Are we there yet?

No, I’m not Jewish. My husband isn’t Jewish. I have a degree in Comparative Religion. In college I focused on Hebrew Studies, taking Biblical Hebrew language classes and writing my senior paper on Judaism.

For years, I studied scripture (of various religions and time periods), the history surrounding these religions and commentators. One of my favorites was the Jewish historian Josephus (he was writing around 94 AD). In regards to Hanukkah, Josephus tells the victorious story of Judas Maccabeus, and the yearly eight-day festivities he declares after rededicating the Temple in Jerusalem that had been profaned by Antiochus IV Epiphanes. Hanukkah is also described in the Talmud (Jewish religious text) as well as in 1 & 2 Maccabees (although not specifically called by its name, the story is described). It’s a story I’m all too familiar with. It also happens to be a beautiful story and an amazing one. Jewish religion had been outlawed, idols to other gods erected in the temple, pigs being sacrificed at the temple, circumcisions stopped, and revolt ensued. He was successful and in 165 BC, the temple was rededicated. According to the Talmud, olive oil was needed to burn the menorah throughout the night and there was only enough oil for one night. The menorah stayed lit for eight nights until a fresh supply of oil could make its way to the temple.

Hanukkah doesn’t have to be exclusive to Judaism. Although it does not appear in the Protestant Bible (which is a subject I could drone on about for quite some time), it does appear in the Catholic Bible as well as the Talmud and early Jewish texts. It’s a story for the masses; a miracle of the “little guy” over the “big guy”; “good” versus “evil”. Maybe it’s because my own Irish heritage has instances where my culture, heritage and language were outlawed, or maybe it’s because of the years I’ve spent studying this stuff; but I want Rory to know this story. I want her to understand that sometimes being you isn’t accepted and that means you have to be willing to put up a fight. I want her to know that these people were so passionate about their faith and ethnicity that they were willing to die to see it live. Most importantly, I want her to understand Christianity’s historic tie to Judaism. It’s unfortunate that often times in Christianity we separate ourselves from the Jews to a point that borders intolerance. I’d like to ensure that my daughter doesn’t continue that tradition. I’d like her to understand the beauty that is Judaism and respect the tradition that spurred our own religion. So, for these reasons (and many, many others), we will be lighting our menorah (yes, we have one courtesy of my Jewish convert brother and brother-in-law), saying the blessings and singing the songs. 

 I’ve got some major Christmas spirit going on, to the point that my co-worker thinks I need an “intervention”. If it had been up to me the Christmas tree would already be up in our household. Unfortunately, it has to wait until this weekend. The day after Thanksgiving I began decorating our fireplace mantle in anticipation. Anticipation? I know what’s going to happen in December—I’m going to run around like a maniac making cookies for this party and picking up a gift for that person and spending my nights writing out Christmas cards. I love doing all those things, but why am I so “into” it this year as opposed to last? Simple: my daughter can really enjoy it this year. She enjoys ripping wrapping paper off of presents; she’s been into singing “Jingle Bells” and notices the Christmas decorations and lights as we’re driving. She gasps at our decorations inside the house and enjoys making crafts now. She has given me the greatest gift of all- seeing Christmas again through the eyes of a child; the beauty and simplicity and amazement of a holiday that often times is associated with stress and worry. She reminded me how beautiful something as simple as Christmas lights or a single ornament can be. She is reminding me of a magic I lost so long ago.

As a kid, my mom bought my sister and I each little two-foot-tall fake Christmas trees for our rooms. We were thrilled because we got to decorate them EXACTLY how we wanted and I remember each night going to sleep staring at the lights and anticipating what the holiday would hold for me. I’d wake up each morning becoming more and more excited about the prospects that laid ahead—would it be cookie making or present wrapping or Christmas concert day? Christmas for me was more than just the gifts; it was an entire season made up of traditions that always warmed my heart and made me sad when December 26th rolled around. My little Christmas tree was the guide to all of this; each day I woke up and it was there was another day in the Christmas season; it brought me more joy than almost anything else each season. The other day I put Rory’s little Christmas tree up in her room and showed it to her when I was done (it was a surprise); the look on her face was priceless. All of the joy in this world radiated from her smile.