Paul Rudnick

I surfed Youtube, searching for a highly original Christmas song to post. I wavered between Anna Kendrick, doing a terrific job with Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, backed by a choir, singing for the Obamas in Washington; George Michael’s This Christmas; or something refreshingly brooding, like Chet Baker crooning Time After Time. Ultimately I surrendered, the way everyone must, to the highest holiday power imaginable: Mariah Carey.

Mariah’s been having her ups and downs lately, and squeezing herself into some terrifyingly engineered gowns. But she always seems to maintain a breezy what-the-hell outlook, even while hawking her butterflies-and-angels jewelry on home shopping. She’s even just directed and appeared in a Hallmark made-for-TV Christmas movie, where she glows like a Star Wars light saber. In fact, don’t the words “Mariah Carey” sound like “Merry Christmas”, in the very special language spoken on Mariah’s home planet, in a galaxy far, far away?

There’s a 32 foot tall menorah in Brooklyn, lit by a rabbi in a cherrypicker. The rabbi’s wife has to carry the matching 32 foot tall dreidel.

I’d like to create a menorah using all the Republican candidates, and light each one on fire using Donald Trump’s hair.

You’re not supposed to call Chanukah the Jewish Christmas, but as a child, I always knew that when it came to winter holidays, the Jews weren’t even trying.

There’s the Elf on the Shelf, and the Mensch on a Bench. My Mom used to call the Hadassah newsletter Jews in the News.

There’s a real childrens book called Blintzes for Blitzen. I saw it in the Chanukah section of Bed Bath and Beyond, which, of course, was dwarfed by the Christmas goods. I’m not sure, but I think this is a Lego menorah:

I was proud of my family for refusing to have a Christmas tree.

I always loved the gold foil-covered chocolate coins available in little gold mesh bags at Chanukah, called gelt. But making chocolate money might not be the best public relations move for Judaism.