Hanukkah, oh Hanukkah, come light the menorah.
Let's have a party, we'll all dance the horah.
Gather 'round the table, we'll give you a treat.
Dreidels to play with and latkes to eat.
And while we are playing, the candles are burning low.
One for each night, they shed a sweet light, to remind us of days long ago.
One for each night, they shed a sweet light, to remind us of days long ago.
- Traditional lyrics
When I was growing up, celebrating Hanukkah, the Festival of the Lights, was fairly traditional. The family gathered for dinner – beef brisket accompanied by white potatoes and carrots, green beans, sesame seed rolls, lukshen (noodle) kugel, and, of course, latkes – potato pancakes – grated, oniony, fried pieces of heavenly goodness with a dollop of sour cream. It was a feast to celebrate the miracle of the oil; the small amount of lamp oil that lasted for eight nights after the Maccabees defeated the Seleucid Greeks. It wasn’t fancy or gourmet; it was comfort food.
Before dinner, the adults would sip cocktails and nosh on chopped chicken or beef liver and crackers. At the dinner table, we mostly drank water or soda, because my folks weren’t big drinkers, and they weren’t wine drinkers. If wine was needed for a barucha (blessing), there was Manischewitz Concord Grape. Insert shudder here.
