Chanukah just ain’t what it used to be, and this year was worse than usual. First, in response to the putative War on Christmas, our president quickly ordered a retaliatory strike on Chanukah. Not a good start.

Next, an innocent discussion at the lunch table led to a crisis of faith. I mentioned that I had always been fuzzy who the Maccabees were rebelling against. The Syrians? The Greeks? The Syrian Greeks? No, my boss said: the conflict actually was about the Maccabees (right-wing, hard-ass, traditionalist, rural priests) versus Hellenized Jews (liberal, effete, assimilated, urban professionals).

Guess who won?

So for a while I was having serious thoughts about not celebrating Chanukah, ever. Oh, maybe the Hellenized Jews had it coming, what with the sacrificing pigs in the Temple and all. But still.

Fortunately, a little more research revealed that there was more to the story. A couple hundred years later, the rabbis took the reins. And apparently, the early rabbis hated, hated Chanukah, because it was this huge celebration of the military victory of the priests. So the rabbis fixed up the holiday by inventing the miracle of oil and shifting the emphasis to be on the spiritual victory. This is why, if you ask little kids about Chanukah today, they can tell you all about the miracle of the oil and the lights, but they’re usually kind of fuzzy on the assassinations-and-bloody-reprisals part. I think this is the true lesson of Chanukah: the eventual triumph of wussy, lefty, scholarly types, using our evil powers of Postmodernism and Relativism and whatnot to rewrite history. Woo-hoo! Go team!

When I pointed this out to my boss, he responded by saying that this is the way Americans celebrate Chanukah, while in Israel they emphasize the old school interpretation — tiny force triumphing over overwhelming numbers, et cetera. I decided I preferred my blue state interpretation, and we left it at that.

Of course, my boss was wrong about one key point: real Americans don’t focus on the spiritual aspect of Chaunkah. We celebrate Chanukah in a uniquely American way, which is to say, by focusing on the commercial aspect. And that brings me to my third issue with Chanukah this year: the loot.

Don’t get me wrong… now that all the kids are grown up, it’s good to scale back the presents. And it’s nice to chill out a bit, not have to rush around getting everyone presents. Still, the nicest present I got this year was a large set of matching dinner glasses. Which would have been a fine gift, except I already have glasses. It turns out that my impeccable upbringing did not prevent me from bringing this up right away with the gift-giver. And so Mom and I had a conversation that went something like this:

“Look, you need a set of new glasses.”

“Why? I have a perfectly usable set of glasses.”

“Because none of them match. When we come over for summer barbecues, I end up drinking out of a glass shaped like a boot.”

“Oh, the Big Texan glass. But that one is… fun and kitschy.”

“You’re over thirty now, you should have matching glasses. Which reminds me, you also need new plates.”

“Why on earth — those are perfectly usable too, and they actually do match!”

“They’re all chipped!”

“Yes, but they were your plates, that’s why you handed them down.”

“Nevertheless.”

Fortunately my little sister broke the impasse by pointing out that next year, she would be out of school and in desperate need of glasses, plates, and silverware. And thus balance was restored to the Force, peace descended once again on the Goer household, and the all-important Lifecycle of Motley-but-Usable Kitchenware was permitted to continue.

So I’ve come around to liking the dinner glasses, although I am baffled why the manufacturers give you twelve regular glasses and twelve useless short glasses. At best, the short glasses only provide adequate fluid intake for persons under thirty pounds, and those persons have sippy cups. As far as I can tell, there is only one true market for short glasses: restaurants that choose to serve totally inadequate portions of orange juice at breakfast.

Come to think of it, if Chanukah wants to get back in my good graces for next year, a Miracle of the Restaurant Orange Juice would be an excellent start.