Hanukkah versus Christmas, by a bad half-Jew
I grew up with a Jewish mother and a Roman Catholic father, both somewhat jaded by their respective religions by the time children began appearing in their household (first me, then my brother, and finally my sister). My mother insists on our Judaism, and my brother even had a Bar Mitzvah forced upon him. Meanwhile, I prefer a more agnostic route.
At any rate, my parents’ religious apathy did not necessarily lead to religious confusion within my own life. Instead, it meant we celebrated both Hanukkah and Christmas. We had a Passover as well as an Easter. Instead of holding any spiritual meaning, these holidays were mostly ritualistic in nature. They also became great excuses to stay home from school, hang out with family, and (for the former pair of holidays) get presents!
The novelty of Hanukkah faded early in my life. Instead of eight days, we now only dedicate one to that festival of lights. This is entirely my fault. At the age of two or three, I threw a grand tantrum on what would have been the ninth day of Hanukkah had Hanukkah consisted of that many days. On that ninth day, I posed a simple question to my mother, “Where is my present?” She explained that Hanukkah was over and that the holiday was about much more than just gifts. This response only fueled my rage. I ran to the pantry (where my parents had hidden the gifts; I was a savvy child) and cried out in anguish when I found it barren of gifts.
On the other hand, Christmas retained its magic for years and years. I believed in the existence of Santa Claus until the age of ten (yes, that’s right, ten). The year before, I had even convinced myself that I had heard Santa walking around on the roof. And no one sat me down to tell me that Santa was just a lie. I found out accidentally in fifth grade while sitting at my desk, cutting pictures out from magazines for a collage. It was then that I stumbled upon an article addressing the myth of the Easter Bunny and gentle ways for parents to let their kids down easy. I thought to myself, “Okay, well honestly, yeah, that guy couldn’t have been real I guess. But Santa and the Tooth Fairy have GOT to be the real thi-“ … and then my eye drifted to a paragraph about Santa and then another about the Tooth Fairy. I excused myself to the bathroom where I stood bemused by this new information.
I still prefer Christmas to Hanukkah, even if Santa is just a lie. I get to see more family members, and overall it feels more festive. Also, and you can call me superficial and materialistic if you want, but I get more presents on that one day of Christmas than I do during those “eight” days of Hanukkah. I won’t lie, I am still a greedy ill-tempered three-year-old at heart.
At any rate, my parents’ religious apathy did not necessarily lead to religious confusion within my own life. Instead, it meant we celebrated both Hanukkah and Christmas. We had a Passover as well as an Easter. Instead of holding any spiritual meaning, these holidays were mostly ritualistic in nature. They also became great excuses to stay home from school, hang out with family, and (for the former pair of holidays) get presents!
The novelty of Hanukkah faded early in my life. Instead of eight days, we now only dedicate one to that festival of lights. This is entirely my fault. At the age of two or three, I threw a grand tantrum on what would have been the ninth day of Hanukkah had Hanukkah consisted of that many days. On that ninth day, I posed a simple question to my mother, “Where is my present?” She explained that Hanukkah was over and that the holiday was about much more than just gifts. This response only fueled my rage. I ran to the pantry (where my parents had hidden the gifts; I was a savvy child) and cried out in anguish when I found it barren of gifts.
On the other hand, Christmas retained its magic for years and years. I believed in the existence of Santa Claus until the age of ten (yes, that’s right, ten). The year before, I had even convinced myself that I had heard Santa walking around on the roof. And no one sat me down to tell me that Santa was just a lie. I found out accidentally in fifth grade while sitting at my desk, cutting pictures out from magazines for a collage. It was then that I stumbled upon an article addressing the myth of the Easter Bunny and gentle ways for parents to let their kids down easy. I thought to myself, “Okay, well honestly, yeah, that guy couldn’t have been real I guess. But Santa and the Tooth Fairy have GOT to be the real thi-“ … and then my eye drifted to a paragraph about Santa and then another about the Tooth Fairy. I excused myself to the bathroom where I stood bemused by this new information.
I still prefer Christmas to Hanukkah, even if Santa is just a lie. I get to see more family members, and overall it feels more festive. Also, and you can call me superficial and materialistic if you want, but I get more presents on that one day of Christmas than I do during those “eight” days of Hanukkah. I won’t lie, I am still a greedy ill-tempered three-year-old at heart.