Shine Bright

Happy Hanukkah!

This year, the first night of Hanukkah falls on the same night as Christmas. According to Google, this has happened only four times in the last hundred years. From my personal perspective, this seems an apt coincidence. Having both holidays touch time, together, feels appropriate as this is the first Hanukkah I’ll celebrate since starting my conversion journey.

I grew up in a Catholic household where Christmas was a mostly secular holiday. Our traditions included Santa Claus and a beautifully decorated tree. The only sign of religion came in the form of the nativity manger my mom put out each year. I used to play with the pieces: a baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the three wise men, an angel. Also: camels! And maybe a donkey too?

The Christian story never resonated with me. I celebrated Christmas for the familial and cultural pleasures—that of freshly baked cookies and twinkling decor—but I never managed the leap of faith required of Christians. It felt like philosophical suicide.

To say that Judaism is a better fit for my mind, body, and soul is not to degrade Christianity. I respect the beliefs of my Christian family members and friends. It’s simply not for me. I don’t believe Jesus is my savior.

One of my dearest friends, Inez, is a devout Christian, and she’d worried about my soul’s future. After I announced my decision to convert to Judaism, she said, “Then you can become a Jew for Jesus.”

I wasn’t offended. I knew she meant well. Later that same night, she reached out again. “The Jewish people are already chosen,” she said. She sounded relieved.

Indeed. Jesus is irrelevant to the Jews. I’ve come to think of him as superfluous. But for a non-Jewish soul, perhaps Christianity makes sense. I’m not here to judge. I only know that I feel so very Jewish.

Earlier today, I participated in a Torah study class that analyzes the weekly parsha story from a post-October 7th lens. How at home it feels to analyze a text, to pass a story around, to notice the way a particular moment of the self (in conjunction with fellow members of the Jewish community) intersects with an ancient text, awakening it so that it helps illuminate the present.

Torah is a light, and light is a core component of Jewish identity. We light candles weekly on Shabbat. At Hanukkah, we observe the practice for eight consecutive nights.

Hanukkah is not a major Jewish holiday, but its origins feel very much alive and relevant today. Just as the Maccabees fought to defend their Jewish beliefs and customs, we face a world, once again, in which Jews must fight for their very right to exist.

Jewish survival depends upon Jewish community. Judaism, at its core, is about a peoplehood. How do we maintain our identity at a time when being Jewish poses risk to personal and familial safety?

Decisions must be made.

Where will American Jews place their menorah this year?

Maybe you won’t choose to display your menorah in a window. Or maybe you’ll proudly assemble a giant menorah in your front yard.

Whatever you and your family choose to do—shine bright when you do it! Whether your candles are witnessed by many or by few, may they light away the darkness, enabling brighter days to come.

Happy Hanukkah!

xoxo Jen xoxo