A few days ago, while driving, my 4-year-old son, Oliver, asked, “Are we Christmas people?” Christmas people? What does that even mean?
This year, Oliver has been captivated by the Christmas spirit. At the bank, he races to the Christmas tree, tugging at my hand. “Look at the ornaments! Can you see all the presents, Mommy?”
At home, “The Polar Express” has become his bedtime favorite. And during our walks downtown, he stops at every window display, marveling, “A Santa! And an elf! Wow!” I try to share in his excitement, pointing out the menorah tucked away in one store’s window. “Yes,” he acknowledges, “A menorah. And there’s a reindeer!”
In the car, I take a deep breath and respond, “Yes, we are ‘Christmas people,’ but we are also ‘Hanukkah people.’” I try to explain that some of our family is Jewish while others celebrate Christmas, illustrating our unique blend of traditions.
This is what makes our family special—we honor both holidays. However, I worry that my explanation might have left him more puzzled than before. As we pull into our driveway, I feel a pang of defeat. December has just begun, and I already feel overwhelmed. How will I manage to celebrate eight nights of Hanukkah followed by Christmas? What’s the point?
Later that week, I recounted my conversation with Oliver to my mother, noting, “I told him that when you were growing up, you only celebrated Hanukkah and not Christmas.”
“Well, that’s not entirely accurate,” my mother replied. “As a child, I loved visiting Santa and looking at Christmas lights. How could we ignore Christmas? It surrounded us.” I was stunned. I could hardly picture my mother sitting on Santa’s lap, coming home to a grandmother who only spoke Yiddish—it was mind-boggling.
I grew up celebrating both holidays. My father, the Jewish boy on Santa’s lap, married my mother, whose own mother played the organ at a Lutheran church. Their union likely surprised both families. Despite their strong faith backgrounds, my parents leaned towards a more secular celebration. Each December, we celebrated Hanukkah and Christmas, focusing on the cultural aspects rather than the religious significance. Instead of discussing the divine birth of Jesus or the miraculous victories of Hanukkah, we enjoyed latkes and baked Christmas cookies, and I cherished both holidays.
As I matured, my Jewish identity resonated more profoundly. At age seven, I requested Hebrew school enrollment, and by thirteen, I had my bat mitzvah. Although I acknowledge my non-Jewish heritage, I identify as Jewish when people ask about my faith.
Now, I’m raising my own blended family. My husband, not Jewish, means that my kids are “one-quarter Jewish,” which feels like an inadequate way to define their identity. They are a tapestry woven from many threads, like a cake made of various ingredients—it’s a whole, not a percentage.
Of course, we celebrate Christmas. For my husband, it’s a cherished holiday, brimming with fond childhood memories. He wants to share that joy with our children, and I wholeheartedly support him. I still find joy in Christmas, too, focusing on the cultural traditions and my Scandinavian roots. I love decorating the Christmas tree and spending quality time with my family.
Yet, I feel a strong responsibility to teach my children about Jewish traditions and beliefs. Without this guidance, they might lack connection to this significant part of their heritage. My daughter is too young to grasp the holidays, but my son is ready to learn why we celebrate both Hanukkah and Christmas.
Christmas is ubiquitous, and Oliver is enchanted by it—the dazzling lights, the festive gifts. In contrast, Hanukkah seems to fade into the background, associated with dull blue decorations and a peculiar menorah. It often feels like Hanukkah is the overlooked holiday, a mere prelude to the grand celebration of Christmas.
So, I’m on a mission to make Hanukkah exciting for Oliver. We’re crafting colorful Hanukkah cupcakes, wrapping gifts in vibrant paper, and allowing him to light his own menorah, even though the thought of a 4-year-old handling fire gives me anxiety. Most importantly, I share the story of Hanukkah with him, emphasizing how our ancestors stood strong against adversity, defending their identity and beliefs. Like Christmas, Hanukkah has its own magic and wonder.
Through this journey, I’ve realized that regardless of which holidays we celebrate, the essence lies in conveying the core values of these celebrations to our children: miracles, generosity, family, and tradition. Everything else is just the icing on the cake.
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Summary
This article explores the complexities of raising a mixed-faith family that celebrates both Christmas and Hanukkah. The author reflects on personal experiences growing up with both traditions and emphasizes the importance of teaching children about their diverse heritage. Ultimately, the focus is on instilling values of family, generosity, and the magic of each holiday.