Opinion
Chanukah can bring everyone together, even after divorce
When it comes to couples no longer together, my mother’s maxim is paramount: when you’ve got children, there’s no such thing as divorce
December 10, 2024 10:363 min read
When it comes to couples no longer together, my mother’s maxim is paramount: when you’ve got children, there’s no such thing as divorce
December 10, 2024 10:36Looking at my diary, I see panto rehearsals are about to begin. I’d missed that we’re just weeks from Chanukah (Christmas too, I suppose). It creeps up on you… like a tinselly ninja.
Back when I was at the Bar, the holiday season always meant a massive increase in work. A seasonal blend of alcohol and desperation would pack the cells and generate loads of briefs for us criminal hacks. But we had it easy compared with the guys who handled divorces. My colleagues working in family law would seldom take off late December, and never early January. Like accountants and diary salesmen, it was their peak time. Divorce papers would pile up on their desks in poignant little heaps.
No matter the time of year, the end of a marriage often brings with it a uniquely toxic kind of acrimony and it’s terribly sad. I think one of the best things about the Judge Rinder show was revealing that – even where there’s bitter conflict (and, good grief, we certainly had our share) – it’s always possible to resolve disputes in a thoughtful, civilised way. We constantly tried to demonstrate that it’s far more mentally expensive to invest emotional capital in rage than to find a way to let it go.
It’s a concept I wish I could convey to those whose marriages have ended. I’m not some naive divorce-optimist. I’ve seen too many. I know it can’t all be Goop-ish uncoupling ceremonies with off-brand shamans and mochi-flavoured candles. Sometimes there’s just no “nice” in the “decree nisi”.
But you’ve got to try and find a way through it that causes the least trauma. When it comes to those with kids, it’s not just preferable, it’s absolutely essential. I’m mindful of the fundamental maxim learnt from my mother: when you’ve got children, there’s no such thing as divorce.
Of course, there are exceptions. If someone’s escaping a dangerous relationship and safety’s at stake, that’s different. But for most ex-spouses, even where they loathe each other, if they share children they’ve got to suck it up and accept that they’ll always be joined together. They’re irrevocably entwined.
For me, there’s actually no greater sin that weaponising kids in the course of a dispute. I think there’s a special place in hell for those who do it. It is the averah to end all averahs.
It’s counterproductive, too, to try and keep offspring from one of their parents. They’ll always grow up and find them, then they’ll make their own assessment (and potentially resent the parent who kept them from being able to do so).
I think about my own childhood and feel an overwhelming surge of gratitude to my mum. Despite divorcing young, she had the emotional and spiritual foresight to see that enduring relationships with my father and his relatives were crucial. I lived mainly with her but every Monday after school I’d hop on the 263 to Whetstone to visit my (paternal) grandma for her delicious meatloaf. She was a huge part of my life, and that’s down – in no small part – to the fact my mother actively made it happen.
In her eyes, those Mondays were sacrosanct, because it’s not for children to build those connections, it’s for parents to insist on them.
Over the course of our lives, my mum helped us to construct a perfect familial mosaic that really worked and, as my father’s health has declined, it’s been indispensable. At my own wedding (the marriage didn’t last, but we shared custody of our dog), everyone on both sides was able to delight in being in the same space and experience joyfulness. That was all down to my mum.
In fact, as we approach the eight nights of Chanukah, it seems almost as if it’s a festival engineered to permit lots of different bits of families to celebrate, together or apart, all within the glow of the chanukiah. When you’ve got more than a week to observe, everyone’s able to get a night spinning the dreidel and chomping latkes with the little ones: mums, dads, step-mums, step-dads, grandparents and half-siblings. Every relative gets to share.
By the end, you have eight nights and eight candles twinkling. Separate, yes, but all making a brighter light. To me, it feels like a great symbol of how distinct branches of a family can all provide a shared radiance, and that’s something, like doughnuts, that should definitely be enjoyed all year round. Happy Chanukah everyone!