Darkness Into Light
Six jubilant December days
It’s Christmastime. Actually, it’s been Christmastime since the day after Halloween, when I heard the first carol being played over stores’ speakers. This marks the beginning of my angst season that took hold with a vengeance as soon as I saw my first December issue of Martha Stewart Living. All those wreaths!, garlands!, homemade gifts!, hors d’oeuvres!, COOKIES! It doesn’t help that I married Father Christmas, a man who spends two whole days stringing tree lights because he’s a firm adherent to the school of back and interior lighting, while listening to myriad versions of A Christmas Carol, including a little-known musical production called The Stingiest Man in Town.
As all this indicates, I was raised a Christian, specifically Catholic, but I did not grow up with a tradition of lavish celebration, except for the very high trappings of midnight mass. Two weeks before the holiday, a little manger was prominently displayed on a bookshelf, but over the years another little plaster statue either broke or disappeared, eventually leaving us with the baby Jesus minus His crib, Mary, one wise man with a smashed crown, and a cow. Ceramic Santa beer mugs were brought out of the china closet, a plush singing Santa balanced on a windowsill, and a fake wreath hung on the door. Mom bought a more expensive cut of roast beef, and a bottle of Baileys Irish Cream appeared along with the dessert.
My past and now present have one thing in common—an equal myopic ignorance about other religious and cultural holidays that take place in December and how they are celebrated. My friends’ and colleagues’ Hanukkah gatherings seemed drowned under mistletoe. From the beginning, my whiteness felt like a barrier to taking part in Kwanzaa festivities. Long overdue and most deservingly, they have emerged from Christmas’s shadow over the last several years .
Personally, though, I still have gaps about their particulars—more shame on me than anything else. Others, though, are completely unknown.
I put a list together this morning:
November 28–December 6, Hanukkah, the festival of lights signifying the victory of Judah the Maccabee over Antiochus IV Epiphanes, the king of the invading Syrian Greeks
December 8, Bodhi Day, commemorating the enlightenment of Siddhartha Gautama
December 12, Feast Day of Our Lady of Guadalupe, a Catholic holiday that is explicitly revered by Mexicans and Mexican Americans as the day the Virgin Mary appeared to a peasant in Mexico City
December 21, Yalda, the Zoroastrian religion’s celebration of the winter solstice
December 21, Yule or Yule Log, the day pagans mark as the end of the dark times and a return to the light
December 26–January 1, Kwanzaa, honoring the heritage, culture, and contributions of African Americans in our history
December 31, Ōmisoka or Jo-Ya night, Japanese observance of the year’s last day
It’s certain there’s a world more that I’ve failed to discover. But these all share a commonality. At their center lies a feast of special dishes that symbolize and augments the holiday’s meaning.
As always, food is a doorway into forging an affinity with a people and place we know very little of. I’m going to rectify my own ignorance by setting seven tables with a traditional dish on each holiday. We’ll be moving together through December, from darkness into the solstice light with joy and happiness and hope for a better world.
We’ll start by honoring Judith and the central role she and her latkes played in her conquest of yet another general bent on vanquishing the Israelites. Her story and my attempt to make decent latkes will be Saturday’s treat!
Fabulous! I love all the festivals that bring light to the darkness. Can’t wait for the latke story and recipe. Also, there is one more feast day to add to the list. St. Lucia’s day on December 13 (which happens to be my birthday - this is Leigh writing) to commemorate St Lucy, the eldest daughter of the house would wear a wreath with candles on their heads and serve her family coffee and baked goods which generally included saffron rolls. I could never talk my mom into letting me wear lit candles, but I love that my birthday celebrates a martyr who would carry water and food to dissidents hiding in the catacombs of Rome.