Hillel Hannukah

My family has about 8 menorahs. There is the large silver one that we all light together, the baseball bat one that belongs to my brother, the set of chairs in a row that belongs to me, and the Winnie the Pooh one that broke in the fire my sophomore year of high-school. Tigger’s tail is held on by superglue, and other bits and bobs are halfway gone and chipped and held together by mostly wishful thinking. We hold on to it anyway.

Using the Shamash to light all the other candles means it looks kind of ridiculously short.

Hanukah isn’t an important holiday. It’s fairly minor in a liturgical sense, and the history behind it isn’t really as big of a deal as many of the other days we celebrate in Jewish tradition. But somehow, Hannukah has become a Big. Deal. worthy of the capital letters. Mostly, I believe, because it’s so close to Christmas and we Jews felt a little left out.

Tonight we had the Salisbury Hillel Hannukah party. It was cute and fun, and made me feel a little more home at a place that I’ve been thinking feels kind of foreign. Since Hannukah starts over break, we decided to go with the early party route instead of the late one. We lit all the candles on the menorah, but didn’t say the blessing, so we could enjoy the light and warmth.

If there is one thing Jews are known for, it’s our insistence on overcooking. Any gathering of three or more Jews always seems to have enough leftovers to feed a small family. Tonight was no exception. We had latkes and jelly doughnuts to keep some tradition, and cupcakes and cheese and crackers and candies and all sorts of other goodies just because. The easiest way to turn strangers in to friends is to offer them something delicious, and I happen to really enjoy baking.

We traded gifts and cards. We listened to cheesy Hannukah songs and, like at any good Jewish gathering, discussed Adam Sandler movies. It just felt nice.

Hillel!

I’m living more and more for these little moments. For the look of quiet confusion that sweeps every face at the table when the Pandora Hannukah station switches from something fun and upbeat to an eerie song sung by what sounds to be a hunted children’s choir. For attempting to fit candlesticks in menorahs and giggling over the difficulty. For cupcakes that crumble when you try to eat them, and when there never seem to be enough napkins in the world for the crumbs you just got everywhere.

The moments are small, but the impact is big. I feel safer today. Safer and more sure and more comfortable. I know it’s not Hannukkah quite yet, but I’m starting to feel the holiday spirit. Hannukah might not be a big deal, but I love any excuse to spend time with the crazy people I call my family. And maybe- slowly but surely- I’m starting to find what could be a family here.