My neighbors do not skimp when it comes to Christmas decorations. They put a ton of work into their outdoor lights — the type that sync with music — and my kids look forward to it every year.
In 2023, they went above and beyond and gifted us the quintessential inflatable Hanukkah bear. You know the one: It’s blue and white, wearing a kippah, holding a dreidel, and is one of the few Hanukkah inflatables on the market.
They wanted my Jewish kids to feel part of the holiday spirit, and it meant the world to us. But it was two months after the Hamas attack on Oct. 7, 2023, and with the rise of antisemitic incidents around the country, I was hesitant to put it up. So it went into our garage, where we ultimately forgot about it.
Until the following holiday season, when my kids asked about the bear. The year that followed the Oct. 7 attack was terrifying for Jews. We dealt with our own local scares and began to feel as though we were not safe exposing our Jewish identities. I didn’t hesitate that year; I flat out refused to put out the bear.
This year, on the day after Thanksgiving, we decked the inside of our home with Hanukkah decorations, as is our tradition. We put up lights and displayed all of our many menorahs.
This year, I found a pink light-up menorah to put in the window — and, outside, we put up the Hanukkah bear.
Why is this year different? Antisemitism is still on the rise. Jew hatred has, if anything, gotten worse as each month passes. And yet, we put up the bear.
Here’s why:
Last year, as our Hanukkah bear sat deflated in the garage, we drove around our neighborhood to look at lights. My kids were elated to see any semblance of Hanukkah as we passed house after house. “A menorah!” my oldest shouted. “There’s other Jews here, Mommy!”
Sitting in the front seat, hidden by the dark of night, I began to cry. My then 5-year-old was so proud to be Jewish, so excited to know someone was just like her, yet I was scared to do the same. I prevented other Jewish kids in the neighborhood from having that same feeling of elation. And I let the hatred win.
This year, I refused to make that mistake again. After we inflated the Hanukkah bear and placed it on our front lawn, we took pictures with the kids, and we were all very excited.
But it hasn’t been easy. When the bear first went up, we were filled with joy. But as night fell and I lay in bed thinking of every car passing our house, I was filled with dread. What if something happened? What if we became a target? I felt like I was putting my family in danger. And that first night, I asked my husband to unplug the bear.
“Just for tonight,” I said.
In the days that followed, I continued to wrestle with the decision. As my neighbors and friends strung red and green lights around their homes and adorned their lawns with reindeer and Santa Claus, I felt angry.
Why am I forced to choose between joy and safety? Why, as a Jew, do I have to worry about an innocent Hanukkah bear inflatable sitting on my lawn?
So the bear went back up, where it will remain.
As editor of the Jewish Journal, I often already feel like a target for hatred. But every day, I get to speak with the Jewish community, with Holocaust survivors who would never have dreamed of a day when something like an inflatable Hanukkah bear was even a product to buy. I will keep the bear up for them.
I will keep it up for my children, who I hope and pray will grow up to be proud of their heritage. And I will keep it up for all the other children, Jewish and not, to see a Hanukkah bear and not think of it as controversial, or as a sign of hate, but as what it is: an adorable holiday decoration.
This year, I hope our local Jewish community will do the same. Be loud. Be proud. And put up those Hanukkah bears. You never know who may drive by and feel that much-needed Jewish pride.
Jewish Journal editor Jessica Tzikas can be reached at jtzikas@sunsentinel.com.
