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It's been a long time since someone said, "Merry Christmas" to me. Last year a telemarketer somewhere in India said it, but today (12/23/19) a clerk in Winn Dixie said it as well as a librarian as she checked out a book for me. I have grown used to people saying "Happy Holidays" so it caught me off guard.
When people say, "Happy Holidays" to me, I respond with, "Thanks, same to you". I can't repeat, "Happy Holidays" back at them because it just sounds weird to me.
Given that it's been a while since anyone has said Merry Christmas to me, I began to think about why Happy Holidays has become preferable to some people. At first it occurred to me that there are a lot of people who have no religious background, and simply decorate trees, and wrap packages, talk about Sant Claus/St. Nicholas, etc.; we're all familiar with those traditions, but then I started thinking about Chanukah, and how I've never heard anyone wish me or anyone else a happy Chanukah out in public.
Then I began to think back to A Christmas Carol, and it made my stomach sour. Why does Christmas have to elicit these Anti-Semitic stereotypes? Granted there are probably a lot of people today who have no clue that Ebenezer is a Jewish name, and in another twenty or thirty years no one will have a clue that it's a Jewish name. Regardless, it still bothers me that we have these stereotypes, and even moreso that so many people are oblivious. When people say, they "Jewed" someone down on the price, they're not saying that because they're Anti-Semites. It's just what they've heard people say, so they say it as well without ever knowing that it's Anti-Semitic. It's become commonplace. No one really cares because it isn't like anyone really cares anymore.
So I feel kind of like Paul because I have spent years studying reading the bible. Not because I love God, but because God has planted this desire in me to study his commandments. I have no other explanation that makes sense because from my earliest days in school, I absolutely hated reading, and the bible was especially detestable to me. It made no sense whatsoever, and as I grew older, it made even less sense.
Over time that all changed significantly, and now I want to share some things I've collected on Chanukah in case anyone is interested in broadening their ideas of spreading light during this darkest time of the year...
"The content in this page is produced by Chabad.org, and is copyrighted by the author and/or Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you do not revise any part of it, and you include this note, credit the author, and link to www.chabad.org. If you wish to republish this article in a periodical, book, or website, please email [email protected]."
A Man at the Supermarket Reminded Me: Chanukah Reflects Giving
By Linda Goldberg
This morning I looked at last year’s Chanukah picture. You sat in a chair smiling, despite ill health, surrounded by our family. There in your hand was a leather pouch filled with Chanukah gelt soon to be given out to our children and grandchildren, and another pouch for tzedakah.
Behind you, the table was set with potato latkes, applesauce, cheese blintzes, sour cream—all homemade—and doughnuts fried by and for our Israeli son-in-law. Looking at the picture, I can almost smell the aroma as everyone sat around the dining-room table to celebrate.
Last Chanukah, the children helped you out of your walker and into the chair before taking the picture. Everyone was concerned that it was your last Chanukah with us, but we all smiled widely.
Also this morning, I found the menorah you used to light the Chanukah candles for many years.
While cleaning it, I looked outside the window and saw the trees. Some had yellow and orange leaves, even purple, swaying in the breeze as if they were talking to each other.
I had to cut down some of our trees and trimmed others. They are so tall now—the very trees that have seen everything since we moved in here. They witnessed the bar mitzvah in our back yard when we were so proud, and when our parents were alive to see it and rejoice with us together. They saw the blizzards when I and the children watched out the window to wait for you to come home.
Years later, our son bought a house down the street, and we walked there for Shabbat dinners. I helped take care of his boys, who loved to walk back and forth to see us. I taught them to talk to the trees, just as my mother had taught me.
After I finished polishing the menorah, I drove to the market to buy more Chanukah candles. I walked around the aisles looking at shelves of food I didn’t need since I don’t host family celebrations without you, and I fought back tears.
Once outside, while looking for my car, a man wearing a gray shirt and old pants bent over near me, and said, “Pardon me. I hate to ask, but I am on my way to the Natick train station to board the train to Boston because of a family emergency. I don’t have enough money. Can you spare $5? I’m not sure how much the train costs.”
Rummaging through my pocket book, I found my makeup case, where I keep my emergency money. Knowing how much it costs, I walked over to him and handed him $10.
I remembered you saying, “If someone, even a stranger, has to bend down to ask, you have to walk over to give.”
“Thank you, thank you.” The man was so relieved he was almost in tears. “I hope you have a nice day.” He said after he took the money.
“Don’t worry,” I responded. “Someone will help me someday when I am in need. That’s how it works.”
Once I got home and set up the candles in the menorah, I remembered how much trouble you had lighting the candles last year. Our son wanted to help you, but you insisted on doing it yourself. With each lit candle, a new light shone in your eyes.
If I had to describe you in one sentence, it would be that you were given shoulders to carry burdens—of yours and others. You always gave time and money to help another, and you did it happily.
Looking up into the cloudless sky, I know today was a good day. As you would say, “Giving to charity is like planting a seed that might help someone else someday.”
You remind me of the verse: “Show righteousness for yourselves, reap according to loving-kindness” (Hosea 10:12).
And perhaps that’s the message of the Chanukah lights. That our job as a people is to bring light, kindness and G‑dliness to our world. To light up the life of another. To be a “light upon the nations.”
Now when I look at last year’s Chanukah picture, I see the light in your eyes and know you are at peace.
