Sorry, But You're Destined to Be A Lonely Gentile Again This Hanukkah

Ever longingly looked through a frosted window at a Jewish family saying a prayer before dinner? Or had that feeling during Christmas when you bite into some glazed ham and a “sweet” pickle and think “whoa, this is a weird, inappropriate combo”?

I’ve been there, man. For a gentile with some close Jewish friends, Hanukkah’s a pretty difficult time. Plenty of us live with this burning hunger for a more formal, traditional non-Christian holiday, but don’t possess the knowledge or finesse to blend in at a Jewish dinner the way homemade applesauce blends perfectly with fried latkes. Honestly, I had to Google three times to figure out if Hanukkah even needs a “C” on the front of it or not for this article, and I’m still not sure! I’m not!!! 

A long time ago, in a Toronto-North York suburb far, far away, I was invited to a Jewish dinner. I was just a young goy then, but had started working part-time at a very kosher summer camp. I had big dreams for the meal-time future. “Finally!” I thought. “I can finally prove myself, and put this timeless Seinfeld knowledge to good use…I’m Jewish-capable!” But alas, I was never invited back.

Shunned.

Exiled.

Left to wander the awkward, Christmas-centric desert, like that old famous Jewish…desert…guy.

But, why? Why was I cast out from future holiday dinners? What horrible innocent mistake did I make? Was it because I talked during a prayer prior to candles and bread cutting? Was it because I don’t consider the topic of circumcision a “Jewish thing” (and can prove it)? Was it because I said phrases like “Jewish thing”? When was I “supposed” to light the rest of the candles? Which one was the appropriate candle of the week?  Would it have helped if I didn’t bring my own chocolate money and/or shared it? Who doesn’t love Adam Sandler? Does anyone still? Was Jerusalem stuff off-limits? Did they hear me practicing that kind of loogey-ish “auch” noise that some Hebrew words always seem to have built into them? Where do you spit afterwards? Why didn’t anyone else get their own table? Was that the non-Jew table? Did that mean they could tell I wasn’t Jewish?

Maybe some riddles don’t have one clear answer. Whatever the reason, I think it’s too late for me. Despite my lush, brown hair and desk Yiddish proverb calendar, this Marley’s Ghost has been tongue-tied one too many times. There’s no use feeling grumpy about it. (When you’re anti-Christmas, you’re a “grinch,” but when you reject Hanukkah, you’re just anti-Semitic.)

Nope, I’ve accepted that no matter how many days of celebration, I may never get close enough to really experience the true meaning of (C?)Hanukkah. But whenever I sing about things made out of clay, or when the last drops of my vegetable oil lasts several days past that expected final stir-fry, I’ll look to the stars, well-wish upon my Talmud-savvy friends, and think fondly of Jew. Shalomers!

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Steve Hobbs is a Toronto-based actor/comedian/writer, trained in improv and sketch writing through Second City’s Conservatory and longform programs. He’s also a past senior editor/writer for The Beaverton satiric Canadian news magazine and is best known for his work at Toronto Fringe 2014 in sketch juggernaut “Everything is Fine,” as well as with ex-Impatient Theatre Co. headliners “El Fantoma.”