Strolling around the department store, I felt the palpitations begin. There was a tin of Match Attax football cards my boys would love. And look, a Hulk Hogan action figure from the Wrestling Hall of Fame and a Marvin's magic set and mini-Rubik's cube key-ring. I counted off the presents in my head, imagining my boys' faces on each night of Chanucah as they eagerly rip open the paper and see what Mummy and Daddy bought them, their little eyes either glistening with gratitude or, possibly, filling with tears, depending on how well each gift matches their expectation.
But, instead of filling my trolley and heading to the till, I swerved towards the socks basket - my original intention for this shopping trip - and grabbed a six-pack in school grey and hurriedly handed over my cash and left. Because, this Chanucah, I said: "Bah, Doughnut" to presents and opted out altogether.
I know this is an unpopular stance that puts me at risk of being branded a Maccabeezer Scrooge but the creeping rise of commercialism alongside this most humbling of festivals has, after years of succumbing, started to turn my stomach.
Over the past few weeks, I've seen anxious-looking parents wielding present lists as long as a butcher's bill and heard many a heated discussion on the advantages of buying one small present per night over one hefty gift.
I've even seen parents use present withdrawal as a threat in order to improve their child's behaviour.
Aren't we missing the point?
Our friends over the pond have already dubbed this festive period, Chrismucah, with their Chanucah bushes and blue-and-white stockings and we are not far behind.
Just type the phrase "Chanucah gifts" into Amazon and you will get no less than 529 results, selling everything from novelty jumpers emblazoned with dancing dreidels to Chanucah Teddy snow globes and mugs daubed with the words, ''If life gives you potatoes, make latkes.'' Oy vey!
As I move into midlife, I hanker for the simple Chanucah message of my childhood: there was a miracle; life is full of surprises; have faith.
What I remember most about Chanucah then was not the opening of presents but standing alongside my family and being mesmerised by the flickering candle lights, feeling their combined heat burn against my cheek as we belted out a tuneless Maoz Tzur. Some years, if I was lucky and my mother remembered, a ten pence piece was slipped into my open palm. It was a treat, certainly not an expectation.
Even as a teenager, I was proud of my non-materialistic faith. I would return to my non-Jewish secondary school in January empty-handed and make a point of telling my peers in a very supercilious manner that my religion was not about gifts and no brand-new shiny Sony Walkman would make me think otherwise.
Any jealousy I did feel - and of course, as a teenager, I burned with it - I masked. I contrast this now with my children's Chanucah list of recent years written over four or five pages of a diary and accompanied with cut-outs of their favourite toys.
I don't mean to spoil Chanucah; quite the opposite. I just want my children to find its pleasure and meaning without need for a material reward. But how on earth are we meant to do that in our consumer-driven culture?
Seed and Sinai family educator Rabbi Daniel Sturgess admits it's a challenge. ''It's very obvious that the commercialism of Christmas has an impact on Jewish parents,'' he says. ''Children want to be a part of it and parents think they need to keep up. But rather than cut out the gift-giving altogether, we need to look for ideas to make Chanucah more meaningful.'' To this end, Rabbi Sturgess suggests sitting down with your children and planning themed nights together so they feel a part of it. His ideas have already inspired for 2016: A dedicated big present night so children understand this is the only night when big presents are given; a family games night where dreidels are spun for chocolate coins; a Chanucah food night where you all make and devour latkes and doughnuts.
''One night ,you could even take the kids for a drive and go Menorah spotting, then stop off at a café on the way home,'' says Rabbi Sturgess. ''For children, time with their parents is the biggest gift as we're always so busy and Chanucah is an opportunity to address that.''
His best idea by far, though, is placing a tzedakah box beside the Menorah and the children slotting in a coin or two each night. Its message is simple but powerful; giving is just as important as receiving.
Doesn't cost the earth either. What's not to like?
