Today is October 23, 2012 - which means (according to the American secular calendar) a week from tomorrow is Halloween. For many (if not the majority of) Americans it is a social event that over the centuries has been hoisted (or foisted, depending on your p.o.v.) to the level of holiday. While not federally recognized (stupid
government, I imagine many undoubtedly groan), it does affect people across class, race, age and gender. Costumes will be bought or made (people still make costumes,
right?); candies will be purchased; bellies will still ache the morning after.
As a nation we spend an estimated 6.9 billion dollars on the last day of October. You read that correctly - that's billions as opposed to millions and all during a tentative recovery from the worst economic crash in a
generation. Cue Keanu Reeves.
While a significant marker
(especially in an unabashed capitalist society) money does not solely define Halloween’s
status in our nation’s collective consciousness. The day gleefully and insidiously reaches into other corners
of our daily lives like an ever-growing sticky spider-web. It spills out of our
TV’s to the screams of a thousand horror movie victims; it will be the theme of
many a school parade or dinner party; it takes over the Hallmark card rack down
at the local CVS. We even semi-consciously raise it among the other calendar milestones whenever we spot Christmas tree decorations out on the shelves before
the 31st. Each holiday in its due time, dammit!
For those who practice Wicca, the
day is called Samhain and is the start of a new pagan year. Needless to say, it figures prominently on the Wiccan calendar and in Wiccan consciousness. Throughout the
autumnal season Nature has been shedding its skin, preparing for its death-like
sleep of Winter. For the prior eight weeks the barriers between the living and the dead have been thinning, allowing the living to intuit the dead - and the dead the living - more than any other time of year. Respect is given to ancestors. As magic is wrought to
look ahead, meditation turns inwards, an introspection led by the kind hand of
the Crone. Death is contemplated not as a period at the end of a that run-on sentence which is Life but
rather as an ellipsis, leading simply yet profoundly, to the turning of a page…
I know
this because I used to be Wiccan, identifying as a child of the goddess, first
as a son, then as a daughter. Celebrating Samhain at the time was as natural for me as
breathing. Ever since I was a child the day had been somehow magical, filled
with mysterious delight. It somehow existed beyond the costumes and the
parties, connecting to something much more ethereal. When I finally stopped trick-or-treating (sad to learn one could actually
grow out of the tradition) I began telling ghost stories. I watched as many
scary movies during October as I could, growing an affinity for old Hammer
films. (Tim Burton became a bit of a god/dess send.) My friends would intuit this about me. Trips to pumpkin patches were mandatory for me. One Latina partner
unofficially dubbed me “Grand Calabaza” or her Great Pumpkin. So when I identified
as Wicca and celebrated Samhain I was joining in on a spiritual dance I seemed
to already know the steps to.
I do not know exactly when but at
some point I started moving beyond Wicca.
I didn't want to admit it at first. Wicca had had so much incredibly meaning for me it
seemed somehow like an act of infidelity to look beyond its tenets, to think outside its mindset. I had fully expected to die – and be reincarnated – as Wiccan. And
yet didn’t feeling guilty over the thought of leaving Wicca kinda already mean
I had? I was surprised, saddened and confused (and on some unconscious level relieved). What had happened? When had Wicca - and by extension, Halloween - stopped being so special? Where
had its meaning gone to? Where was the magic? (See what I did there?)
There
was no exact moment I could pinpoint, no foundation-shaking moment for me. It
had happened slowly, with the turning of the seasonal wheel. Although the music
of the magical universe still played on I found I had stopped dancing, had in fact stepped quietly off the dance floor. I still respected those who spun
widdershins – nothing but love, nothing but love – but the pan-pipe tunes no longer
called to me. I could be thankful for the experiences which had brought me to
where I was but to linger would somehow be an exercise in futility. For me the party no longer enthralled. That I
sensed this with the same intuition being Wiccan had honed in me seemed proof
that the Universe was not without a sense of irony – or without hope.
I have blogged elsewhere how I came
to Judaism so I will not repeat it here. I will say that while I harbor no latent
longings or angsty regrets, I do come to October 31st every year
with what feels like a unique perspective. First is this “Been-there/Trick-or-Treated
that” feeling. Being Wiccan gave me a particular look behind Halloween’s
metaphysical curtain. I feel somehow privileged for the view and the experience
of the dance and feel no need to return. (Again, nothing but love.)
I also feel like a distinct outsider.
This was driven home for me when, two years ago while I was still in the
process of converting, I took a trip with a Temple friend up to Salem, Massachusetts. It should not surprise you to learn that the cultural site of
The Salem Witch Trials has become a touristy ground-zero for those who
celebrate Halloween, pagan or not. I was anxious going up, wondering how I would react and admittedly I felt a
dissipating sadness while wandering through the crowds. Yes, I used to be a part of this revelry – and I had made
the conscious choice not to be anymore. And while it felt strange to be on the
outside of this party, this dance, it also felt right – just as becoming
pagan in my Twenties had felt right. When we finally left I felt as though I had come to kiss Wicca goodbye and move into my future - a Jewish homecoming I cannot help but think the loving, nurturing wise goddess would have
approved of.
So this is how I come to the perennial dialectic (or is it a debate?) regarding American Jews and Halloween.
While I will not judge those who fall on either side of this divide, I know how
I feel as a Jew about the day. While I can (and have) traced Halloween’s origins back to ancient Celtic culture, and can even argue
that it has been shaped in some part by the Christian elements of the United
States, I cannot say it is Jewish in any way, shape or form. Nor could I reasonably argue that Purim is the Judaic version of Halloween, as some gentiles figure. As such, I am at peace in
not celebrating it on either a cultural or spiritual level. I also feel no peer
pressure to do so. (I must note that, currently being without a child, I cannot imagine what Jewish
parents in America must wrestle with at this time of the year and fully respect
whatever decisions they end up making.)
Of course, in taking this particular and particularly public stance I often receive a slew
of responses from my gentile friends, ranging from the shocked How-can-you-NOT-celebrate-such-a-cool-night!
stare to the far more annoying Oh-you-poor-Jew-I-feel-so-sad-for-you look
of pity. But for me it only makes sense. Halloween
has no context for me as a Jew. For me it’s impossible to untangle the night
from its spiritual or historical roots - and none of those roots run back to
Israel. As I no longer cavort with the spiritual world, read Tarot or divine
dreams the thought of dressing up to confuse wandering evil spirits makes
little sense. And echoing the sentiments of other Jewish commentators, I’d
rather be in costume giving out food for Purim than collecting candy on October
31st.
I understand that on both an
inter-personal and macro level this can be a hard decision to take within a society so
culturally invested in Halloween (remember, nearly $7 billion dollars last
year). I also understand from a very personal vantage-point what Halloween
means as a spiritual event. Yet oddly (or perhaps not) as a former-pagan-now-a-Jew I
find it easy to walk among the revelers, appreciating their party even as I do
not partake of it anymore, and am amused that they would have more of a problem with it than I
do. That’s all right, though. I need only answer to myself, my Jewish community
and HaShem and we’re all just fine with my decision.
