Aunts, uncles and cousins came from near and far to partake of my grandmother's latkes (potato pancakes) and various kugels (a type of pudding). Every year we would light candles for eight nights in a row, and whatever evening fell on a Saturday night became the time for the big party.
It's kind of hard to describe the holiday, which is a relatively minor one in Judaism. The simplest explanation I could find is on a website called "Chanukah on the Net." It is written for kids and, frankly, makes a whole lot of sense to me. It reads:
"Long ago in the land of Judea there was a Syrian king, Antiochus. The king ordered the Jewish people to reject their religion, their customs and their beliefs and to worship the Greek gods. There were some who did as they were told, but many refused. One who refused was Judah Maccabee.
Judah and his four brothers formed an army and chose as their name the word "Maccabee", which means hammer. After three years of fighting, the Maccabees were finally successful in driving the Syrians out of Israel and reclaimed the Temple in Jerusalem. The Maccabees wanted to clean the building and to remove the hated Greek symbols and statues. On the 25th day of the month of Kislev, the job was finished and the temple was rededicated.
When Judah and his followers finished cleaning the temple, they wanted to light the eternal light, which is present in every Jewish house of worship. Once lit, the oil lamp should never be extinguished.
Only a tiny jug of oil was found with only enough for a single day. The oil lamp was filled and lit. Then a miracle occurred as the tiny amount of oil stayed lit not for one day, but for eight days. The Festival of the Lights, Chanukah, lasts for eight days to commemorate the miracle of the oil. The word Chanukah means "rededication".
In America, families celebrate Chanukah at home. They give and receive gifts, decorate the house, entertain friends and family, eat special foods, and light the holiday menorah. They also play dreidel. A four-sided top with a Hebrew letter on each side, the dreidel is used to play a fun Chanukah game of chance."
That's the description for public consumption. Allow me, if you will, to bring you to the Kranz residence, circa 1960. My grandmother is in the kitchen, snapping at anyone who dares get in the way of her cooking. A vegetarian of sorts, before it became fashionable, she labors over her chopped liver and chicken soup, never tasting it and not allowing us to have a bite. One year I remember her matzo balls turned green and we were not allowed to question, just to eat, eat, eat, before they went bad.
My Papa, my grandfather, as much as he could, would go into the extra bedroom, listening to his beloved Yiddish radio station, staying away from the fray.
We all would dodge the huge camera taking home movies of the gala. An older cousin downed a little too much Mogen David wine each year; another made nasty comments about relatives not up to her entitled standards. One year a cousin twice removed showed up with her jet black hair now flaming red and I thought she would choke me when my nine year old self announced to the gathered flock that "Esther dyed her hair."
In my grandparents bedroom was a huge laundry basket filled with Chanukah presents. My cousins, sister and I would sneak in and out of there trying to catch a glimpse of what was inside the brightly wrapped packages. Every year, from the time I can remember, I would receive Colorforms. Always.
Once I left my parents' home and struck out on my own at the age of 17 I stopped celebrating Chanukah. For years I ignored it, probably to get away from roots I was constantly trying to make peace with.
A few years ago my husband and I started an annual tradition of holding huge Chanukah parties. Friends and relatives of all races, religions and cultures attend. I cook latkes and kugels and let people taste test in the kitchen. We look forward to this night. We give presents to the kids, light candles and play dreidel. In many ways it is the anti-Chanukah of my childhood.
Yet, I must admit, even now, I kind of miss my grandparents' parties. And what I wouldn't give, just once more, to sneak a peak at a brightly wrapped box of Colorforms from my Papa, just for me.
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Cheryl Kravitz, President of CRK Communications, is respected nationally for her expertise in community relations, motivational speaking, crisis communications, media relations, media training, feature writing, diversity training, fund development and issues management. You can contact her at:Crk725@aol.com.
