What is Hanukkah?

If you’re not Jewish, you may not be familiar with many Jewish holidays. But I’m willing to bet you’ve at least heard of Hanukkah thanks in part to Adam Sandler, South Park and of course the holiday’s proximity to Christmas.

Of all the Jewish holidays (and there are a lot), Hanukkah may be one of the most well-known, but in comparison to other holidays, it’s actually one of the least significant. So, let’s talk about the history of Hanukkah, how we celebrate and why.

A long, long time ago, Israel was ruled by Seleucids (Syrian-Greeks) and the Maccabees (leaders of a Jewish rebel army) fought the Seleucids’ attempt to Hellenize (essentially “make Greek”) the Jewish people. This small group of faithful Jews fought one of the strongest armies on earth at the time and they drove the Seleucids from their land. Basically, the odds were not in their favor. If this were the Hunger Games, imagine the Maccabees as Rue and the Seleucids as Cato.

After the Macabees drove the Seleucids away, they reclaimed the Holy Temple in Jerusalem and rededicated it to the service of God. “Hanukkah” means “to dedicate”.  When these super Jews prepared to light the menorah, they could only find a small amount of olive oil (about a one day supply), but miraculously this small amount of oil burned for eight days.

So to honor these miracles, we celebrate the festival of lights—Hanukkah. Each night we light the menorah to symbolize chasing away the forces of darkness. We eat greasy [delicious] food fried in oil like latkes (potato pancakes) and doughnuts. Kids play with dreidels, which are little spinning tops inscribed with the Hebrew letters “nun, gimmel, hei and shin” which is an acronym for “Nes Gadol Hayah Sham”, which means “A great miracle happened here.”

When remembering the history and significance of Jewish holidays, there’s a pretty short version to every story that almost always holds true… They tried to kill us. They failed. Let’s eat.

I find using this formula makes remembering the basics of each holiday a little easier.

• Who tried to kill us: The Seleucids (the Greeks)
• How did they fail: The Maccabees defeated them and reclaimed the Holy Temple
• What will we eat: Latkes, doughnuts and greasy food

I grew up celebrating Christmas and have a lot of fond memories. My grandma and I would bake a birthday cake for baby Jesus each year, sing happy birthday and I blew out the candles. We went to church each Christmas Eve and one of my favorite traditions was the candle lighting. Each member grabbed a candle on their way in and around midnight, an usher lit a member’s candle towards the front of the sanctuary. Then that member lit their neighbor’s candle and so on and so on until the entire church was illuminated with candles. One year the protective paper cover failed and hot wax slowly rolled down my hands. But I just stoically stood and sang the Christmas hymn because I didn’t want to ruin the moment.

I liked my family’s way of celebrating Christmas because I felt like we, as Christians, stayed true to the religious significance of the holiday. That being said, I also got spoiled rotten. My brothers and I ran to the tree on Christmas morning anxious to see what Santa brought this year and if he ate the cookies we left. We always got what we wanted and Santa always ate the cookies. Spoiled. Rotten.

Now as an adult and a non-Christian with a small family of my own, I try to make our own traditions as we celebrate Hanukkah. The Jewish population in my area is very, very small. I live in a small suburb and according to census data, there are actually no Jews in my town. So on my first Hanukkah, when looking for basics like a menorah, candles, decorations, etc., I headed to Target because Target has almost everything I need, always, including things I didn’t know I needed. Plus they have a Starbucks. Mmmm, Starbucks….

So the Christmas section at Target looks a little something like this:

And the Hanukkah section at Target looks a little something like this:

I chose the classic silver menorah over the colorful menorah, picked some candles and headed to checkout. The sweet, albeit slightly oblivious, cashier told me she’d wrap my candleholders for me and to have a Merry Christmas. I smiled and told her thank you.

We had a great first Hanukkah. We had a lot of fun exchanging gifts each night. I enjoyed lighting the candles. But I must admit it felt a little generic from the Target menorah to the poorly made latkes. The following year, my husband got me a handcrafted menorah from the Temple gift shop and a leather-bound Tanakh. I really appreciate that he continues to give me tools to continue my Jewish education and supports me. We’re slowly making the holiday more personal and forming our own traditions.

