My sons were often the only Jewish children in their classes, given that Portland, Oregon has a relatively small Jewish population. Like parents in minority groups all over, my husband and I took on the role of coming into our boys’ classrooms every year bearing food and stories in order to bridge the divide that our kids often felt in being members of a non-dominant culture, especially during Christmastime. With hopes of spreading a little “Chanukah cheer,” if you will, we became the “Chanukah parents” – showing up dutifully each December, arms laden with freshly fried latkes, applesauce, sour cream, a menorah, candles, dreidels, and stories.
As my boys’ school was small, and as they started there in preschool, many of their classmates came to expect our yearly classroom visit with both excitement and as a matter of course. When we entered the classroom they would ask us: “Are you going to tell us an exciting story like you did last year?”, “Did you remember to make some gluten-free latkes for me?”, “How many can we each have this year?”. As we began to hand out the plates, serve the latkes, pour out the applesauce and scoop out dollops of sour cream, they would eagerly report: “I could smell the latkes from down the hall!” and “My mom tried to make latkes after you visited last year and hers weren’t as good as yours.” I would serve the food while my husband would tell a story – sometimes the story of Chanukah (which got more detailed as they grew older) and other times a beloved Jewish folktale. We would light the menorah, say the blessings and hand out dreidels, spinning tops that are the traditional toy associated with the holiday.
As the years went by, we began to know who liked extra applesauce, who gobbled down the latkes, who wanted to help me serve, who could report back in great detail last year’s story and who would keep careful watch on the platter to see if there would be enough for a second serving. As I fed each child, first in Kindergarten and then every year through eighth grade, I could feel our connection deepening through this annual tradition of providing food, warmth and stories.
“Food serves us best when it serves our togetherness….
Our greatest task is to bring our kids to rest in our care so they will be receptive to what we have to offer and so their bodies can use what we provide.”– from Nourished: Connection, Food & Caring for our Kids,
by Deborah MacNamara
These Chanukah visits certainly weren’t the only time I saw these kids. I would see them when they came over to play, when I chaperoned school field trips or at the daily school drop-offs and pick-ups, but there was something about this tradition that got to the heart of connecting, collecting, and providing – it was playful, filled with warmth (literal – through the candles and the symbolism of Chanukah as a “Festival of Lights” and metaphorical) and connected to ritual.
Having that warm relational connection infused all the other times of interacting with the kids – times when I might have to make sure they were quiet at the museum or might have to take one aside for saying something that hurt another one’s feelings – flow much more seamlessly. They knew I cared about them, knew them, and would continue to be warm with them (and feed them!) regardless of how any particular interaction went. The kids could count on it: when December rolled around Lisa and Andrew would bring the Chanukah celebration to the classroom.
When our boys entered high school, parents were less welcome in the classroom (a questionable policy in my eyes, but one we nevertheless had to respect!) putting an end to this tradition in its original form. Not willing, though, to give up this special experience, we pivoted and began to invite all our boys’ school friends to the Chanukah parties we had at our home each year.
These parties transformed with the addition of twenty teenagers in all the ways you might imagine – they became louder, the games of dreidel became more heated, the pile of shoes by the front door now consisted of shoes that looked like they belonged to giants and, of course, the amount of food we needed to prepare multiplied immensely. All of this delighted the usual attendees (friends from our “village” ranging from folks in their seventies and eighties to young kids) and made these parties even more festive and fun (and loud!).
These years, one dark night every December, teenage boys and girls, along with all our other guests of all ages, pour into our house – candles are kindled, blessings recited, songs sung, and then, the feasting begins. Now that the party is in our home, we get to serve even more food! Each year, we make a huge brisket, roast chicken, dozens upon dozens of latkes, a variety of salads and other side dishes and, for dessert, platters piled with the traditional Chanukah treat of sufganiyot (jelly donuts).
One sweet connection that was rekindled at these parties is between my older son’s best friend Leo, who has been a part of these Chanukah celebrations since Kindergarten and is now a towering 6’4” college athlete, and Kathy, our 84-year-old neighbor without children of her own who has assumed a grandmotherly role with my boys. In first and second grades, Kathy used to volunteer in my son’s class to run reading groups as the kids were learning how to read. At a Chanukah party a few years ago, Kathy and Leo recognized each other from reading group and reconnected. After Leo assured Kathy that he could, in fact, now read, they discovered that Leo was planning to attend college at Kathy’s alma mater. After that, whenever Leo comes over to our house now, he’ll run next door to “say hi to Kathy” and catch up about the college’s football team. This is just one example of the magic that can happen when you bring generations together, which is always best done with food and traditions.
Another year, when many of the kids had just gotten their drivers’ licenses a snowstorm threatened to thwart the party. The party was scheduled for the last night of Chanukah, so we weren’t able to simply reschedule. My son began to receive texts from friends saying that they were so upset to miss it but their parents wouldn’t let them drive in the snowy weather. Well, we weren’t going to let a little snow cause us to miss a year of this beloved tradition, so off went my husband and son in our four-wheel drive car, to make several trips picking everyone up and promising their parents that we would carefully drive each one home at the end of night. Everyone stayed a little later that year, as it felt especially cozy to be gathered together inside, menorahs shining, as the snow and ice rained down outside the windows.
Now, every year as December approaches, the texts from my son’s friends start to roll in: “Lisa, what day is the party this year?” and “Be sure to make a lot of brisket!” And, after the party there are requests such as “Would you mind sending my mom your latke recipe?” and “Can’t we do this twice a year? Is it illegal to eat latkes in the summertime?” All of this warms my heart and reminds me that kids of any age love being fed and warmly invited into our presence (and our homes). I am also reminded of just how right and how satisfying it feels to take up one’s place as a caring alpha provider.
This holiday season, we at the Neufeld Institute, send our warm wishes to all of you and hope that, no matter your background, that you find some ways to connect to those you love with warmth, care, and good food!