Shedding Light on Jánuka
When people find out Daniel Santacruz is Hispanic and Jewish, a common reaction is, “Huh?” Of course, there is no contradiction: Jews immigrated to Latin America centuries ago when expelled from Spain. Other Hispanics converted to Judaism, as did Santacruz.

Jánuka rituals are recognizable to Jews from Buenos Aires to Moscow to Tel Aviv. Or in Teaneck, New Jersey, where the Santacruzes live.

The holiday commemorates the miracle in 165 B.C.E. when the Maccabees reclaimed the Temple of Jerusalem for Jewish worship and a flask of oil lasted eight days. During the holiday, a nine-armed candelabra symbolizes the miracle. Family members kindle a candle for each of the eight nights of the Festival of Lights. Children and adults then recite Hebrew prayers and sing “Ocho candelikkas” in Ladino, a dialect of medieval Castilian spoken by Jews with Spanish roots.

“We light the candles at sunset, by Jewish law,” Santacruz explains. “You’re supposed to light candles by a window to publicize the miracle.”

Since becoming a mother, the holidays matter.

When I was single and childless, I didn’t much care about the holidays. I wasn’t raised with a religion, other than hippie Marxism. I saw the holidays as another excuse to worship the god of consumerism.

But the birth of my son, Alexander, now four, and my return to Albuquerque, New Mexico, the city of my childhood, changed all that.

I didn’t have a religious awakening or anything, but I did suddenly feel a need for ritual in our lives. And magic. Kids need magic, and I needed magic, too.

I found the Unitarian Universalist Church, where all faiths are respected—including secular skepticism—and began to celebrate everything from Easter to Christmas.

Thanksgiving, in particular, became meaningful for me, because Alexander has given me much to be thankful for.

I now look forward to the holidays the same way I used to look forward to birthdays when I was a kid. I’ve cobbled together a new set of traditions for Alexander and me, including a big Cuban meal on Nochebuena or on New Year’s Eve, attended by family and friends. There’s no feeling like standing in my kitchen with loved ones, listening to Cachao’s Cuban music, and sipping cafecito while a big pot of moros y cristianos simmers on the stove. It’s almost…holy. And it connects Alex and me to our Cuban heritage in a real way.

My mother’s family is native New Mexican, and I’ve tried to incorporate their traditions, including lining the walls and roof of my adobe house with luminarias and baking bizcochitos.

I suspect Alexander will one day be as scientifically minded as his mother. But for now, the look of wonder on his face as we leave a plate of cookies for Santa Claus is worth the suspension of my carefully cultivated cynicism.—Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez