The True Meaning of Hanukkah

Growing up, Christmas didn't mean a thing to this Brooklyn-bred Jew. Some of my other friends in the Tribe envied the families who celebrated Christmas; not me.

Chanukah didn't make much of an impression. My parents were generous but perfunctory. I was asked what big item I wanted, and I'd get it. At the time, it seemed like a great deal. I remember asking for, and receiving, a Panasonic reel-to-reel tape recorder, which back then cost an astonishing $120. God knows why I wanted it, but Mr. and Mrs. Rosen were kind enough to give it to me.

(I remember taping fake interview shows hosted by me and supported by the few friends patient enough to indulge me in this particular brand of meglomania. Eventually, I taped episodes of my favorite sitcoms and listened to them later - a visionary act 15 years before the advent of the VCR and a disturbing preview of my later years of media collecting.)

When I got old enough - I think I was 14 - the gifts stopped, and I didn't lament the end of that era.

So why is it that I'm such a sucker for Hanukkah now that I'm an adult? It's certainly not the underlying story of The Oil That Lasted Eight Nights. Even the most hardcore Hebrew (and that's not me) knows Hahukkah is a sham, a construct by American Jewish parents to distract their children from the more exciting goings on in and around The Rest of America.

No. The reason I love Hanukkah is that each year, I must - must - find eight perfect presents for each member of my family.

I am solely in charge of holiday shopping in my house. It's one of the few domestic tasks I'm well-suited for.

Perhaps too well-suited. I remember one year when my older son Ben cried because by Night # 8, he was overwhelmed with the sheer amount of stuff we gave him. I consider that an accomplishment, albeit one laced with shame.

Thinking back over the years, we've torn through every youth-oriented trend and passion. We've covered various videogame platforms; Legos; books; graphic novels; CDs; gift cards for clothing stores (Rule # 1: NEVER buy clothing for any child over 13).

Then there was the organization of the present-giving, a critical sub-category of the ritual. Here are some more rules: Big presents, if they're part of the mix, must be given on the same night to both kids. Never give two kids videogames on the same night, unless you want to see blood shed. Books are cool, educational, wonderful, but not when they're given on the same night as the other kid gets anything with a plug attached.

Gift-giving was never a problem until the last year or so, as my kids have grown into young men. What do you buy a 20-year-old for Hanukkah? Or a 16-year-old, for that matter?

No matter. I'll figure something out, and before long, the UPS delivery guy will start to know us by name once again.

I know I should scale back. But the minute I do that, I'm conceding that my kids are grown and that a certain era is passed. That's not something I'm prepared to do just yet, so my kids - and Amazon.com - will continue to benefit from my attempt to stop time.