Based on the title, you probably think that this blog post is going to be about the year I lived in Israel when I ate hot-from-the-streetcart sufganiyot (jelly doughnuts) every day for the month leading up to Hanukkah. Or about the years when I refrained from getting eight gifts for my kids, one for each night. Or the way one of my children practically weeps with envy when he sees colored lights on other neighbors’ houses. Or those nights when I don’t want the whole house to smell like oil so I tell the kids that we are out of potatoes.
You’d be wrong.
Instead it’s a funny story from my young friend Kayla – a Kindergarten student whose parents and I were kidding around about Jewish guilt, when her Dad asked her if she knew what “guilt” was. She nodded and said, “Un huh – it’s chocolate.” Turns out the night before they were talking about Hanukkah and they reminded her about the chocolate “Gelt” that she would be eating soon.
That’s the kind of Hanukkah Guilt I could get behind.