A Joyful Fusion: Celebrating Hanukkah and Christmas 2024 Together!

Wait a moment. Christmas and the inaugural night of Hanukkah coincide this year? December 25th! Thank goodness! At last! Can we maintain this trend?!

My extended family is a blend of Jews and Catholics, each devoted to their own rituals and heritage. Finally, we can halt our routine of running to various homes to observe distinct holidays on separate days. I truly value this heavenly organizational effectiveness.

In my household, I have experienced several transformations over the years. Raised Jewish, I soon absorbed my mother’s silent decree that any overt expressions of Judaism were . . . inappropriate. (Shh!) Was it due to her family escaping Germany and Hungary for Hartford and Ohio, feeling the need to blend in? Perhaps. Yet still.

A mezuzah?! Absolutely not.

Dancing the horah? Oh no, oh no, no. Instead, my mother enrolled me in ballroom dancing classes. White gloves mandatory.

My Jewish mother even grew up with a Christmas tree, a practice passed on to me until I wed another Jew who deemed the tradition off-putting.

I exchanged my sparkling Christmas ornaments — a baked, painted wreath, a shiny red ball with my name inscribed, encircled by ivy, a gold tin Jewish star I crafted at summer camp — for a splendid engagement ring.

Gone were the nostalgic sounds of scratchy Christmas records while I dived into stuffed stockings. In their place, as a young mother, I painstakingly organized gifts into eight stacks for Hanukkah: at least one present for each night for my four children. Inevitably, one child was let down on any given night. And my brain was utterly exhausted.

I missed the tree. I longed for the simplicity of a single large pile of gifts. I yearned for the milk and cookies left for Santa. I missed being a child myself. I missed the ceremony of placing the star atop the tree, the lollipop Mrs. Claus ornament swaying as we struggled to position it.

I even missed the sidewalk haggling to obtain the tree, which my father would always turn into a lesson on business.

Thanks to those frigid evenings at street corners, I still experience a rush of pride whenever I negotiate a price down.

I also longed for the comforting sight of my mother’s looping handwriting of “Santa” in the “From” field of her gift stickers. Naturally, I pretended not to notice the resemblance. Isn’t that what the Christmas season teaches, anyway? Suspension of disbelief.

I mean, a stranger on a sleigh descending our chimney in Manhattan? Did we even have a chimney? What kept that old man from coming in on other nights? What was stopping anyone from entering if this gift-laden intruder could slide down whenever he pleased? Perhaps Jews were too apprehensive of that tall tale.

My father remarried a Catholic woman for whom Christmas was indisputable. Then my brother followed suit.

Christmas seeped back into our lives at their homes: a colossal tree in my dad’s hallway, each year with a different theme; a precarious pine at my brother’s place on the West Coast that I sometimes decorated alongside my nieces and nephew.

My old ornaments were revived as I gingerly hung them on the prickly, fragrant branches, hoping the weight of the ornament wouldn’t drag it down onto the needle-laden floor. Family traditions: preserved!

Hanukkah chez nous; Christmas chez vous.

Then one year, when we visited my dad’s to observe Christmas and Hanukkah, a new addition appeared: a Hanukkah teepee! Within the white, soaring teepee (imagine: Pottery Barn Kids) were blue, white, and silver-wrapped presents piled together, all of our gifts mixed up so we had to rummage to discover our own.

“Mom! This gift is yours!” my son would shout from the depths of the collection, just before we all lit the Hanukkah candles together, the tree looming just beyond.

Even after my divorce and remarriage to a Catholic (what’s with us!?), family customs were rewritten as he reintroduced Christmas. Yet, over the years I had evolved into a significantly more observant Jew.

I eagerly anticipated lighting the Shabbat candles on Fridays, honoring all the Jewish festivals, and being part of the Jewish community. (I even recently edited an entire anthology called “On Being Jewish Now” as I strive to combat the increasing wave of antisemitism.)

I didn’t want to relinquish that. Moreover, the children were all enrolled in Hebrew School with bar and bat mitzvahs on the calendar.

My husband kindly offered to convert to Judaism (what a mensch!) and subsequently embraced all of our customs. But his family, with whom I quickly became close, continued their observances.

Trees returned. Now, each year, we not only visit my dad’s and my brother’s, but also his father and stepmother’s for a Secret Santa gift exchange under their tree, before inviting them all to our home for Hanukkah. It’s a logistical challenge during the Super Bowl of motherhood.

my mother? She remarried another Jew two decades ago and also relinquished her tree.

She has become significantly more observant as she has aged, although I suspect she’s still a bit taken aback by the mezuzah on my front door. (Yikes, if Santa takes the elevator, that’s the first thing he’ll notice.)

However, with the significant increase in antisemitism post-Oct. 7, particularly highlighted in the soon-to-be-released documentary “October H8te” (my husband and I are associate producers), being Jewish today is complex. I’ve personally reaffirmed (quadrupled!?) my Jewish identity.

I wear a Jewish star necklace. I initiated an On Being Jewish Now Substack, edited original essays and spoke internationally to unite the community. I’ve unwittingly become an activist, a path I could never have anticipated.

As I listened during my kids’ school assembly recounting the story of Hanukkah about the destruction of the synagogue just days after a synagogue was actually burnt in Melbourne, Australia, I felt the holiday’s relevance like never before.

Certainly, we exchange gifts, but fundamentally Hanukkah signifies never forgetting the past and having faith in our community’s power to recover from whatever challenges we face.

I understand why this period during the Second Temple was celebrated as a miracle two millennia ago. We could use another miracle now as we tear open wrapping paper and push aside the horrors.

Like many others, my family is a quilt of Jewish stars and Catholic crosses connected by a profound respect for tradition, family, and heritage itself. The fact that it all coincides this year? Hallelujah.

Zibby Owens is the editor of the USA Today bestseller “On Being Jewish Now: Reflections from Authors and Advocates” and five additional books. Follow her on Substack and Instagram @zibbyowens.