I think I might be a little bit Jewish. It all started when I was a little kid. My dad (the local bishop) and Rabbi Stern (the local rabbi) decided to become great friends and have congregation swaps. We’d go to their Sabbath meeting on Friday nights, and they’d come to our sacrament meeting on Sunday mornings. I’ve got countless Jewish friends. I’ve been to their bar mitzvahs and Seders, eaten my share of latkes, tasted (and survived) gefilte fish, and spun countless dreidels. I can even swear in Yiddish.
Not wanting my own children to miss out on the rich experiences, diversities, and celebrations of another culture (and probably wanting a good excuse to make latkes), we observed Hanukah when the kids were little. Just the first night. We’d read a Hanukah story, I’d whip up a batch of latkes, and we’d play the dreidel game. Tim knew all the rules. (He kept winning somehow).
Our Hanukah celebrations really ended up being more of a tribute to our friends. Michael's mother gave me his childhood menorah, and our friends from New York, Abe and Miriam, recorded and sung the Hanukah prayers for us, and also gave us some yamakas for the boys (which I think they swiped from a neighbor kid’s bar mitzvah).
I’ll never forget the year Grandma and Papa were with us on the first night of Hanukah. Some might wonder how Dad would react to the fact that we were about to light candles and partake in a borrowed heritage for the evening. But I wish they could have seen his delight. He was thrilled to take part and loved every moment of it. (Rabbi Stern would have been proud).
It wasn’t too long before the boys refused to wear the yamakas, and no amount of Jewish mother’s guilt would sway them. “Fine! Be that way! So don’t worry about your mother’s happiness. That’s fine thanks for all the latkes I’ve made you!” But at least they’ll always remember and always have respect. And that’s really why a Mormon family celebrated Hanukah.
