By Because eight nights is a long time, why not go a little meshuga with unique activities? Forget ordinary spinning for gelt. Instead play the Dreidel Stock Market! Assign fluctuating financial values to nun, gimel, hey, and shin, then shock guests by hollering, “The Gimel bubble is about to burst! Sell everything now!” Next, hold a Latke Olympics featuring a Speed Potato Grating event (aka The Finger Bandage Relay) after which everyone performs synchronized frying routines. Craft Time! DIY Menorahs made from household items you’ll never use. Think outside the box—and inside the junk drawer. Potential menorah materials might include eight old iPhones plus a shamash made from a discarded Android. (Bonus points if it looks like a modern art installation titled, “Oy!”)
Time to inspire a little “Chanukah Envy” from the gentiles next door (whose tradition it is to hire the Joffrey Ballet to perform Nutcracker nightly on their front lawn) by opening your windows and yelling to your 16-year-old, “Guess what, Jonah? You’re getting EIGHT brand-new cars! Yes, that’s right! A different one for each of the EIGHT nights of Chanukah!” (Always emphasize our holiday lasts more than an entire week) If you feel a bit remorseful, continue shouting, “But since you’re not supposed to use electricity on Shabbos, we’ll give the Tesla to the nice Smith family.” Follow this up with a little something I like to call “Khanukah Kandle Lighting Karaoke.” Windows still ajar, entertain your neighborhood by belting out The Doors “C’mon Baby Light My Fire!” and The Talking Heads “Burning Down the House!” Then dedicate Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive!” to the Maccabees.
And because Jews love to argue, finish off the celebration with a passionate debate, “Latkes vs. Sufganiyot: Which Chanukah food reigns supreme?” Rules: Must reference a historical fact that’s probably untrue. Must cite a study from Tel Aviv University that absolutely does not exist. When all the attendees are exhausted from quarreling, it’s time to remind everyone it’s nearly January 1st and therefore we need a list of New Year’s Resolutions that no Jew would ever consider making. I’ll help launch it off with a few of mine:
- “This year I’ll stop asking people if they’re hungry.” Sure. And next year I’ll stop breathing. Asking “Did you eat?” is our people’s way of saying, “Hello.”
- “I’ll stop kvelling about my children’s accomplishments unless asked.” Impossible. If you so much as make brief eye contact with me, you’ll hear about someone’s SAT score, violin solo, or the grand opening of their dental practice! Mazel Tov to me!
- “I’ll embrace minimalism.” Right after explaining ‘minimalism’ to my drawer of 100 plastic Ralphs grocery bags nesting inside the other drawer of larger Trader Joe’s brown paper bags.
- “I will not pre-slice the bagels under the guise that I’m helping the hostess.” It’s a reflex. Put a bag of bagels on a counter and within minutes a Jewish person appears with a serrated knife like some kind of carb-loving Superhero.
- “I’ll stop interrogating servers.” I’ll only ask a few necessary questions like “Is it dairy-free?” and “What’s the wildest thing your wild salmon has ever done?” and “Instead of the hollandaise sauce, can you substitute a breakfast steak?” and “Do you have something that’s not on the menu but similar?” We keep waiters on their toes. It’s our gift.
- “I’ll stop arguing with people about the best place to buy lox.” This will never happen. Everyone knows the best lox is from a place that moved to La Jolla in 1993 and now no longer exists and was run by that man who invented the Dreidel Stock Market and Latke Olympics.
- “I will not worry anymore.” Ha! Okay, let’s be serious. The only resolution a Jew might make is “Next year, I’ll try to feel less guilty.” But even then? We’d feel guilty for not feeling guilty.
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