I love giving gifts and I find eight days of gift giving a really fun challenge. Especially since we have a young (one-year-old) son, it’s important to me to give back and encourage our son to do the same. Tzedakah is a Hebrew word that literally means justice or righteousness. As Jews, tzedakah is a religious obligation to do what is right and just and is basically what we would call “charity” in English, although it’s not exactly voluntary.

I wanted to incorporate the concept of Tzedakah into Hanukkah. So in our family, instead of giving gifts to each other on Shabbat Hanukkah, we must make a donation to a charitable organization we feel passionately about or otherwise give back to those who are not as fortunate as we are. Instead of giving my husband a gift specifically for him and only him, I made a donation to an organization that helps veterans transitioning home from deployment. I picked this because my husband is a vet and is also a therapist who specializes in providing readjustment counseling for vets. Each day of Hanukkah, my son was given a little toy. So on this day, I showed my son a toy that I knew he would have liked and was appropriate for his age, and explained to him that this toy would be given to a less fortunate child. My son didn’t seem too disappointed and shoved a fistful of Cheerios in his mouth.

Overall, we had a great Hanukkah this year and I hope you did as well. Happy Hanukkah to all!

On the seventh night of Hanukkah, my true love gave to meeeeee….

The New York Times Jewish Cookbook! Matzo! Latkes! Brisket! OI! I don’t think even my husband knew how excited I would be. Since I’m converting to Judaism solo, I’m at a serious culinary disadvantage. No one in my family is Jewish. So I don’t have a sweet bubbe who taught me secret family recipes to cook for the holidays. I can make a mean shepherd’s pie. But I’m generally lost when it comes to holiday meal planning. I defer to the Internet for recipes and they’ve yielded haphazard results. When you’re introducing a new dish like kugel to a family of non-Jews, it better at least be a good kugel. I may not have fully mastered many traditional Jewish recipes, but I’m up for the challenge and I feel like this book is exactly what I needed.

Oh! If you’re the type to check pesky things like dates and post consistency, you may have noticed I haven’t been around in, I dunno, say, a year or two. I became pregnant in early 2012. My husband and I were thrilled and we now have a beautiful, wonderful one-year-old boy who brings us more joy than I could ever imagine and fills our hearts with such love. Due to the overwhelming creepy factor of the Internet, I will more than likely not be sharing pictures of him. So if you’re curious, just Google “cute baby boy” and imagine multiplying that baby’s cuteness by an infinite amount, add a sweet disposition, old soul, playful personality and you have my son.  That’s a completely objective assessment.

There are three adult education courses required for conversion at the local reform temple—Life Cycles, Holidays and Basic Judaism. A different rabbi teaches each course and they’re offered each Spring and Fall semester. Shortly after Passover, I had completed my second class and was also in that awkward stage of pregnancy when I feared telling anyone before the pregnancy was more viable and was not yet showing. Then we went on summer break, I got progressively larger and the pregnancy became more complicated. By the time the last class began, I was on strict bed rest and soon gave birth to my son almost a month early. (And he was healthy and wonderful!) So in my post-partum glory did I try to catch up on the Life Cycles class and complete my conversion? No.

I just didn’t. As much as I love my son and felt so fortunate to be his mother, I’ve had a difficult time evaluating my role in many aspects of my own life. Every parent knows that soon after having your first child, you soon realize that it’s not about you anymore. The baby’s needs trumps the wants of my husband and I. Now clearly that means my husband and I can’t drop whatever we’re doing and go to our favorite local brewery like we did a year prior. With this new level of selflessness, I’ve had a difficult time determining how to balance my new role as a mother and my conversion to Judaism.

Converting to Judaism is something I’m doing for myself and no one else. I’m not marrying a Jew. My family is Christian. In fact, I’ve often felt selfish for converting. I haven’t told many members of my own or my husband’s family because frankly I feel that it would cause confusion and disappointment. I fear their reactions and I don’t want to hurt anyone. Now I have a child to add to the mix. I’m in the process of converting, so I am not technically Jewish. This means my son is not Jewish. If he chooses to become Jewish, he will have to convert as I am. With the support of my husband, I plan to maintain a Jewish household, attend services, observe Shabbos and celebrate other Jewish holidays. Since my conversion is for myself, I feel quite selfish and have frankly wondered if I’m doing the right thing for my family.

