Hanukkah Guilt

Now that Hanukkah is finally over – ok, it’s been over for quite a few days – it is time to confront the elephant in the room. Hanukkah guilt. And no, I’m not talking about the jelly donuts.

Eight days is a long holiday. 2000 years ago life had a more leisurely pace, unless of course you were busy running for your life from the Roman Legion. But most of the time things were kind of slow. You’d get up in the morning, milk the goat, tend the wheat field maybe, bake a bit of bread, but that was pretty much it. Lighting candles every night was no big deal because you had to do it anyway if you wanted to see anything.

But in the 21st century life is more hectic. With all the things that each day contains it’s hard to remember to light the candles every night, the candles that come thoughtfully packaged 44 to a box, the exact number you will need. This is especially true if you don’t have children around to tug at you and nag. So after Hanukkah is over, you’re stuck with the box that still has anywhere from 4 to 15 left in it.

What are you supposed to do with them? They’re too small to use in regular candle holders and too big to use on birthday cakes. And they’re multi-colored so they don’t fit in with any kind of décor. So the box hangs around in a kitchen drawer, reminding you of the simple ritual that should not have been too much to ask and still you forgot. Guilt. When I moved out of my old house I found a total of seven boxes stashed in various drawers. Guilt x7.

I can’t help but think that there are other people that this happens to. I can’t be the only one.

The Staff of Life

The young people of the kibbutz are raising money to buy equipment, like a new TV, for their lounge. They do this by selling hot, fresh hallah at noon on Fridays. This makes me very happy. Bread always does.

Have you ever noticed that bread is the one thing you can eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner seven days a week and not get tired of it? There’s a reason for that: we’re hard-wired to love bread. Just the scent of it baking in the oven can inspire rapture. It’s the staff of life.

So you can imagine my consternation when my doctor innocently suggested that I cut my carbs by 20%. Eat less bread? You might as well tell me to breathe 20% less air. Nobody ever tells you to eat fewer cucumbers. It’s only the stuff you really love that you have to give up.

I’m already looking forward to the taste of the dense, sweet, braided loaf tomorrow. Some simple pleasures cannot be denied. I’ll make up the percentages later.