Chanukah Lights Tonight
Steven Schneider
Our annual prairie Chanukah party—
latkes, kugel, cherry blintzes.
Friends arrive from nearby towns
and dance the twist to “Chanukah Lights Tonight,”
spin like a dreidel to a klezmer hit.
The candles flicker in the window.
Outside, ponderosa pines are tied in red bows.
If you squint,
the neighbors’ Christmas lights
look like the Omaha skyline.
The smell of oil is in the air.
We drift off to childhood
where we spent our gelt
on baseball cards and matinees,
cream sodas and potato knishes.
No delis in our neighborhood,
only the wind howling over the crushed corn stalks.
Inside, we try to sweep the darkness out,
waiting for the Messiah to knock,
wanting to know if he can join the party.
Last night while watching Bravo's Watch What Happens with Andy Cohen, the host wished his audience Happy Chanukah/Hannukah and gave away gifts baskets of games.
First off, let's just get this out of the way:
Hi, my Name is Danna and I'm a Real Housewive addict.
I admit that I am obsessed with The Real Housewives series and watch every single lurid episode and talk about these women and their problems as if they are girlfriends I speak to every night. It's a little embarrassing. A lot embarrassing, but I love/loathe/admire/detest these women. I don't know that I'd really want to know them, but I'd like to sit at a table next to them in whatever restaurant they are dining, and eavesdrop. Oh yes!
I suppose this is exactly what the series provides: a type of cultural anthropology project, a window into the private lives of women and their families. I can't imagine allowing a film crew to follow me and my family around.
I was one of those TV viewers that expressed disdain for this type of programming, made fun of people who watched it, but honestly, after watching one episode, you know the one, where New Jersey housewife Teresa flipped a table in a restaurant, well, I was hooked. I mean, who does that sort of thing and then justifies it, then claims her husband thought it was "hot" and that she is "classy"? So far, my favorite housewives are from the Beverly Hills series. Although it may be an oxymoron since they're the most botoxed, they seem real, less staged.
Back to the original poem-related point: I love the contrast of the sacred and profane, that of guests doing the twist to Chanukah Lights, and waiting for the Messiah to knock while looking out over a dark Mid-western landscape. What makes this poem powerful for me is that each of us find a way to express our beliefs, regardless of circumstance.
I think the contrast of the sacred to the profane speaks to the deepest core of my aesthetic. I love cathedrals, synagogues, mosques, sweat lodges, sacred rock formations, pilgrimage sites, any site that is sacred, but I can't love the religion. I'll sit in a cathedral and weep listening to altar boys sing in Latin, but ask me to accept a wafer as the body of Christ, forget it. The same goes for any sacrament that asks me to accept a messiah, a savior, prophet.
I love religious iconography and collect it, but only Christian and some Buddhist, and then to a point. I have a huge collection of crosses, but not a single rosary or crucifix. That crosses a line. Crosses predate Christianity. Actually, the majority of the basic tenets of Christianity predate the religion.
I've cobbled together my own belief system which relies very heavily on myth. It's the closest I've ever come to joining anything. Parallel myths are fascinating, and for me, have been like crumbs left in the forest, that if you look very closely, the moonlight will illuminate the way home.
Yes, I have gone on a rambling excursion in this post. What's my point? Whatever warms you, helps you to feel like you are welcome at the table, happy, happy holidays to you.
Sincerely.
No comments:
Post a Comment