However during this time of reflection and contemplation, I’ve felt incomplete.  When I am more involved at Temple and am actively enhance my knowledge of the religion, I feel refreshed. I feel more positive. I feel closer to God. I feel like by continuing my conversion, I am my better self and I believe myself and my family deserves that. I am anxious to learn more, become more involved and ultimately improve as a person. I would encourage my son to do the same and I hope he respects and admires me and my decision.

As for the blog, keep checking. There is much to come.

 

Shul shopping and Bat Mitzvah crashing

As much I loved Temple A, I think it’s a little soon to commit without visiting others. I loved the rabbi at Temple A and the congregation seemed really great and welcoming, but very sparse. Ideally, I would to find a temple with a thriving, diverse congregation (preferably with lots of 20-somethings). I want to be a part of a new community and be able to reach out for support in that community and I’m not sure that Temple A meets my needs in that regard. So it’s time to go shul shoppin’.

I found another temple on shulshopper.com and decide to visit. This temple was much larger and a smidge closer than Temple A. I arrive on time and don’t see anyone greeting in the vestibule. The temple is large enough to have two chapels and a library. Luckily, I see people gathering in the far right chapel and a bookshelf with Siddurs and a table with programs. I grabbed a Siddur, program and grabbed a seat.

I was a bit relieved to have a program because the shabbat services can be pretty hard to follow. I immediately noticed this temple had several similarities with the traditional Christian church where I was raised. The bright morning sun shone through two large stained glass windows, the cantor was gearing up to play the organ and the chapel was PACKED. Singles, families, couples, people of all ages filled the pews. Everyone seems to know each other and there seemed to be a real sense solidarity within the congregation. I smiled, feeling comfortable with my choice to visit this temple, and looked at my program to see the silhouette of a Hasidic Jew dunking a basketball and a short paragraph thanking friends and family for attending Marc’s Bar Mitzvah.

I crashed a Bar Mitzvah.

I may have silently panicked a bit at first, feeling more than awkward at my intrusion of Marc’s rite of passage ceremony. Marc, whom I did not know. I decided it would be more awkward to leave the service once it started and I did drive all the way out here. So I decided to stay. Marc seemed like a cool kid. I didn’t think he would mind.

The service was wonderful. The rabbi spoke quite a bit about Marc as a Jew and as a generally good person. Marc had been studying about preparing for this day over the past year. He learned Hebrew and read from the Torah and lead several prayers from the Siddur. Part of his preparation included giving back to the community. Marc chose to give back by growing his hair out and donating it to Loves of Love so a child stricken with cancer can be given a wig after losing their hair to rounds of chemo. He also collected school supplies, basic necessities and toys for families staying in a local shelter for battered women.

Before he removed the Torah from the ark for the first time, he was given a prayer shawl originally worn by his grandfather. His parents and older brother appeared visibly proud and I caught at least one sniffle and tear dabbing from his mother. At the end of the ceremony, everyone yelled “Mavel tov!” and klezmer music played.

As we left the temple, caterers were putting the final touches on the buffet and the DJ was setting up. It looked like the party was just getting started, but I figured it was a good time to make my exit. Mavel tov, Marc!

 

The way we’ve always done things

My great-grandma was a fabulous cook. Desserts were her specialty. She made a blackberry jam cake that you would eat until you felt ill and sugar-high. She had many staple recipes that were passed down to her from her mother, grandma, great-grandma, etc., which she then passed on to her daughter-in-law (my grandma) and my mother. Although the recipes didn’t involve exact measurements (instead a pinch here, a smidge there), it was important to get it as close as possible to the original recipe that was passed down generation to generation.

A pot roast recipe was passed down and one seemingly important step was cutting each end off the roast before gingerly placing it in the pan. Why? Because that’s the way we’ve always done things. Must be important. The roast ends must taste terrible. Once my great-grandma watched my grandma make a pot roast, carefully completing each step, including cutting the round ends off the roast. My great-grandma looked at her with great interest and asked she just did that. My grandma said, “Because that’s how you taught me. That’s the way we’re always done things.” Great-grandma laughed, put down her wine glass and said, “Honey, I cut the ends off my roast because my pan was too small.”

Practically everyone in my family is a big advocate of doing things the way we always have. My family began attending my former church when the church was erected. The large, old bible at the front of the church is turned to my great-grandpa’s favorite bible passage. My grandpa and father are pivotal members of the church, making decisions from when to paint the steeple to choosing the next pastor. My great-grandparents, grandparents, parents were married in that church. And last fall, I was married in the church. This is the way we’re just always done things.

