Hanukah 08, so far

For a fun Hanukah outing after candle-lighting and dinner last night, I forced the children to come with me to a violent depressing R-rated movie.  That was a first for me!  "SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE" had been greeted with glowing four-star reviews; I'd remembered words like, "life-affirming," "joyful," "hopeful." I'd sensed it was the family holiday treat of the season. I completely missed the "R" rating. The opening scene, of a nice-looking young man being tortured in a prison cell, lacked completely the life-affirming and joyful mood I'd anticipated, settling in amongst the children with a jumbo bin of popcorn. 

It WAS a good movie.  For ADULTS.  On a non-holiday night.  

We all left the theater feeling a bit chastened.  "That was sad when his brother died," was about the most anyone could summon. And, "Why did the mean man blind that boy?"  We drove home in relative silence.

From Israel, Lee writes: "When you walk around at night, the Herzliya main street is draped with lights and there are menorahs in many windows.  It's not on par with American streets full of Christmas lights, but it's pleasantly festive.  Jelly doughnuts abound."  

Like most parents this time of year, this year especially, I'm scrambling to piece together a festive but gift-lite holiday.  An electric menorah with colorful bulbs sits in the kitchen window.  A plastic tablecloth covers the coffee table in the den, where menorahs totter and lean and balance their candles like waiters with trays of tall drinks.  I like singing the blessings and songs with the kids.  I like forcing them to listen to my reading of childhood Hanukah stories, books that half of them didn't hear in childhood because they weren't with us. (I posptone reading our favorite, "Herschel and the Hanukah Goblins," because I'm afraid that a few of the Ethiopian boys will  believe that Herschel is more central to Hanukah than Judah Maccabbee.) I like putting the time-worn Hanukah cassette tapes into the last tape-player in North America, which happens to sit on my kitchen counter. I like the fact that Lee has helped me shop for the children from afar: from the aisles of Target, I text his Israel phone, and he texts back, directing me to buy the correct Playstation soccer game and the biggest soccer goal.  I like that Seth texted Lily from New York: "I just bought you a present." And Lily, wanting to one-up him, texted back: "I made you a present." Then she had to make one. 

I like peeking with Molly into all the little shops of Decatur, Georgia, draped with Chrismas lights, open late, jostling with customers. I like standing in the check-out line in Target behind a man buying a child's bike, bending over to steer it gently towards the cashier. In this era of scarcity, anxiety, and war, it's still possible to rush about with a few shopping bags as dusk falls, believing that when the tissue paper falls away, someone's face will light up with pleasure.  I KNOW that all this silly busy American gift-giving has nothing to do with religious history and faith; but it IS related to family history and to the faith that spending hard-earned dollars on frivolous and needless suprises will generate hours that sparkle with fun.