Jewish Light & the Future

Last night was the first night of Chanukah. I used to tell people I was Jewish by injection. I was thrilled when I married YA, who was Jewish and, in fact, had come to America after Hitler (you remember him; he’s coming up more and more in dinner conversations these days) invaded Paris. He, his mother, sister, nanny, and brother escaped from Paris through Spain and arrived in the U.S., where his father was negotiating gold for DeGaulle. The thing is, his parents, worried that the antisemitism they had experienced in Europe would cross the pond, didn’t tell him he was Jewish until he was seventeen—or so I was told. So, long and short, he didn’t know much about the religion.

I did. I had heard Simon Wiesenthal speak in NYC during the seventies, and I was obsessed for years trying to understand the Holocaust as I also searched for a God to call my own. It became clear to me that the more I spent time studying God and the avenues available to his direct line through different churches, the best connection was found in Judaism. It’s such a great religion. Do good deeds while you are on earth. Start fresh every year. No, “forgive me, Father, for I have sinned” every single GD week. I guess I was raised Congregationalist, which was founded by my people way back when, which is to say I had no idea about what I was supposed to do to get that 411 access to help.

So, when we had our daughter, the fabulous Sarah—about whom I’m not allowed to write—I was so excited to offer her Judaism, a Christmas tree once a year, and an Easter Bunny bringing chocolate too. But let’s not conjure up images of Christ (who we should all remember was Jewish, after all), and instead focus on Passover and Rosh Hashanah, and my favorite, Chanukah. You can spell it Hanukkah if you prefer. I like the “Ch” because my name is Christine, and I can’t tell you how many people have told me that Christine is not a name given to a Jew. Anyway…

I had a best friend, Susan, when Sarah was little. She had two boys, and we raised them all together like in a chicken coop. Lucky for us, she was Jewish, and so was her husband, who was under Nazi rule in Hungary. Big history. She used to say that I was a WASP yearning to be a Jew, and she was a Jew better suited to be a WASP. One year for Christmas, she bought me velvet headbands, which all the WASPs on the Upper East Side wore when dropping off daughters at schools. I kept them in the center console of the car and would shove them on my head when dropping Sarah at Nightingale Bamford.

Not the actual one, but you get the picture…

I decided to enroll Susan and the kids in the religious kids' events at the 92nd Street Y. The first big get-together was a Chanukah event, where we were to all bring menorahs. We would light the candles, learn the prayers, and lay the foundation for their fine Jewish future. I didn’t have a menorah. There was no family menorah from YA’s past, carried over the Pyrenees when they crossed trying to save themselves. So, I went to an antique store on Lexington Avenue and found the most beautiful menorah you could imagine. Stunning. Maybe eighteen inches tall, sterling silver. I had visions of future generations using it as well. Oh, happy day. I bought Cape Cod Candles to use, which showed my ignorance. Once you light the candles, you must let them burn out, which is why no one who has a brain has anything other than a small menorah, especially if you are bringing it to the 92nd Street Y.

Susan rolled her eyes when I arrived and brought out the Cape Cod candles and candelabra that had no business being in my life at all, and my little daughter cried because she couldn’t understand why our menorah looked so big. Right up there with my last minute Halloween costumes, it was not my finest hour.

But I had also done my homework. Here is the story in a nutshell: Over 2,000 years ago, the Jewish people in Judea were ruled by the Seleucid Empire (bad guys, think white men who wanted power), which tried to suppress their religion and force them to worship Greek gods. A small group of Jewish fighters, known as the Maccabees, revolted and miraculously defeated the powerful Seleucid army, reclaiming the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. When they rededicated the Temple, they found only enough oil to light the menorah for one day, but the flame miraculously burned for eight days, giving them time to prepare more oil. Hanukkah, the Festival of Lights, celebrates this miracle and the triumph of faith and perseverance over oppression. The triumph of light over darkness. AI

I knew the importance of the light of those candles that shone in the darkness for eight days and nights as the oil lasted longer than the one day it should have lasted. Metaphorically and physically. Lighting the way for the Jews to navigate through the darkness was a story to remember.

So, last night, when I went outside to look at my Christmas tree lit outside my house, I thought about it all. Thought about it being the first night of Chanukah, and Christmas too, where the star lit the way for the wise men, and I thought about light and darkness. I love light. I love the light of a full moon. I love the light of my home when I drive up in the dark. I love the morning light in Maine when my dog Bay and I walk in the mornings. And oh, I love the light as the sun sets through the pine trees over the water. I love the lamp in my bedroom and the light it shines as I read at night.

And I had a moment of strength—sheer power, actually. I know we are headed to darkness in the coming months. More than my generation has ever seen. But do not for one minute underestimate our human history around darkness and light. It’s big, my friends. Just watch Star Wars if you can’t follow my train of thought. So I say, bring it on, 2025.