I HAVE a lot to thank Adam Sandler for -- besides such cinematic masterpieces as "Bulletproof" and "Little Nicky." With several versions of a little ditty called "The Hanukkah Song," Sandler has brought pop culture to Judaism. Because let's face it, "Rock of Ages" was never headed for the Billboard charts. And as a Jew, I do appreciate hearing something "for all those nice little Jewish kids who don't get to hear any Hanukkah songs" when every other song on the radio is Bing Crosby or Nat King Cole.
The funny thing about the hoopla of Hanukkah surrounding Sandler's song is that in the minds of the more, uh, gentile audience, the holiday has taken on a whole new import. After all, if there's a song about it, it must be really significant, right? Well, I've got news for you. In the strictly religious sense, Hanukkah is about as important to Judaism as Arbor Day is to America. Hanukkah originated as a celebration of the miracle that occurred when the Maccabees' one-day supply of oil burned for eight days instead, and we light the menorah (no, it's really not a candelabra) for eight nights to commemorate that. But really, would you create a holiday to celebrate the miracle that your coffee grinds lasted an entire week to sustain you during exams? Exactly. Holidays like Passover and Yom Kippur are the Super Bowls of Judaism. Just keep that in mind.
My favorite question I get regarding Hanukkah is, "Do you get a present for every night?" To which most times, I'd like to snort and answer, "Do you get a present each night for the Twelve Days of Christmas?" Unlikely. If the present-a-night deal happened in my house, the real miracle with three kids in the family would be the bank account lasting for those eight glorious nights. The only thing I could truly count on getting every night was Hanukkah gelt (a.k.a. chocolate money), which was just fine by me.
Sometimes -- ok, a lot of times -- I think that Hanukkah has been hyped up for ages so that the Jewish kids won't feel left out by the time Christmas rolls around for all the rest of their friends. That's especially true in elementary school where teachers are politically correct enough to preserve the fragile psyches of pre-pubescent kids. They politely refer to the end of the year celebrations as "holiday parties" and are careful to call vacation "Winter Break" instead of "Christmas Break." I just remember while all the other kids cut out simple stockings and holly leaves during craft time, I was always left struggling to weave the scissors around my carefully sketched menorah. Except for when I'd give up and resort to a dreidel.
Companies are also awfully careful about appealing to everyone who celebrates Hanukkah during the holiday season. Commercials for stores like JCPenney and Hallmark always contain montages full of happy families set to annoyingly sentimental music, with the guaranteed stock image of kids with shiny faces gazing at a blazing menorah in front of beaming grandparents. Alright, as much as it pains me to admit it, those pictures pull at my heartstrings. But for only like a second. I promise.
Of course, such a sterilized view of our celebrations just misses out on all the fun. No one ever wants to show the kids fighting over a game of dreidel. Now, see, like any other game kids can get their hands on, playing with a dreidel can and will cause an all-out rumble. Is it legal to spin it upside down on the handle? If the dreidel lands on one of its corners, do you spin again or count the side it's leaning more on? Is it really fair at the end to let one kid keep all the candy? You can see the potential for some festive skirmishes.
Undoubtedly, Hanukkah gives us the excuse to deep fry and sizzle anything in oil. The most popular dish in my house is latkes, otherwise known as potato pancakes, which really do go like actual hotcakes. My brothers and I enjoy hovering around my parents as they slave away over a couple of pans, periodically tossing unappetizing-looking blobs of potato and onion into them. But once they're done, wow. My mom and dad place the latkes in layers between sheets of paper towel. You have no idea how much seeing that oil seep into Bounty makes us salivate. Yum. Another popular use of oil is for fried doughnuts, or sufganyot. And you thought Krispy Kremes were greasy. Pump a little jelly or custard into those suckers, and you've got atherosclerosis on a platter. This is why mothers want their daughters to marry Jewish doctors.
For me, Hanukkah means pulling out old cookie dough ornaments, trying to light a match for the menorah without burning myself and smiling as my family attempts to croon in tune (more often than not, it's out of tune) the blessings. But if you'd like to contribute to my one-present-a-night fund, I'd be cool with that too.
(Becky Krystal is a Cavalier Daily associate editor. She can be reached at bkrystal@
cavalierdaily.com.)
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