When I had my DNA tested several years ago, I was disappointed that there was no scientific trace of Native American ancestry, as family legend claimed there was. (This is a common myth in many New England families; I think it comes from a desire to be legitimately attached to the land that we occupy.) However, my test did reveal a couple of surprises. This pale white person has some Mediterranean (Italian or Greek) blood – perhaps explaining my love for garlic. It also revealed a tiny amount of Ashkenazi – the native European tribe of Jews found in France and Germany. I was thrilled to learn this fact as I never felt connected to my Christian upbringing.
Since this time of year is – at its best – all about diversity, I found the most beautiful rhinestone menorah to embrace my newly discovered heritage. The candles looked beautiful, and I placed this gorgeous piece in front of a mirror to make the most of it. I decided not to try and pronounce the prayer, having no Hebrew training, but instead sang a little Hanukkah song that I learned in 7th grade choir. It was a beautiful ritual that I plan on repeating next year.
Many years ago, I had a friend named Wendy who I met while working in Boston. She was kind enough to share some of her traditions with me, and I learned a lot about Judaism from her. She lived in Brookline, and one of our favorite things to do was to take off on Friday after work on the subway (in Boston, we call this the “T”) and get off downtown at Newbury Street. From there, we would window shop, have dinner, maybe hear some live music, and eventually take the trolley to her house where I would stay overnight on her couch. On Saturday she would show me around her neighborhood and point out that some orthodox shops were closed. “This is our ‘Sunday’”, she said, making a Christian parallel. On a couple of occasions, she escorted me inside her temple, where I was agog at the stunning beauty, feeling instantly transported into another era.
We had wonderful conversations about religion, politics and philosophy. She had been to Israel and told me about her experiences in the Middle East (this was in the late 1980’s). Wendy told me that the most beautiful holiday season she had ever experienced was the year she placed her menorah next to her roommate’s Xmas tree. She called this time of year “Hanumas”. I learned so much from my friend about being open and inclusive. She showed me how joyful it was to enjoy the best of other cultures, and also how to be tolerant of each other’s shortcomings.
Just like Wendy, I placed my new menorah near my pagan tree.
So, to all the Wendys out there, thank you for sharing. And however you are celebrating the darkest time of the year, may it make you happy and bring you laughter.
