Chag Urim Sameach

When I was a kid and it was December, our family would gather around the Advent Wreath on the sideboard before dinner each night.  Either my sister or I would strike a match, light the appropriate number of candles, and read a prayer from the official mimeographed booklet:*

As we draw near to you, Lord God, keep us aware of your presence in all we do. Come with power to enlighten us by your grace, that we may live in praise and peace all our days.  We ask this through Your Son, our Lord.  Amen.

And then we would go eat and argue about who would blow out the candles after dessert.

But for an overlapping handful of nights during that month, we would put the Advent pages down, take two steps over to gather around the menorah, strike another match to light the shamash, and read from different official booklet:

Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech HaOlam, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.

Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech HaOlam, she’asah nisim l’avoteinu, b’yamim haheim bazman hazeh . . . Amein

And then we would light the appropriate number of candles in the menorah, go eat, and argue about who was going to blow out the Advent candles after dessert, since the hanukkiyah candles were allowed to go out by themselves under the watchful eye of my mother, who was less interested in keeping her offspring from committing a liturgical crime than keeping the cats from setting themselves alight.

Good times.  Good memories.

I thought maybe that this year, we would revive the tradition, my children and I, with our Espiscopalian prayers and wreath and my rusty Hebrew and the small menorah my grandfather*** brought me from Israel when I was only a little older than Sunny.

The other adults probably wouldn’t hold with this and my kids just want the chance to play with fire and wax, just like my sister and I did.

But that’s okay.

I couldn’t unearth the wreath in time,^ but I found the menorah and some candles that fit.  It will be well after sunset when I get home from work (it’s dark now), but Hanukkah isn’t a High Holy^^ and we don’t go much for orthodoxy, anyway, if you couldn’t tell.

That’s okay, too.  We all celebrate miracles in our own ways.

And on this Festival of Lights, I’m celebrating with crooked, striped birthday candles, good memories, two of my favorite pyromaniacs, a flammable cat . . .  and by sharing a video of several good-looking, talented Jewish boys singing a history lesson:

a lichtigin Chanukah, y’all!

__________________________________
*Yes, I’m old. Now, hush.

**Blessed are You, O Lord Our God, Ruler of the Universe, Who has sanctified us with Your commandments and commanded us to kindle the lights of Hanukkah.

Blessed are You, O Lord our God, Ruler of the Universe, Who made miracles for our forefathers in those days at this time.

***My grandmother’s second husband, who married her when my mother was fifteen.  So my extended family is Jewish, but my immediate family isn’t.

^Or one of the wreaths, as my mother has given me at least four over the years, all of which disappear completely the moment we think about them—the traditional Christmas miracle.  Janie is fine with this, though, as she’s the one who  gets to light the big wreath at church for the early service this year.

^^Seriously, it’s actually a minor holiday, built up in perhaps unconscious response to The Hype that Ate Christmas.   Not that I don’t thoroughly enjoy the Hype, or most of it, but occasionally I wish we would all get a grip.