----

Reflections on a Sufganiah

Though my family celebrated nearly all of the Jewish Holidays in traditional fashion growing up, those that stick strongest in my memory are the ones that were a time of gathering with our many reform cousins. Channukkah is one of the few that they did with a bang. My Grandpa Al, who passed before I was born, was one of eight. As kids we would run around his sister, Aunt Julie June's house. Hopped up on sugary treats and chocolate coins, we were a rambunctious chorus of "ooohs and aaaahs" when it came time for the white elephant gift exchange. I remember the many channukiahs - their candles burning low above the brown brick fireplace.

After Aunt Julie June passed my mom started hosting her own Channukkah parties. The crowd was a mix of family, friends, and random people my mother bumped into who she found out were Jewish (same for Passover). While my mom was kibbitzing with the crowd, my father was behind two lines of yellow "caution" tape in the kitchen, frying and powdering fresh doughnuts with sugar. Those sufganiot were a specialty of his. One of the few things he was competent making in the kitchen. I usually came by to take one, made a round and when he wasn't look came back for another. I usually repeated the process till I was on the verge of being sick.

As Channukkah came around this year, I found myself craving a freshly fried doughnut. I called my parents to catch up and they told me about their Channukkah get together. A smaller group than normal, and my father lamented the fact that out of all the sufis he made, few indulged in them. Was that in fact always the case, and it was simply my absence that accounted for the piles of uneaten donuts?

In anticipation of lighting candles with my sister last night, I prepared a batch of the traditional sufganiot. We lit candles and fried them up, they tasted great, but didn't quite smack of my youth. Nonetheless, upon sending the above picture to our family group chat my father responded:

"Boaz, I'm so proud of you. You're carrying on the tradition."

The taste may change, but the depth and joy of our tradition and practices do not.

Happy Channukkah,

Boaz