Celebrating Jewish holidays away from home is always hard. I miss my family, the rituals, the familiarity, but most of all, the food. During college and graduate school, was lucky enough to have extended family close by who fed me, took me to synagogue, and made sure I was included in all holiday celebrations and observances.
But there is one holiday where I haven’t managed to celebrate—Channukah. Yes, Channukah, the “festival of lights,” the “Jewish Christmas.” To a non-Jew, Channukah means pretty candles and lots of presents. But what does it mean to a Jew? Chanukah is unique in that it isn’t a religious holiday. It doesn’t revolve around God, a commandment. We don’t have to take off from school and work, observe holy days, or attend synagogue.
To me, Channukah has always been special holiday. My mother makes amazing latkes. She fries them perfectly, so they are brown, crispy on the outside, and soft and warm on the inside. Growing up, we always had some sort of Channukah party, and invited friends and family over for latkes, candle-lighting, and a game of dreidl. As my brother and I got older, we had a hard time fitting Chanukah in our daily routines. I remember one year in particular, when I was fourteen or fifteen years old, when for several nights in a row, we forgot to light the candles. It would be about ten or eleven pm, everyone would be getting ready for bed, and I would look over at the Channukia set up on our antique side table, near the window and shout “Hey guys! We forgot to light the candles!”
During winters in high school and college, I celebrated with other Jews from my Israel summer program. During the winter reunions in the frozen woods of Connecticut, there were two or three times when Channukah fell on our gatherings. Dozens of Channukias were lit, and would glow I the dark recreation room. We sang songs, and learned dances. But most of all, it was the feeling of light and warmth that made it special. Seeing the candles flicker, as we stood, watching the wax melt, and smiling. Sharing a ritual with friends, new and old, honoring a tradition, remembering that the Jewish people are strong.

When away from my parents, whether it was in another city my own apartment, Channukah is not a blip on my Jewish radar. I don’t know when it starts, when it ends. I don’t make plans to eat latkes, or light the candles. I have to ask my parents “When is Channukah? Which way do we light the candles?”
This year, as always, Channukah has crept up on me. Unprepared, as usual, no candles will be glowing in my window tonight. I did find my Chanukiah, but then after finding what I thought was a box of beautiful candles from Israel, I read the box “Shabbat Candles.” Hey, it is the thought that counts. At least on Saturday I am celebrating with my family, and eating latkes.