Jesse Weiner was one of my best friends when I was
growing up. He lived next door. Every December we engaged in the same debate—which
was better: Christmas or Hanukkah.
We both agreed that a tree trumped a menorah---that
was never a sticking point. The sticking point was about gifts. He was guaranteed
8 of them. I had no such guarantee. And the thing is that little kids fundamentally
do not care about how much oil was left in the lantern or how many wise men
arrived at the stable. Little kids care about toys—and how many they will get.
Little kids at holiday time are consumed with anything related to the Toys R Us Catalogue—it’s their bible—not
the Pentateuch or the gospel according to Matthew.
But not only was Jesse guaranteed 8 gifts he also did
not have to work for them like I did. No one held a lump of coal over his head.
There was no psycho fat guy in a velvet suit watching him every minute of the
day and night for an entire year waiting to yank his booty from a big bag drawn
by a magical sleigh. And Jesse was getting those gifts no matter what the
weather brought either. No matter how foggy it was on Hanukkah eve his gift
would arrive—Jesse had no concerns about a red nosed reindeer’s ability to
navigate. Ruth, his mother, provided all the navigation his gifts needed to get
from the top of her closet downstairs to their menorah.
So while yes I had a tree and more holiday songs than
Oh Hannukah Oh Hannukah and Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel, I am still not
sure Jesse had it all that bad—even though I made him believe he did.
I think the luckiest kids in the world are those who
celebrate Chrismakah: candy canes and gimmel, a Christmas tree and a menorah, eight
gifts plus whatever you get for Christmas. It’s too awesome to contemplate—unless
you want to ruin everything by remembering what the two holidays are supposed
to be about—faith, miracles and trust in God.
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