On Monday Dec. 15, a wide array of baked brie, mac & cheese, dolmas, salmon, kugel, and salads stretched out before me. “I think the cranberry sauce is really good,” said the woman beside me in the buffet line. “But that’s just because I made it,” she smiled. At the end of the counter sat a pile of freshly baked latkes, which was frequently replenished.
I was graciously invited to join the Jewish Federation of Greater Oklahoma City’s Torah study group at their Hanukkah celebration. The group’s leader of nearly 30 years, Helene Harpman, hosted the luncheon at her home.
The house was trimmed with banners saying “Happy Hanukkah” and paper cutouts in the shape of dreidels. There were four tables spread between two rooms, each having its own menorah and a plethora of dreidels and gelt––the spinning top and chocolate covered coins used for the traditional Hanukkah game of Dreidel.
This year, the Jewish holiday of Hanukkah began on the night of Dec. 14 and ended after nightfall on Dec. 22. The holiday, whose dates shift annually according to the Jewish calendar, originates from a story taking place in 168 B.C.E.
If the Hanukkah story is relatively new to you, you’re not alone. For my sake, the hosts of this party were gracious enough to not just tell, but reenact the Hanukkah story as written in the rhyming picture book “Maccabee!: The Story of Hanukkah” by Tilda Balsley.
“This story takes place during a time when Syria ruled over much of the land, including Jerusalem,” began Dr. Roberta Sloan, the founder and artistic director of the Jewish Theatre of Oklahoma, who was asked to lead this informal play. “Historically, Antiochus III was open to allowing Jews to completely worship in their own way. But when Antiochus V came along, that was not the case. That’s where we start.”
The four women reading the story played the parts of the narrator, Antiochus V, Mattathius Maccabee and his son, Judah Maccabee. The story told of how the Syrian army, under the leadership of Antiochus V, desecrated the Temple in Jerusalem and outlawed Judaism. Resisting the persecution from Antiochus, Judah and the Maccabees fought the Syrian army and, despite being outnumbered, won. “Sometimes it only takes a few / who know what’s right / and do it too,” read Sloan, who played the story’s narrator.
Because I was the only person at this party who was not familiar with the origin of the holiday, there was an evident level of lightness among those hearing the story for the millionth time. Laughter rippled through the room when “Antiochus” had to hold her script away from her face to accommodate her farsighted vision.
Now, for the part you may be more familiar with: After the battle, the Jewish community needed to re-sanctify the desecrated Temple. But, they could only find enough oil to provide light for one night. They decided to light the little oil they had anyway and, miraculously, it lasted eight whole nights.
Hanukkah is now referred to as “The Festival of Lights,” and for eight nights each year, Jewish households light their menorahs to commemorate this miracle.
For each night of the holiday, one candle is lit, in addition to an extra candle named the shamash—the candle designated for lighting the others (for the linguaphiles reading this, “shamash” translates to “helper” in Hebrew). So, on the first night of Hanukkah, two candles are lit: one representing the first night and the shamash. By the last night of Hanukkah, menorahs around the world glow with nine candles: eight representing the past eight days of Hanukkah and the shamash. The candles continue to burn until they’re gone, watching over friends and families as they eat dinner or play games together.
The holiday is also celebrated by eating latkes (potato pancakes), sufganiyot (jelly donuts) and other foods fried in oil, honoring the miraculous oil from centuries ago.
As members and friends of the Jewish Federation’s Torah study group ate their abundance of homemade Hanukkah foods, they talked about everything from personal news to politics to OU football.
In the middle of each table, a variety of dreidels laid atop trays with ample room for spinning. Harpman instructed, in her leader’s voice, that each table should play Dreidel because there would be prizes for winners and runner-ups. Perhaps due to beginner’s luck, the first two times I spun the dreidel it landed on the Hebrew letter gimel, meaning that I got the entire pot of gelt (twice).
However, most of the other tables were too engaged in conversation to play the game. We managed to do both.
“One time, when I was in Kosovo training peacekeepers,” began Dr. Stephen Sloan, a Professor Emeritus of OU’s political science department. He was wearing a blue sweater that featured a menorah with blinking lights and the words “Too Lit To Quit.” “This group of kids ran up to me,” he continued. “They started pointing to my white beard, saying ‘Santa Claus! Santa Claus!’” He laughed, and I asked the natural follow-up question: Did you pretend to be Santa Claus? “Of course! Ho, ho, ho!” said Sloan, dropping into a deep, Santa Claus-like voice.
As is known to avid readers of The Gazette’s food features, meals are a special way to rejoice in community and bring loved ones together. While large dinners or parties are not required for celebrating Hanukkah, the Torah group’s celebration lent itself naturally to the holiday exemplifying Jewish joy and perseverance.
At a time when anti-Jewish attacks are becoming more prevalent worldwide—a deadly mass shooting targeted a Hanukkah celebration in Australia just one day before Harpman’s luncheon—spending an afternoon at such a joyous Hanukkah celebration was an important reminder of Jewish resilience through community.
The menorah lighting concluded the luncheon. Guests stood around the largest table, which was thoughtfully placed next to the abundant dessert table, and sang the blessing for lighting the menorah as the candles were lit. Even though most party-goers communed around the largest table, menorahs throughout the house were illuminated.
One particularly beautiful metal menorah stood on a table in the house’s entryway. “This was a wedding gift from my grandmother,” said Harpman. “It can hold oil, but I use candles. I’m not that old,” she laughed.
This article appears in Dec 24-2025.