The festive season is upon us, friends. Perhaps your weekend is jammed with opportunities for holiday gaiety. Parties, parades, performances, shopping.
Eating.
All the stuff that brings light and warmth when the darkness descends so early, the nights are at their longest and are also very cold.
Normally, I eat all this holiday merriment up, along with every shortbread cookie that falls within two metres of my grasp.
Things feel different this year.
I’m not sure about you, but I’m finding it challenging to fully indulge in the festive vibe. It’s hard to get into the holiday spirit when innocent civilians who don’t have the good fortune of living in Canada are being bombed or held hostage. When we are being pummelled with terrible news from the Middle East, as well as the seemingly endless war in Ukraine; the cost-of-living, homelessness and deadly drug crisis on the home front; and a climate catastrophe everywhere.
I know, it was ever thus: global and domestic trouble that we manage to ignore while we stuff our stockings, and ourselves, with holiday goodies.
Perhaps it feels particularly absurd to celebrate in the midst of the brutal Israel-Hamas war because it is constantly in the headlines. Or because many of us have personal connections to that part of the world and to people who are personally affected. The horrific Islamophobia and antisemitism that have arisen over here as a result are not doing much to fuel the holiday spirit.
I wrapped my son’s first Hanukkah gift on Wednesday night and turned on the radio. CBC’s As It Happens was interviewing an Israeli, Shai Wenkert, whose 22-year-old son Omer has been held hostage by Hamas since Oct. 7. Immediately, the act of wrapping a light-up Frisbee felt obscene.
So much of this feels wrong. Wrapping gifts – even with the dregs of festive paper that I have extracted from the corners of various closets – seems ridiculous as the planet burns/floods/deteriorates. Then there’s all the hostility; I have read more open letters than holiday cards this year.
The absolute privilege of having the opportunity to attend an office gathering or participate in a Secret Santa swap feels discomfiting. This festive season, I don’t feel like jingle-belling even half the way.
Who could have imagined during the lost COVID Christmases of 2020 and 2021 that there would be a time when it would feel safe to gather with others, but it didn’t feel particularly appealing, didn’t feel exactly right?
Let me add another issue to the mix: fear. Canadian Jews who are celebrating Hanukkah this weekend have been flooding Facebook groups with discussions about whether it’s safe to put a menorah in the window this year, as is tradition. Jews are also debating taking down the mezuzahs (rectangular cases containing a small parchment prayer scroll wrapped inside) from their doorposts, worried that these instantly identify the home as a place where Jews live. Seeing a video last weekend of a verbal antisemitic attack on Vancouver public transit didn’t help my own anxiety.
Then my 15-year-old son said to me: “I think we should skip the Hanukkah lights this year.” It’s not the hydro bill he’s worried about.
Still, I am putting that menorah in the window. And I am certainly not removing my mezuzah. I might, however, skip the giant lawn dreidel this year. (It’s a pain to inflate, anyway.)
Pre-COVID, I held a big annual Hanukkah bash, filling my tiny house with friends, latkes, wine. This year, with just about two months to go before the holiday, I started working on a celebratory “save the date” notice announcing the post-pandemic return of the party. That was on Oct. 6. I never sent it out.
Ultimately, I decided I do want – need, actually – to gather with people, especially family and those who have reached out during what has obviously been a difficult time. There will be latkes, there will be wine (oh, there will be wine). But I am imagining more of a warm community gathering than a lampshades-on-heads situation.
So I haven’t gone full-on Grinch. Not yet.
The holidays can be so hard. Geopolitics aside, many people are suffering personal grief. The near constant bombardment of Yuletide cheer from every direction can be painful. Even a trip to the grocery store can be triggering.
So here’s a wish for your Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, whatever you celebrate (or don’t): that you are able to be with people who make you feel safe and good. That you can do things that make you feel good. (Giant holiday crossword? Hell, yeah.) That you can get a break from whatever it is that is causing you stress or distress.
My real wish feels impossible: peace on Earth. But perhaps we can at least try for goodwill toward each other.
Marsha Lederman