Jewish World Review Dec. 17, 1998 / 28 Kislev, 5759


Papa Chanukah and
the magic wand

There is an element of fun and happiness embedded in
Chanukah that ought not be dismissed as child's play.

By Brigitte Dayan

CHANUKAH HAS ALWAYS PERPLEXED ME. It has neither the intensity of a major holiday nor the obscurity of a minor one. Unlike Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Passover, I spend little, if any, time preparing for it. I need to put neither my soul nor my house in order.

Yet, Chanukah doesn't have the feel of a minor holiday either, largely because society Jewish and general has elevated its status far above that accorded it by our tradition.

Having grown up in Paris, where the separation between church and state is not as clearly delineated as it is here, I appreciate this increased attention. My older sister Yael and I attended public school in Paris, and Christmas celebrations occupied much of our time during the month of December.

As an antidote, my father created "Papa Chanukah." Each year, a month or so before the holiday, Yael and I diligently wrote our letter to Papa Chanukah, letting him know what gifts we wanted that year. Then, we eagerly awaited his response and our gifts.

One year in particular, Yael and I thought we had outsmarted our father, um, Papa Chanukah, that is. We asked for a magic wand, believing with all the innocence of a kindergartner and first-grader that we would henceforth possess all the toys that we desired. My father, in a bind, told us that Papa Chanukah had informed him that there were no more magic wands available that year, and that we should try again the following Chanukah. To my father's relief, Yael and I had matured sufficiently by the next year to realize that alas, magic wands exist only in Papa Chanukah-land.

Although I no longer write letters to Papa Chanukah, I hold positive memories of my childhood celebrations. And while this ritual is suspiciously close to Christmas, I realize in retrospect it may have created anticipation for the holiday when I was a child, As an adult, however, I feel no such excitement.

These days, rituals of a different sort mark the holiday for me.

For example, there is the awkward moment that invariably presents itself each year: My family tradition is to refrain from eating foods fried in oil during the entire duration of the holiday. Instead, on I the day after the holiday, we fry a Moroccan version of sufganiot, donuts.

(The only reason I can imagine for this custom is that there are two ways to commemorate a miracle that occurred with oil one is to eat foods fried in oil and the other is to abstain from such foods.)

Inevitably, I'll be sitting at someone's table and the latke (potato pancake) platter will make its way to me. I try to brush off an insistent hostess, but claiming to watch one's cholesterol intake during Chanukah doesn't work (I've tried), so we get into what seems like an annual wide-eyed discussion of my family's customs.

And then, there are the rituals I've practiced all along but have never much thought about.

There is, in fact, an element of fun and happiness embedded in Chanukah that ought not be dismissed as child's play. On Chanukah, we don't recite eulogies, nor are we allowed to fast. We gratefully celebrate our victory over the Syrian-Greeks, who would have stripped our religion of meaning. Yet, we realize that we alone did not secure this victory; and accordingly, we recite Hallel, the prayer of jubilant thanksgiving to G-d, on each of the eight days of Chanukah. Together, these rituals impart an important message about the power of human effort combined with faith.

As with so many aspects of Judaism, it is ritual that has defined the holiday for me. As a child, it created a sense of excitement, and as an adult, it creates an anchor that, if studied, holds profound meaning.

And so maybe this Chanukah, when I'm offered the latke plate for the first time, I'll begin by explaining my family custom.

I know Papa Chanukah would be proud.


New JWR contributor Brigitte Dayan is managing editor of JUF News,
a monthly published by the Jewish Federation of Metropolitan Chicago.
Contact the magazine by either clicking here, or calling (312) 444-2853.



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©1998 , Brigitte Dayan.