My Chanukah Song

Originally published on LinkedIn.

An Israeli entrant to my children’s picture book contest asked if I wanted the Hebrew version of her book in addition to the English. Do I speak Hebrew? I told her I know a few bad words in Yiddish and most of the Chanukah song. I was speaking of the prayer we sang when lighting the menorah — not Adam Sandler’s rendition.

The bits and pieces of a barely Jewish past floated by. My grandparents, Pearl and Ernie, speaking Yiddish in front of us kids so we wouldn’t know what they were saying. (But we ended up at the amusement park so it was a good conversation!) Passover where we took turns reading passages (our side in English; my grandfather in Hebrew as I recall it) from a book. I can picture my aunts and cousins rolling their eyes. I don’t know the names for anything. I don’t speak the language of my religion.

But, it’s not my religion. It’s my background. It’s my childhood; my history. Drives my son crazy when I describe myself as a “cultural Jew.” Meaning I’m a Jew only because in the Jewish faith, if your mother is Jewish, you’re (technically) Jewish. My mother married a Jewish man (my Dad) and then divorced and married a Christian man. So, we grew up celebrating both Chanukah and Christmas.

I’m also a New York Jew, which is its own special tribe. When we went into Brooklyn to visit my grandparents, we went to temple. I ran around with my cousins, sat on somebody’s knee during the service, and ate food from a local delicatessen afterwards. (I used to love tongue until I found out it was called that for a reason…) Temple was not a religious experience for me. I was too young. And it was too inconsistent. It was about family. Not G-d.

Each year, we would celebrate Chanukah at my house on Long Island. My mother would light the menorah each of the 8 nights and we would sing what I called the “Chanukah song.” I never saw the song written down. I just sang along with my mother until I knew the words phonetically. I didn’t know what the words meant. (Until today when I Googled it and found out it’s actually called the “first blessing.”)

At Christmas, we decorated my step-grandparents’ tree. Tore open presents with our Christian cousins. No one spoke about Jesus. We didn’t attend church service. It was about family. We would go around the neighborhood with our step-cousins singing Christmas songs. Silent Night was among my favorites. It still is.

When my son was born I sang the Chanukah song to him. I sang it to his first born, my first grandson. It wasn’t Chanukah. Who said I could only sing it during the holiday? For me, it’s a song filled with memories not with faith. I can still see my mother, who passed in 2006 and never met her great grandchildren, standing in front of the menorah in our dining room. Lighting the candles. Singing the song.

I’ve tried through the years to “be religious.” I finally embraced who I am. I’m agnostic. And I’m definitely not religious. I don’t speak Hebrew. I can’t explain any of the Jewish holidays in detail. (Why do Jews fast at Yom Kippur? I don’t remember…they just do.) But, given the opportunity to get that children’s book in Hebrew, I grabbed it. It’s not about whether I can read the words. It’s about remembering. I want to remember them. Pearl, Ernie, Lucy, Mono, Lee. My grandparents. My mother. My younger self. That song. Filled with words whose meaning is known only to me.

Photos from top: Author’s maternal grandparents, Ernie and Pearl; My mother and father on their wedding day; as a young man. From the author’s personal collection. Book cover of the Hebrew version of  “The Letter Fairies” by Adi Remba Erez. (Learn more: https://feyototiyot.com/en/home)

Aviva Gittle is a children’s book author and owner of Gittle Publishing. Her stories are available in English and Spanish, including the Kitten and Friends / Gatito y amigos series. Learn more at www.GoToGittle.com. Aviva also hosts The Gittle List contest for self-published kid’s picture books: www.TheGittleList.com.