Hanukkah Miracles

First and foremost, Happy Hanukkah to all who celebrate, which, as you may know, includes my own family, the Harrington-McLaughlin Clan.

I bet you didn’t see the latter half of that sentence coming, did you?

To those who are raising an eyebrow in confusion, allow me a sidebar: Neither myself nor my children's father have any ties to Judaism, be it cultural or religious. We were each raised in staunchly Irish-Catholic households, guided by mothers whose fervor for the faith could effortlessly earn them a spot in the "Catholic Mothers Hall of Fame." 

To add to the religious richness, I grew up in a dual-faith family. My father was a Baptist of the “fire and brimstone” variety, but that is a story for another time.

The family that Mick and I created was ushered into the Festival of Lights in 2008 when our then-five-year-old daughter, Bennie, asked Santa for a menorah. Santa provided, and we have celebrated our version of Hanukkah nearly every year since then, earning Bennie the nickname “My Jewish Kid.”

We are nothing if not culturally diverse, even if that culture is not the one into which we were born.

Now that we have that context laid out, let’s return to the story at hand.

This year marks a new era in our Hanukkah celebrations. We were welcomed into my dear friend and fellow writer Beth Knaus's home to celebrate the holiday in its more traditional form. 

The signature trait of this new era is that this year marks the first time in Bennie’s life that she will celebrate Hanukkah with Jewish people. 

We've received invitations to celebrate Hanukkah before, and it's not that we've ever excluded Jewish friends or family from our celebrations. It just happens that, after 15 years of Bennie embracing her "Jewish Kid" identity, the timing aligned for us to engage in the festivities this time fully.

So this year, we left the Little People Hanukkah set at home, and instead of celebrating with a group of kids whose common denominator is that their dads all hail from Donegal, Ireland, we supped on latkes and brisket and gathered around Beth’s dining room table for the lighting of several menorahs. As luck would have it, the one I lit was a baseball-themed one, a nice nod to my dad, The World’s Biggest Red Sox Fan.

A good time was had by all, including Bennie’s boyfriend, Jason, who had never been a part of a Hanukkah celebration.

But friends, the miracles of Hanukkah didn't end there. And while I wouldn't want to seem like I’m playing favorites with my children, I can't resist sharing another incredible story, this time about Bennie's younger sibling, Ivy.

It’s no state secret that my children’s father and I have split up. But something I haven’t been very public about is that for an excruciatingly long period, I was estranged from both of my children. Bennie returned to me first, but Ivy held firm that she wanted no-contact.

Earlier this year, Ivy came back into my life. It began with calls and texts, though there was a period when she chose to return to no-contact status. However, late this summer, with some assistance from her sibling, we reunited face-to-face over coffee and, later, over dinner.

And last Friday, following the first night of Hanukkah, Ivy paid me a surprise visit at my house. She was getting her car detailed in the neighborhood and needed a place to hang out for a few hours. We spent the afternoon together, and for the first time in over three years, I felt the warmth of having my younger child back in my life. While I can’t speak for Ivy, I can say that our heartfelt conversation, which traversed a wide range of topics, was profoundly healing for me.

With that said, feel free to grab some tissues and carry on with your day and festivities, whatever they may be. 

May your year's end be illuminated with holiday joy and filled with wondrous moments.