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Finally letting go of Halloween
How one observant Jew observes the pagan holiday
http://www.jewishworldreview.com --
I HAVE BEEN heading all my life toward becoming a dropout – a Halloween dropout, that is. Even as a child growing up in the suburbs in the 1950s, I was ambivalent about the holiday. I was proud that children liked coming to our house, thanks to the inventive game my mother set up each year, and yet I felt, without being able to express why, that trick-or-treating was somehow inappropriate.
Thoughts about the ethics of the begging/ wasting cycle were fleeting, I didn't worry that I was in any way supporting a holiday inimical to my religion. I knew nothing then about the deadly serious pagan religion that gave rise to Halloween, nor the roots of trick-or-treat, whereby the living had to pacify evil spirits with treats to prevent nasty and dangerous "tricks."
Jewish World Review Oct. 29, 1999 / 19 Mar-Cheshvan, 5760
By Deborah N. Cymrot
Washington Jewish Week
So unlike my older sister, who loved the drama of dressing up, I would stay home instead of taking to the streets. Like my mother, I would smile indulgently at the cuter costumes, but I myself wore regular school clothes.
Except for two occasions. When I was in kindergarten, I was all dressed up as a clown, but then I got sick and ended up in bed. I didn't ask to go out again until I was about 10, and my friends were planning to trick-or-treat as a group, without parents tagging along. It was the independence of it all that appealed to me, and with some complaints about being treated like a baby, I prevailed upon my mother to let me go.
Truth be told, though, I felt stupid traipsing around in my improvised hobo costume, and embarrassed about asking for a treat. It wasn't too awful to trick-or-treat for UNICEF, but why should people be giving me candy, especially since my parents would make me throw most of it out? I didn't admit it to my mother, and I never let on to my friends, but I wasn't unhappy to come home after going to a half-dozen houses.
It would be decades before I learned of the literal demonization of Jews by Christians in medieval England; the murderous attacks on Jews on "All Hallows Eve"; and the expulsion of all Jews from England effective the day after Halloween in 1290.
After my one trick-or-treat foray, I knew that this holiday did nothing for me. Still, I gave little serious thought to the meaning of Halloween until my first year as a third-grade teacher, when the parents of one student, a Jeh-vah's Witness, asked that their child be excused on religious grounds from the school-wide annual Halloween parade.
I told the relieved parents I would support their choice. And since I didn't plan to assign Halloween dittoes or decorate the room in typical October fashion – with construction-paper jack-o-lanterns, witches, ghosts or goblins – there was no cause for concern on that front.
Fast forward to parenthood. Halloween only became an issue at home when my daughter Avigael started school and other kids would talk about their costumes and brag about their loot.
I told Avigael she could help pick out several kinds of miniature candy bars to give away. She would be able to set aside a generous handful for herself. I was prepared to go that far with the Halloween flow. I understood, but wasn't really happy, when the day after Halloween she allowed her classmates to think that she, too, had gone out. She didn't lie, exactly – just misled.
The newsletter of the day school she attended had explained why – on Jewish grounds – it didn't have any Halloween activities. While this information did not change that many people's out-of-school behavior, it did bolster my will. Eventually, Avigael gave up her pretense and told the other children I wouldn't let her go trick-or-treating.
The fact that I loosened up on our no-junk-food household and that we had another day for dressing up – Purim – made things easier for her to take. I was as enthusiastic about getting decked out for Purim as I was unenthusiastic about the idea of dressing up for Halloween.
When we moved to a neighborhood with a significant Orthodox presence, Halloween was easier still. The first year, Halloween came out on Friday night. There was no question -- we were not about to disturb our Shabbes dinner running to give out candy. I was concerned, however, that people would keep pounding on the door, since they could see we were at home.
I bought a bag of candy and asked our non-Jewish neighbors if they would give it out. We put a sign on our door asking people not to knock and informing them that there was candy from us next door. Occasionally, we would hear youngsters approaching, then leaving. Our neighbors later told us they still had most of the candy. Even on weeknights, I've since discovered, Halloween isn't that big in our area.
How do I now observe Halloween? Actually, by doing just that – observing – and remembering that the holiday's ethos, even when stripped of its original religious intent and beliefs, is not really consonant with Judaism's. Dressing up may be part of the celebration of both Halloween and Purim, but the similarities stop there.
We Jews want to inculcate the trait of gratitude instead of "gimme." It's not that Halloween makes children greedy or demanding, but why sanction these attitudes at all? On Purim, Jewish children hand out treats (shalach manos) and give tzedakah, charity. We are helping them learn that the appropriate response to our blessings is to share with others.
What messages do grotesque costumes send? Having fun by pretending to be a serial murderer from a slasher movie hardly reinforces Judaism's teaching about the sanctity of life.
So, please, don't send your children to my house. I'm retiring from even my last vestige of Halloween activity. There will be no beckoning lights and no candy.
I'm not a meanie, just a Jewish Halloween
Deborah N. Cymrot is community editor for
Washington Jewish Week. Let her know what you think by clicking here.
