home, and with a special, dedicated apparatus (menorah). Also, my father sometimes left work early, at least on the first night, to light candles at sunset. We exchanged modest gifts on the first night. There were chocolate coins in foil and potato latkes.
I was vaguely aware of Christmas, but had little idea what it was about. In 4th grade, we walked from school to a classmate’s house to see the Christmas tree - no context, no meaning for me. My family was musical, so we knew and sang any of the seasonal songs that didn't contain the words “Jesus” or “Christ.”
At age eleven, my father opened a sporting goods store; we moved to the suburbs. I now had friends who were “Methodist”, “Presbyterian”, etc. Growing up, I had heard of Protestants, but the finer parsing of denominations was new and alien. My parents, under the influence of assimilation and newly acquired financial equilibrium, increased the gift-giving during Chanukah. According to my Christian friends, Jews were lucky because we got Christmas presents for eight days. I found it absurd how non-Jews concatenated Christmas and Chanukah.
Christmas now had a special meaning: working at my father's store! During the year, $400 in sales might be a good day. In December sales sometimes reached $4,000 in one day. I still miss the buzz of working the cash register during Christmas buying season. At around fifteen years old, I started going out on Christmas eve to deliver pool tables, ping pong tables, etc. By this time, I had had a falling out with the Rabbi, and my attitude toward Judaism was oppositional. Furthermore, I had no tolerance for religious superstitions. As for Chanukah - I was only in it for the latkes.
Later on, I became a father. My parents gave me a menorah they had picked up in Israel. I felt some pressure and obligation to light the candles in order to introduce my kids to some aspects of their heritage. Then it started - being invited to come to school and explain Chanukah to my kids’ classmates. I didn't want to. I felt cornered, oppressed. One teacher actually framed the request as, “explaining how Jews celebrate Christmas.” Oy vey. When my kids were old enough, I transmitted my disdain toward Chanukah to them, and the menorah went into storage.
And that's the way I've been observing Chanukah: not at all! Until this year . . . One of my daughters sent me a link to an article about Chanukah that sidestepped the story of oil miraculously lasting for eight days, and focused on the act of resistance and defiance toward tyranny that the holiday represents.
This year, each day as I add another candle to the menorah, my resolve to resist and defy tyranny and oppression increases.