As I listened to my friend’s insights I noticed that I felt mildly uncomfortable. From a strictly traditional opinion, she was right: There is no historic tradition of gifts associated with Chanukah. On the other hand, my own memories are filled with warm recollections of my parents giving my brother and me little presents each night (and one or two big ones). Those long ago evenings, when my brother and I would ask over and over if my father would soon be home so we could light the menorah, as we tried to pretend that we weren’t really asking how soon until we could get presents, built a foundation for the Judaism that I knew I wanted to give to my own children.
Even before I chose a more traditional lifestyle than the one in which I had been raised, my excitement for the Chanukah holiday had refocused on the act of lighting candles, rather than the gifts (not that I didn’t appreciate them as a teen as well).
In my early twenties, I began to take a deeper interest in Jewish life and Jewish law. I spent a year in Israel studying Judaism in depth. The more I have studied, the fewer halachic (Jewish legal) connections I have found for the giving of gifts, while, at the same time, the more I have noticed what an important role they play in modern Jewish life.
My friend felt that this tradition of giving gifts was a reflection of Christmas and Jewish assimilation. Sadly, this is probably true in many North American homes. It’s even true that when I was a kid, I felt that there was a competition–and often that I had the better end of the deal.
On the other hand, one can, and many have, traced the root of gift-giving back to a custom of Chanukah gelt. Gelt itself is a Yiddish word that might lead one to perceive an Eastern European origin to this tradition.
It is a tradition, however, that has its roots in two Talmudic discussions: One stating that lighting the Chanukah menorah is so important that one who cannot afford oil (or candles) should beg in order to purchase oil, and the second, expressing a correlation between lighting the Chanukah menorah and having intelligent children. From these two concepts, the custom developed to reward children for their studies with a little bit of money. This is Gelt. In time, a penny turned into a small token, which, probably in competition with Christmas, became a bundle of presents.
Let’s face it, most American Jews can recall being asked at least once if they really receive a present on each night of Chanukah. Indeed, most of us can also recall being asked whether Chanukah is “the Jewish Christmas.” This second question is quite ironic, given that the holiday of Chanukah is actually a celebration of a victorious battle against assimilation. At the time of the Maccabees, many Jews found it more comfortable to Hellenize their lives rather than fight to maintain a traditional Jewish lifestyle.
When I was a child, I rarely associated Chanukah with Christmas. We had our holiday and they had theirs. But I can, of course, be honest enough to admit that if I had not received Chanukah presents, I probably would have been jealous of, and desirous for, Christmas.
As a small child, the presents were a major focus, but, because of that, I developed a love for this holiday. As I grew older, my brother and I received fewer presents, but that did not diminish my connection to the holiday.
As a teenager, the societal pressure to celebrate Christmas bothered me tremendously. I was the outspoken choir member who insisted on adding Chanukah songs to the holiday concert and the high schooler who made certain a menorah was also part of the holiday display. My actions were driven by my Jewish pride, not by my desire to compare Chanukah to Christmas. I wanted the Jewish students who were less connected than I was to have a reason to be excited about their own heritage.
Listening to my friend’s dismay at the customs of her husband’s family, I felt, at first, embarrassed that this was the type of home in which I had been raised. The more I thought about it, however, the more I realized that because my parents had never mixed our Chanukah presents with even the slightest hint of that other holiday--there was no Chanukah bush or tinselly decorations--the gifts had been just one more aspect in developing my proud Jewish identity.
As a parent living a traditional Jewish lifestyle, I have not cast away this seeming remnant of assimilation. Instead, my husband and I have incorporated the important Chanukah lesson of Chinuch (education, a word that shares the same Hebrew root as Chanukah). On the nights when our children receive Chanukah presents, each child must answer a question about either Chanukah or the weekly Torah portion. Likewise, when there are gifts to be exchanged between my husband and myself (or the kids and one of us), we must also answer a question.
The other night, I did not say any of this to my friend. I smiled and listened and gave sympathetic answers of tacit agreement. Perhaps I should have said that the end result of the Chanukah presents my parents gave me was the greatest gift of all--my strong sense of my Jewish self.
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