that thing you do

As we are in the throes of Chanukah — I believe we are up to night eighteen or nineteen — I am reminded of just how not religious I am.

I have never been a big fan or supporter of religion. I attended synagogue only a handful of times as a child. As a teen, I went to many Bar and Bat Mitzvahs of friends, but didn't have a ceremony of my own. Of course, I took full advantage of religious holidays as a day off from school, but those days never ever included any sort of formal observances.

In 1982, I met Mrs. P (of course, she wouldn't actually become "Mrs. P" for another two years), who, I would later find out, was pretty traditional in her religious beliefs and practices. Within a few minutes of our first meeting, she informed me that she observed the laws of kashrut (keeping kosher). I immediately made a joke, stating that the only people I knew who kept kosher were in their eighties. Indeed, my wife kept a kosher home and when we got married, since she maintained the kitchen, the rules of kashrut were applied there, as well. 

In my pre-vegetarian days, I still ate what I wished (except, of course, in our house). But when our son was born, I made the decision to go "full-on kosher." I figured it would be confusing and contradictory, in his young eyes, if Daddy ate one way and Mommy ate another. As our son grew, he was enrolled in Jewish schools, with religious reinforcement at synagogue and at home. We lit candles every Shabbat (Friday evening) and heartily celebrated all Jewish holidays — major and minor, including a lot I never heard of and some I suspected my wife was making up. I was still not comfortable with the religious aspect of the whole deal, but the bond that was formed within our family was very strong, so I overlooked what I saw as "nonsense."

As our son entered the waning days of his high school years, he questioned everything. Every single concept, idea and reason for tradition. Of course, he brought his questions home for discussion. My wife stood by her traditions, but I, who had no religious upbringing, was in complete agreement with the utter baloney I always felt religion represented. However, as time marched on, my wife's solid beliefs relaxed and softened. We attended synagogue services less and less — with my attendance dwindling to "never." I stopped requesting days off from work for all Jewish holidays. I still (reluctantly) go to holiday dinners at my in-laws' house, mostly because the religious rituals and the blind, fanatically-outlandish behavior of those who participate in them make me cringe.

And, now, ladies and gentlemen, here's where our story takes a ridiculous, inexplicable turn....

I still light Chanukah candles. I like lighting Chanukah candles — every night for as long as the holiday lasts. When I was a kid, we had an electric menorah (technically a chanukiah, as a menorah is a word that refers to any candelabra) that featured light bulbs that just twisted into a socket with each new night of the holiday. It wasn't until I got married that I was introduced to an actual Chanukah menorah with actual wax candles. My wife and I, and later our son, light one every year during the nights between the end of November and the end of December that the lunar calendar has designated as Chanukah. Mrs. P and I no longer exchange gifts, but when our boy was a boy, it was another instance of warm family bonding. Why do I still do this and still enjoy it? I don't know.

Every year, on the days corresponding to the Hebrew dates of the 9th and 28th of Tishrei respectively, I light a yahrzeit candle in remembrance of the passing of my mother and father. Although my parents practiced little to no observance of religion, I remember my mom kindling a little shot glass-sized candle twice a year in honor of her parents. There are really no religious overtones (as far as I can tell) associated with this ritual. I miss my parents, though not a day goes by that I don't make some sort of reference to them. I don't say any sort of prayer before I light the candle (Don't even get me started on my feelings about prayer, that's a subject for another, extremely lengthy, blog). I just light it and that's it. Why do I do this? I don't know.

Just this past week, my department at work held its annual holiday luncheon and gift exchange. After lunch was finished, we gathered around a big conference room table that was laden with gaily wrapped gifts. The distribution plan involves each member of the department bringing a gift. Then numbers are selected from a hat (or bucket or bowl... whatever holly-decorated vessel in available). One by one, in number order, participants choose one of the gifts and unwrap it. The next person can either pick a new gift or "steal" a gift that has already been chosen. This process, which, at times, can verge on vicious, continues until all the gifts are opened and no fist fights erupt. In some circles, this party game is called a "Yankee swap," or "white elephant exchange," or a number of racially-insensitive names that I will not mention.

