While driving last week, my 4-year-old son, Max, asked, “Are we Christmas people?” Christmas people? What does that even mean? This holiday season, Max has been completely enchanted by Christmas. At the bank, he dashes toward the Christmas tree, eagerly pulling my hand. “Look at the ornaments, Mommy! Check out all the gifts!”
At home, our bedtime routine revolves around The Polar Express. And during our walks downtown, he stops at every window display, exclaiming, “A Santa! An elf! Wow!” I try to match his enthusiasm, pointing out the menorah tucked away in a shop window. “Yes, that’s a menorah,” he replies, “but look at that reindeer!”
In the car, I suppress a sigh and respond to his question, “Yes, we are ‘Christmas people,’ but we’re also ‘Hanukkah people.’” I attempt to explain how parts of our family celebrate both, but I worry my explanation might confuse him even more. By the time we pull into the driveway, I feel like I’ve failed him.
With December just beginning, I already feel overwhelmed. How will I manage eight nights of Hanukkah followed by Christmas? What’s the point of it all?
A week later, I shared my car conversation with my father, saying, “I told Max that when you were young, you only celebrated Hanukkah.”
“That’s not entirely accurate,” my father replied. “As a kid, I loved visiting Santa and seeing the Christmas lights. How could we not celebrate Christmas with it being everywhere?” I was taken aback, picturing my dad on Santa’s lap while growing up in a Yiddish-speaking household.
My upbringing was a blend of both holidays; my father, the Jewish boy who sat on Santa’s lap, married my mother, whose own mother played the organ in a Lutheran church. Both families likely found their union surprising. Though they were raised in devout homes, my parents became somewhat secular as adults. Each December, we celebrated both Hanukkah and Christmas, focusing on cultural traditions rather than religious ones. We rolled cookies and enjoyed latkes rather than delving into the religious narratives behind each holiday. As a child, I cherished both celebrations.
However, as I matured, my Jewish identity resonated more profoundly. At age 7, I requested Hebrew school enrollment, leading to a significant bat mitzvah at 13. I acknowledge my mixed heritage but identify as Jewish when asked about faith.
Now, as I raise my own mixed family, my non-Jewish husband and I have children who are only “one-quarter Jewish.” I dislike labeling them this way. How can parts of a person define their identity? We are a blend, much like the ingredients of a cake; it’s about the whole, not the fractions.
Christmas is celebrated in our home, cherished by my husband, who wants to share the magic of his favorite holiday with our kids. I share his enthusiasm and enjoy the cultural aspects of the season, from decorating the Christmas tree to creating family traditions.
As a mother, I feel responsible for imparting Jewish customs and values to my children. If I don’t, they may lack knowledge of that side of their heritage. While my baby daughter is too young to grasp the holidays, Max is at an age where he can begin to understand why we celebrate both Hanukkah and Christmas.
Christmas is ubiquitous, and Max adores it—the bright lights, the gifts adorned with big bows. In contrast, Hanukkah often feels overshadowed, represented by plain blue symbols and a less exciting menorah. I’ve realized that Max views Hanukkah as merely a prelude to the grand spectacle of Christmas.
Thus, I’m on a mission to make Hanukkah exciting for him. We’re baking colorful Hanukkah cupcakes, wrapping presents in festive paper, and allowing him to light his own menorah, even though it’s daunting to let a 4-year-old handle fire. Most importantly, I’m sharing the heroic story of Hanukkah: how our ancestors stood against oppression, rising to defend their culture and way of life. Like Christmas, Hanukkah holds its own magic and wonder.
Ultimately, regardless of which holidays we celebrate, what matters is instilling the true values behind these occasions—miracles, generosity, and the significance of family and tradition. Everything else is just embellishment.