Recently, during a drive, my 4-year-old daughter asked me, “Are we Christmas families?” Christmas families? What does that even mean? This holiday season, her fascination with Christmas is palpable. At the bank, she rushes to the Christmas tree, tugging my hand excitedly, “Look at the ornaments! And all the presents, Mommy!”
At home, The Polar Express is her bedtime favorite. When we stroll downtown, she stops at each window display, exclaiming, “A Santa! And an elf! Wow!” I try to share in her enthusiasm, pointing out the menorah peeking from a store window. “Yes,” she acknowledges, “A menorah. And there’s a reindeer!”
In the car, I take a deep breath and respond, “Yes, we’re ‘Christmas families,’ but we’re also ‘Hanukkah families.’” I attempt to explain how some of our family is Jewish while others are not, and that some of the people she knows celebrate Christmas while others celebrate Hanukkah. Our family is unique because we embrace both holidays.
It’s a complex conversation, and I worry that my explanation may have confused her even more. As we pull into the driveway, I feel a twinge of doubt. December has just begun, and I’m already exhausted. How will I manage eight nights of Hanukkah followed by Christmas? What is the point of it all?
A week later, I shared this discussion with my father. “I told Lily that when you were a kid, you only celebrated Hanukkah, no Christmas at all.”
“That’s not entirely accurate,” my father corrected. “Growing up, I loved visiting Santa and sitting on his lap. We always looked at Christmas lights and sang carols. How could we not celebrate Christmas? It was everywhere.” I was taken aback. I tried to picture my father on Santa’s lap while returning to a grandmother who only spoke Yiddish. My mind struggled to reconcile it.
I was raised celebrating both Christmas and Hanukkah because my father, the Jewish boy on Santa’s lap, married my mother, whose own mother played the organ in a Lutheran church. Their marriage likely surprised both families. Despite their strong backgrounds, my parents were quite secular. Each December, we celebrated both holidays with a focus on cultural rather than religious traditions. Instead of recounting the Nativity story or emphasizing the divine intervention in the Hanukkah tale, we enjoyed latkes and baked Christmas cookies. As a child, I cherished both holidays.
However, as I matured, my Jewish identity began to resonate more strongly with me than my Christian heritage. At age 7, I asked my parents to enroll me in Hebrew school, and at 13, I celebrated my bat mitzvah. I never shied away from acknowledging my mixed heritage, but when discussing faith, I confidently identify as Jewish.
Now, I’m nurturing my own blended family. Since I married a non-Jewish man, my children are technically “one-quarter Jewish,” but I dislike that classification. How can a part of you define your identity? To me and my kids, we’re a beautiful blend of everything, much like a cake—a harmonious mix of ingredients that forms something wonderful.
Of course, we celebrate Christmas. For my husband, it’s his favorite time of year, filled with cherished childhood memories. He wants to share that magic with our kids, and I support him wholeheartedly. Plus, I still enjoy Christmas. Like my parents, I focus on the cultural aspects and my Scandinavian roots, relishing the joy of decorating the tree and spending time with family.
But as a mother, I feel a strong responsibility to educate my children about Jewish traditions and beliefs. If I neglect this, they may not develop a connection or understanding of this significant part of their heritage. My youngest daughter isn’t yet aware of the holidays, but my son is ready to learn about our dual celebrations.
Christmas is all around us, and my son is captivated by its festive allure—the sparkling lights, the presents adorned with big bows. In contrast, Hanukkah often seems overshadowed, with its blue-themed symbols and a seemingly ordinary menorah. Hanukkah appears to be the underdog holiday. I only realized this when my son referred to Hanukkah as a mere prelude to the grand excitement of Christmas.
Thus, I’m on a mission to make Hanukkah as thrilling as Christmas for my son. We’re baking colorful Hanukkah cupcakes and wrapping gifts in bright paper. I’m allowing him to light his own menorah, even though the thought of a 4-year-old handling fire is nerve-racking. Most importantly, I’m sharing the Hanukkah story with him—the tale of how a tyrannical king attempted to eradicate our people, and how, despite being outnumbered and deemed weaker, they fought valiantly for their land and beliefs. I love recounting the miraculous elements of the story, as Hanukkah, like Christmas, is filled with its own magic and wonder.
Ultimately, whether we celebrate one holiday or both, what truly matters is imparting the core values and meanings behind these celebrations to our children: miracles, generosity, and the significance of family and traditions. The rest is just icing on the cake.
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Summary:
In this heartfelt exploration of family traditions, Jenna Collins reflects on the dual celebrations of Christmas and Hanukkah within her mixed heritage household. She shares the challenges of instilling knowledge about Jewish traditions while embracing the joy of Christmas. Through engaging activities and storytelling, Jenna aims to create a sense of wonder around both holidays for her children, emphasizing the importance of family, generosity, and the true values behind each celebration.