So, that’s what makes this Judaism pill practically hard for my family to swallow. They’re open-minded and already know I haven’t connected to the church in a long, long time. But by rejecting the church and Christianity, I’m also rejecting the way we’ve always done things. And rejection isn’t easy for anyone.

My first Shabbat service

So very many Saturday mornings came and went before I finally worked up the nerve to enter a temple. I decided I was ready and wanted to really get a feel for practicing Judaism. But each Saturday morning, I lost my nerve and spent the morning drinking coffee on the couch with my dog. I was just scared. It takes a bit of courage to attend a synagogue for the first time and I wasn’t feeling particularly courageous.

One morning, I felt particularly defeated and thought if only a synagogue could come to me. Well, ask and you shall receive, my friends.  After a quick Google search, I discovered an “e synagogue”  based in Chicago. (You can check it out at http://www.ustream.tv/channel/esynagogue-org) You can even take conversion classes! So the dog and I went from drinking coffee and watching The Real Housewives of Orange County (don’t judge, he likes it) to “attending” a Shabbat service while drinking coffee on the couch in pajamas. Maybe even the dog could convert with me. Then I won’t feel so alone.

It was interesting, but for me, it just didn’t feel right. I didn’t want to join the University of Phoenix of synagogues. I wanted to join a community and get the full experience. I’m sure the e synagogues work well for many other people (and I sincerely hope that they do), but it’s just not for me. Sorry, dog, you’ll have to find spiritual enlightenment on your own.

The following week, I attended a reform temple. The nearest synagogue is about a 30-minute drive away in the closest city. The closest city has a handful of synagogues including reform, orthodox and conservative denominations. I knew the reform synagogues would be my best bet because their beliefs were closest to my own and I felt the most comfortable. So for my first visit, I chose the temple with the most pronounceable name.

I read quite a few articles and book passages about attending a service before actually attending. I wanted to be sure to be respectful and still blend in as much as possible. I read synagogues have a section for non-Jews to sit in accordance with Jewish law, so I definitely wanted to make sure I sat in the right section. I also expected to be tested with a secret handshake as soon as I walk in the doors. Once I flubbed the handshake, members of the congregation would surely yell “GENTILE!” and throw loaves of challah at me as I ran away. Luckily, it was nothing like that.

I walked into the doors of the synagogue like a scared puppy. I dragged my feet and spent a good few seconds looking around the empty vestibule waiting for someone to put me out of my misery and send me to the gentile section. A middle-aged man sporting a kippah popped in and greeted me with a cheerful “Shabbat shalom!”

“Shabbat shalom. Hi. Good morning. I’m not Jewish. I’m just kind of visiting because I’m very interested in Judaism and am possibly, maybe interested in converting and I wanted to visit. To see what it is like. And stuff.” I spoke without taking breaths between my words and tried to spout out my entire faith journey before even introducing myself. I was obviously nervous.

The man flashed a warm, inviting smile and extended his hand and introduced himself. He handed me a Shabbat Siddur (Sabbath prayer book) and told me I should not feel alone and I’m welcome to sit wherever I would like. Relieved and slightly embarrassed, I took the siddur and grabbed a seat right in the middle of the temple. Just like school. I don’t want to be the eager beaver sitting in the front row and I don’t want to be the slacker fighting to urge to close my eyes in the back. I just want to blend in as much as possible.

Blending in proved to be a bit difficult. The first thing I noticed was the size of the temple. My former church was considered quite small, especially compared to the popular mega-churches in my area. The church usually had about 120 members and visitors every Sunday. The temple was about 1/4 the size of my former Church and I could count the members and visitors while I waited for the service to start. Nine. Nine people not including the two rabbis, cantor and Bat Mitzah who had her first torah reading.

Despite my slight paranoia and initial awkwardness, I felt incredibly excited. The rabbi was funny, approachable, informative and encouraged free-thinking, debate and general disagreement. I felt like Dorothy walking into Oz from Kansas. Although I always felt comfortable with my old world, it suddenly seemed dull now that I’ve been exposed to this beautiful, colorful world and I was seeing it all for the first time.