A Man at the Supermarket Reminded Me: Chanukah Reflects Giving
When people say, "Happy Holidays" to me, I respond with, "Thanks, same to you". I can't repeat, "Happy Holidays" back at them because it just sounds weird to me.
Given that it's been a while since anyone has said Merry Christmas to me, I began to think about why Happy Holidays has become preferable to some people. At first it occurred to me that there are a lot of people who have no religious background, and simply decorate trees, and wrap packages, talk about Sant Claus/St. Nicholas, etc.; we're all familiar with those traditions, but then I started thinking about Chanukah, and how I've never heard anyone wish me or anyone else a happy Chanukah out in public.
Then I began to think back to A Christmas Carol, and it made my stomach sour. Why does Christmas have to elicit these Anti-Semitic stereotypes? Granted there are probably a lot of people today who have no clue that Ebenezer is a Jewish name, and in another twenty or thirty years no one will have a clue that it's a Jewish name. Regardless, it still bothers me that we have these stereotypes, and even moreso that so many people are oblivious. When people say, they "Jewed" someone down on the price, they're not saying that because they're Anti-Semites. It's just what they've heard people say, so they say it as well without ever knowing that it's Anti-Semitic. It's become commonplace. No one really cares because it isn't like anyone really cares anymore.
So I feel kind of like Paul because I have spent years studying reading the bible. Not because I love God, but because God has planted this desire in me to study his commandments. I have no other explanation that makes sense because from my earliest days in school, I absolutely hated reading, and the bible was especially detestable to me. It made no sense whatsoever, and as I grew older, it made even less sense.
Over time that all changed significantly, and now I want to share some things I've collected on Chanukah in case anyone is interested in broadening their ideas of spreading light during this darkest time of the year...
"The content in this page is produced by Chabad.org, and is copyrighted by the author and/or Chabad.org. If you enjoyed this article, we encourage you to distribute it further, provided that you do not revise any part of it, and you include this note, credit the author, and link to www.chabad.org. If you wish to republish this article in a periodical, book, or website, please email [email protected]."
A Man at the Supermarket Reminded Me: Chanukah Reflects Giving
By Linda Goldberg
This morning I looked at last year’s Chanukah picture. You sat in a chair smiling, despite ill health, surrounded by our family. There in your hand was a leather pouch filled with Chanukah gelt soon to be given out to our children and grandchildren, and another pouch for tzedakah.
Behind you, the table was set with potato latkes, applesauce, cheese blintzes, sour cream—all homemade—and doughnuts fried by and for our Israeli son-in-law. Looking at the picture, I can almost smell the aroma as everyone sat around the dining-room table to celebrate.
Last Chanukah, the children helped you out of your walker and into the chair before taking the picture. Everyone was concerned that it was your last Chanukah with us, but we all smiled widely.
Also this morning, I found the menorah you used to light the Chanukah candles for many years.
While cleaning it, I looked outside the window and saw the trees. Some had yellow and orange leaves, even purple, swaying in the breeze as if they were talking to each other.
I had to cut down some of our trees and trimmed others. They are so tall now—the very trees that have seen everything since we moved in here. They witnessed the bar mitzvah in our back yard when we were so proud, and when our parents were alive to see it and rejoice with us together. They saw the blizzards when I and the children watched out the window to wait for you to come home.
Years later, our son bought a house down the street, and we walked there for Shabbat dinners. I helped take care of his boys, who loved to walk back and forth to see us. I taught them to talk to the trees, just as my mother had taught me.
After I finished polishing the menorah, I drove to the market to buy more Chanukah candles. I walked around the aisles looking at shelves of food I didn’t need since I don’t host family celebrations without you, and I fought back tears.
Once outside, while looking for my car, a man wearing a gray shirt and old pants bent over near me, and said, “Pardon me. I hate to ask, but I am on my way to the Natick train station to board the train to Boston because of a family emergency. I don’t have enough money. Can you spare $5? I’m not sure how much the train costs.”
Rummaging through my pocket book, I found my makeup case, where I keep my emergency money. Knowing how much it costs, I walked over to him and handed him $10.
I remembered you saying, “If someone, even a stranger, has to bend down to ask, you have to walk over to give.”
“Thank you, thank you.” The man was so relieved he was almost in tears. “I hope you have a nice day.” He said after he took the money.
“Don’t worry,” I responded. “Someone will help me someday when I am in need. That’s how it works.”
Once I got home and set up the candles in the menorah, I remembered how much trouble you had lighting the candles last year. Our son wanted to help you, but you insisted on doing it yourself. With each lit candle, a new light shone in your eyes.
If I had to describe you in one sentence, it would be that you were given shoulders to carry burdens—of yours and others. You always gave time and money to help another, and you did it happily.
Looking up into the cloudless sky, I know today was a good day. As you would say, “Giving to charity is like planting a seed that might help someone else someday.”
You remind me of the verse: “Show righteousness for yourselves, reap according to loving-kindness” (Hosea 10:12).
And perhaps that’s the message of the Chanukah lights. That our job as a people is to bring light, kindness and G‑dliness to our world. To light up the life of another. To be a “light upon the nations.”
Now when I look at last year’s Chanukah picture, I see the light in your eyes and know you are at peace.
A Man at the Supermarket Reminded Me: Chanukah Reflects Giving