At this year's event, I opened, and eventually came home with, the most fitting gift. Even as I tore the concealing Santa Claus-themed wrap, several of my co-workers began to laugh knowingly. It was a game with a very Josh Pincus-centric title:

I think this sums things up nicely.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

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holiday, oh, holiday and the best one of the year

It's time once again for the big, year-end, holidays. Everyone (well, almost everyone) is celebrating something. Most people will be observing some level of Christmas. A little over five million people will be lighting some sort of menorah in celebration of Chanukah (or Hanukkah or Chanukkah or Chhannnukkkkah or whatever). After the Christmas and Chanukah festivities have ended and all the dreidels have been packed away and the Christmas trees have been kicked to the curb, some people will be celebrating Kwanzaa. (Unclear estimates put that number anywhere between two and thirty million.) Muslims already had their traditional festival in the summer, as Ramadan and Eid-al-Fatr both fell in July.

Last weekend, Mrs. Pincus and I experienced the two extremes of the holiday season within a few hours of each other. In the afternoon, we joined my son and his girlfriend for the 12th Annual "LatkePalooza" held at a downtown Philadelphia Jewish community center. The event was sold out. I didn't even know that eleven similar events had preceded this one. For fifteen bucks, attendees clamored to sample latkes (fried potato pancakes, traditionally served on Chanukah) offered by a dozen different area restaurants. Some of the sizzling goodies were pretty average, not able to hold a shamash to my mother-in-law's version. Others, however, like the lox and pickled beet-topped morsels served by Philadelphia newcomer Abe Fisher were a delight. The Cajun spin from Catahoula was delicious as well, although the spicy apple sauce topping was a bit too much for Mrs. P's palette. The event was supplemented by a four-piece band playing family-oriented songs (with a few holiday-appropriate tunes sprinkled in the mix) and an awkward magician who was unable to hold anyone's interest. We observed a number of restaurants packing up their equipment well-before the 4 PM closing time. It seemed that the attendees descended upon the latkes with the efficiency of a swarm of locusts, wiping out the surplus in just forty minutes. The vendors appeared pleased with the prospect of an early exit. 

"They won't revoke my
synagogue membership
for this, will they?"

With the room nearly empty, we, too, exited and made our way to our next destination - a Christmas tree decorating party. (I was later informed that it was not a "party," but instead, should be referred to as a "spire." When I questioned the term "spire" in reference to an intimate get-together, I was told in the original text message it was actually a "soire," but auto-correct changed it to "spire." So, it stuck.) Our pal Kathy asked a select few of her "inner circle" to, essentially, come over and decorate her tree while she watched. Having never had the opportunity to decorate a Christmas tree in my Jewish household or among my Jewish friends, I watched as well. Mrs. P, whose family's Jewishness outranks me in spades, took a front-row seat for the activity, as she nursed a glass of sparkling cider. As the only Jews in a roomful of long-time Christmas celebrants, we were warmly received and the overall tone of the evening was one of snarky joviality. After a while, Mrs. P bravely joined another guest in adorning the tree when a "Gone with the Wind" ornament was produced from the packed box of decorations. My wife's favorite film is the epic Civil War tale and she knew she'd probably never get this opportunity again. Afterwards, everyone dined on a delicious, serve-yourself meal of homemade chili and a vegetarian-friendly corn soup. There was a miscommunication when we questioned the ingredients of the homemade cornbread. The preparer cheerfully rattled off the various components — flour, baking soda, etc. Satisfied, my Kosher-observant wife and my vegetarian self simultaneously popped warm slices into our mouths, when the guest suddenly remembered that she had smeared the pan with bacon grease prior to baking. Mrs. P and I exchanged wide-eyed panicked glances, although we were comforted in the fact that Jews don't acknowledge the existence of Hell and eternal damnation. We get enough guilt from our mothers. We also steered clear of the cornbread for the rest of the night.

As the evening moved on, conversation bounced around, ranging from favorite holiday movies to various and diverse holiday celebrations to convincing me to allow my hair to go back to its natural color, a suggestion I quickly dismissed. Considering that my spouse and I had just met the other guests mere hours earlier, we were as close as childhood friends by evening's end, even hugging when we eventually parted.

Maybe this will become an annual tradition. And depending on when Eid-al-Fatr falls in 2015, perhaps someone will bring a plate of baklava. I don't think there is anything to decorate or light.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com