As you are obviously very aware, we are in the final countdown to the most exciting, glittery, delightful holiday of the year. Yes! I’m talking about Hanukah! Can I get a woop woop?

Hanukah, which begins tomorrow night, is the only religious holiday I know of where the less observant you are, the larger it looms in your religious consciousness. Because, in truth, it’s a pretty minor holiday in the Jewish calendar. Yet with the pluck of a wildly ambitious reality TV star, it has pushed its way to the forefront of the Jewish holiday lineup. Among the non-chosen people, it might even be better known than Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Pesach, the Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett of the group, now overshadowed by Hanukah’s Rylan Clark-Neal.

This is because (for reasons I will shortly get to) it is the favoured holiday of the assimilated Jew. But first allow me to play Hebrew school teacher for a moment while I tell you the story of Hanukah: according to the first and second book of the Maccabees (which FYI has nothing to do with The Maccabees), Hanukah celebrates a small group of Jews who refused to worship the gods of their Greek-Syrian oppressors and thus refused to assimilate. Alas for poor old Hanukah itself, however, it has, in a classic Jewish joke of a twist, become the most assimilated of the Jewish holidays because of its proximity to Christmas. So a holiday that was once about maintaining one’s proud Jewish heritage has, in the minds of many, become Santa Claus with candles. Hell, the Hallmark channel now even makes Hanukah-themed romcoms. (Who was it who said that those Zionists, even if they lived in this country for a very long time, don’t understand English irony? Because I’ve lived in this country for fricking ages and I am all over the irony here.)

Assimilation has slightly tricky connotations these days. Like being a centrist, it was once touted as a sensible compromise but is now viewed as a problematic and self-defeating. And it goes further: urging immigrants or minorities to assimilate is now seen as tantamount to racism, a euphemistic way of shouting at foreigners on public transport to speak English, we’re in England, for fook’s sake.

Yet the undeniable fact is that I am utterly assimilated. Nine years of Hebrew school means I know my way around the Hebrew alphabet. But I also have a collection of Christmas tchotchkes so extensive, they have their own storage box. Do you need at least four Santa snow globes? Or a selection of artfully decorated dreidls? Got you a woman who can do both.

For most of my life I’ve had conflicted feelings about my assimilation, but the reasons have changed. Even though I grew up in New York (a city so Jewish Jesse Jackson once referred to it, charmingly, as “Hymietown”), my childhood social circle was remarkably unJewish. Next to my friends, who were mainly blond and spent summers at tennis camp, I saw myself as a semitic little freak, condemned to spend weekends in a dark synagogue with my dark hair, learning to write an ancient language no one I knew spoke. (And that includes my parents.)

Although my mother dutifully took me to Hebrew school and ensured I was batmitzvahed, the reason I am so assimilated is because my parents are. My mother loves Pesach and Rosh Hashanah (nobody loves Yom Kippur), but she loves Christmas at least as much. If you think my Christmas tchotchke collection is extensive, you should see my mother’s; after all, I only have her overspill.

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Once I started to make more Jewish friends, at university in the UK and as an adult in London, it was the “assimilated” part of my identity I began to resent, rather than the “Jewish” half. I envied friends who grew up with the undiluted version, who could lapse into Yiddish without a pause, who didn’t have to double-check whether you go to synagogue on the Friday or Saturday or both. How enviable to grow up with such a clear view of oneself, I’d think. I’d occasionally go to Jewish social centres where friendly people would talk to me in Hebrew and I’d have to say, “I don’t know what you’re saying but I can write it out phonetically? Does that count?”

Anyway, I obviously didn’t want it that much, because I never did anything about it. I somehow kept neglecting to go to synagogue while at the same time finding time to get a Christmas tree every year. I even shacked up with a goy – oy vey! But when my kids were born, I was damned if they weren’t going to feel Jewish, and I immediately put them down for Hebrew school, even if I have yet to take them. So last weekend I was horrified when one of them announced, correctly, that he was “Christian and Jewish”.

“You’re Jewish, because your mother is Jewish!” I hissed. He looked at me with all the condescension a four-year-old can muster: “It’s good, Mummy. It means we can celebrate Christmas and Hanukah.”

And given I was hanging a star on our Christmas tree at the time, I could hardly argue. But it’s “Mommy”, not “Mummy”, kid, OK? There’s only so much assimilation that’s allowed around here.

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