Happy Hannika!

Growing up in a sporadically practicing Jewish family, I harbored a quiet animosity toward Hanukkah. I know what you're thinking: What's not to like about Hanukkah? Eight crazy nights of loot compared to Christmas' paltry one; potato pancakes and chocolate coinage to offset the seven-month aftertaste of April's gefilte fish; and no schlepping to synagogue to atone for stolen Snickers bars or playground teasing.

[Read the rest of my Hanukah essay in the Sunday Oregonian. And my account to brave an adult spelling bee is here, in Portland Monthly mag.]

AuthorDavid Wolman