My maternal grandmother escaped Poland in the outbreak of World War II, spent time in a Russian gulag, lost almost all of her family and wouldn’t talk about or acknowledge her Judaism at all. It was, after all, the cause of all her suffering.
However neither of them would be very impressed to know I’d married someone who isn’t Jewish. But you can’t help who you fall in love with, right? Ironically, it was my husband who led me home, to my own tribe.
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When I met my husband, a proud Birpai and Dhunghutti man, I knew some of the true history of this country, but I threw myself into learning so much more. It was the least I could do, knowing that I would one day be raising Aboriginal children on stolen land.
But it was watching my husband with his people, people who share his culture and his ritual, that I remembered what I had lost, in growing distant from my own. I missed not having to explain my humour, my culture, my festivals, my history and my fear for what might be to come, especially as we collectively watch white supremacy slink out of the shadows and bask in apparent acceptability.
There is no doubt that this year’s Chanukah celebration is so much more than it’s been in years gone by.
Finally, especially in Melbourne, where most of Australia’s Jewish population lives, we are with nearby family again. We are celebrating milestones collectively. Not all of us, but many of us, are again at the heart of our tribes – the people who know us best and love us the most. We are rescheduling our cancelled rituals. I cried like a baby when one of my closest friends set a date for her rescheduled wedding.
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We are shopping in our favourite delis and bumping into friends we haven’t seen for a year. Or more. Some of us are introducing our babies to their families for the first time.
Unlike the High Holy Days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, which are defined by synagogue ritual and prayer, you don’t need a synagogue to celebrate Chanukah. It is more often celebrated in open spaces like parks and squares around the world with giant lights and public parties, making it attractive to less religious or secular audiences.
It has also grown in order to help Jewish kids feel they have their own celebration to enjoy as Christmas grows ever more powerful in cultural and Hallmark terms. When we think about Chanukah this year and what it represents, perhaps rather than the word “miracle”, we could think about “blessings”. I can’t think of a year when the need to celebrate survival, our blessings and our miracles was greater.
Because the festival of Chanukah tells the story of a small pot of oil that burned eight nights, we will eat potato latkes (fried potato and onion pancakes) and ponchkes (jam doughnuts). We will light our menorah and remember that light can be found, even in the darkest of hours.
And as we light each of the nine candles on the final night, as my husband stands with us, we will remember the survival of both our families through the toughest of times, whether historic, recent or as we face head on any challenges yet to come.
Isabelle Oderberg is a Melbourne writer.
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