On all other nights, we either light one candle or three or more candles. Why, on that night, do we always light two candles? And why do we light the second one with the first one we lit, rather than using a match for both?

A questions, questions. Life is filled with them.

So, it’s Hanukkah again. The holiday that Rabbi Avis Miller once said was “the most important Jewish Holiday”. (Rabbi Eugene Lipman similarly once talked about Thanksgiving as the holiday more Jews observed in America than any other…..but I digress) Why the most important Jewish holiday? Because, she said, if it weren’t for the Maccabees, Judaism wouldn’t exist. Well, to tell you the truth, I am not so sure. Probably an exaggeration. Judaism is clearly a religion of survival.

The Maccabees revolted because King Antiochus, for reasons apparently unclear, decided that the Jews were going to revolt, and decided to outlaw Jewish practice. A great example of unanticipated consequences – there was no revolt in the planning until Antiochus took this action – then the non-existent revolt he feared actually materialized, and he had the losing hand.

Often, this revolt is viewed primarily as a revolt against Hellenization, but that does not seem to be true, either. Judaism had accommodated itself to being part of the Greek empire, and while some Jews had Hellenized more than others, this does not seem to be the cause of the revolution, and indeed Hellenization did not stop after the Maccabees came out victorious. The Temple was cleaned, but the use of Greek language and practices did continue.

Which, of course, brings me to St. Louis in the 1940s. My family was 98% Jewish. I had one great uncle who married a Catholic woman, and – at that time – that was it. Everyone else was Jewish. We belonged to a Reform congregation, as did most of my family and friends. None of my family, in my memory, would have described themselves as Conservative, and those who were Orthodox were at least two generations older than I was.

We celebrated Hanukkah by lighting candles every night. And, as I remember, my sister and I got a modest present every night – maybe a dollar – something like that.

And then there was Christmas. This was the big day. We did not have a tree, but we did hang up stockings and in the morning the house was filled with Christmas presents wrapped in holiday paper. They were brought to the house by Santa Claus.

Sure, I believed in Santa Claus. And I was very impressed with him that he delivered presents to Jewish houses, even though we didn’t believe in Jesus or Christmas. I thought he went out of his way to make sure that we didn’t feel overlooked.

Our Christmas afternoon was generally spent at my father’s law partner’s house. They were Catholic and had a big tree. I always felt a little uneasy there, like we were trespassing, I think. I knew the day was something different to them than it was to us. I wondered if they really wanted us there. Perhaps we were keeping them from doing what they really wanted to do.

My other memories of the Christmas season? The downtown department stores and their window displays. We used to go down and look at them. And of course, the Christmas carols at school – no Hanukkah songs then. And a general holiday spirit that pervaded everything.

After my sister, younger than me, realized that Santa Claus was a fantasy, our Christmas celebration slowed down. Maybe it stopped. I don’t remember any Christmas gifts as I got older.

Once I left home for college, Christmas day didn’t seem special to me in any way. And I don’t remember paying too much attention to Hanukkah either. At college, as in high school, I had an equal number of Jewish and gentile friends, and religion paid no part in any discussions or activities. I was not involved in any Jewish groups at college – my few visits to Hillel left me uncomfortable – the students who hung out there had backgrounds very different from mine.

Several weeks ago, a topic of discussion on my Thursday morning breakfast Zoom, with about 30 older Jewish guys, the topic of Christmas celebrations in schools came up. Those of us (by far the majority) who went to public schools remember the Christmas celebrations and the question of how we should respond to them. People responded very differently at the time, it appears.

But one thing was obvious. Being surrounded by Christmas, Christmas spirit, Christmas music and even Christmas gifts did nothing to detract from our Jewishness as we grew up, or even then.

I know there are those who hate the Christmas season and feel alien to everything around them. That’s not me, I am happy to say.

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On a very different note, I just finished reading “The Disenchanted” by Budd Schulberg. Never had read anything by him before.

It’s an interesting book to compare with “Tar”, the Cate Blanchett film I discussed yesterday. “Tar”, you recall (ha, ha) is about a world class first female conductor of the Berlin Philharmonic, whose life and career tumbles, largely due to her sexual exploitation antics. “The Disenchanted” is about a writer, not a musician, and a male, not a female. But the story is the same: he wins a Pulitzer Prize at an early age and writes a number of very successful books before his alcoholism and his relationship with the female sex destroys his literary career. He tries to resuscitate it as he gets an opportunity to write a Hollywood screen play, but what begins to fall apart can never be put together again. Although there were parts I didn’t care for, it’s a good, well written novel. Just odd that it comes so close to the film. (“The Disenchanted”, by the way, is actually about F. Scott Fitzgerald, who was a friend of Schulberg’s, and the story in the book is apparently very close to the story of Fitzgerald. As they say: who knew?)