Alone

My journey to Judaism is a pretty lonely one. I was brought to Judaism because I believe in the principles and beliefs of the faith and I want to be true to myself. After years of entering numerous churches and feeling practically nothing as I sit in the pews, I feel I owe it to myself to follow this path if it brings me comfort and makes me feel enlightened and excited to walk into a house of prayer.

The problem? I don’t even really know who is Jewish. I barely even know someone who knows someone who is Jewish. Now, you may be reading this with your judgey pants on and thinking I must be an incredibly sheltered soul. Well, that may be true to an extent, but at least I’m being honest.

I live in a very small town. The town was built around a rock quarry. The gas station down the street is always serving fried bologna sandwiches. Two (yes, two) episodes of the Tom Arnold classic a show My Big Fat Redneck Wedding were filmed within a 20-mile radius of my home. There are no Jews here. Literally. I looked up the census data.

In fact, there aren’t a lot of Jews period. Judaism is one of the world’s oldest religions and Jews make up about two percent of the United States population. They are more Christians, Scientologists, Evangelicals and I think even Wiccans than Jews and that could not be more true than where I live.

Also, I’m going through this process completely alone. My parents (who, by the way are still unaware of this conversion) are Christians. My husband is agnostic. My extended family is Irish-Catholic. My husband’s family is small-town Catholic. This not only makes most conversion books less than helpful, it also makes the conversion process quite intimidating and isolating.

I tend to be a fairly timid person and this has to be the most ballsy thing I’ve ever done in my life. I like to have the security blanket of family and friends when I do something new and in this case, my family and friends are completely unaware of this life-changing process I’m going through. I’m extremely nervous to “come out” as a future Jew-by-choice because there’s a very real possibility that some people in my life will disapprove and at worst, disown me.

These possibilities fill my head with worry. But every time I read a Jewish prayer or attend a Shabbat service or learn more about holidays and Jewish customs, my heart fills with joy and comfort and I have no doubt in my mind that this is worth it.

Why Judaism?

“…faith is like a glass of water. When you’re young, the glass is small and it’s easy to fill up. But the older the glass gets, the bigger the glass gets and the same amount of liquid doesn’t fill it anymore.”

Although this quote comes from a Kevin Smith movie, I’ve always found it an eerily accurate way to describe my faith journey. When I was a child, I believed in a benevolent God who created a world of puppies and rainbows because that was the world I knew. I was a very blessed child without any type of stress or problem. My Sunday school teacher used to tell my parents about how I told the class I used to fear thunderstorms, but no longer did because I had faith that God would protect me. As I became a little older and I experienced tragedy and pain, I became very confused. I didn’t understand why these faithful people experienced such insurmountable pain. Why didn’t God protect them? Why do these bad things happen? Will God really protect me? I couldn’t find the answers to these questions and more questions kept popping up. I questioned things I read in the bible, I questioned things the pastor said during the Sunday sermon, I questioned whether or not I actually believed the words I recited with the congregation. I experienced incredible guilt for having these questions and bottled them inside, wishing I still had the faith of the little girl who was no longer afraid of thunderstorms.

I had attended an inter-denominational Christian church since I was born. But eventually I found myself attending church and feeling completely disengaged. Most of the time, I spent the 75 minutes completing the children’s crossword puzzle, daydreaming and generally just not reflecting on the Sabbath. I began to visit other churches of other denominations hoping to find a better fit. I thought I had visited every house of worship imaginable from a Southern Baptist church where the pastor preached the importance of a wife’s submission to her husband to a Unitarian church where the congregation took a mid-service break to discuss the importance of recognizing your “happy place”. None of these churches felt like a good fit either. I basically gave up. I attended my family’s church on holidays and spent Sunday mornings reading the newspaper and drinking coffee until noon. I assumed I was just not a religious person.

A couple of years ago, I took a World Religions course during college. When we began the chapter on Judaism, I had my ultimate “a-ha” moment. I stared at the page, and thought Oh. I’m Jewish. Now, obviously I was not and am not Jewish. But the more I read and the more I learned, I realized that my beliefs are completely in tune with Judaism. More recently, I picked up and read more books on Judaism. The more I learned (and learn) about Judaism, the more excited I get and the  more certain I become that Judaism is for me.

I decided I want to convert. I want to learn more about the religion. I want to attend temple and celebrate Shabbat. I want to raise my future children as Jews. I want to bake challah. I want to be Jewish.

But as I soon discover, becoming Jewish in the bible belt is much easier said than done.