In the Oberlender family, the smell of frying oil signals not just the arrival of Chanukah but also a kind of joyful chaos that’s hard to replicate. At the heart of this yearly ritual is my Zaide Julio, whose latkes are legendary. You think I’m kidding? His latkes aren’t just crispy, golden wonders; they’re the kind of food that makes you close your eyes and believe, for one fleeting moment, that everything in the world is just right.
Now, if you think I’m exaggerating when I say my Zaide makes the best latkes in the world, let me stop you right there. His latkes aren’t just food—they’re an experience. Crispy on the outside, tender on the inside, with just the right amount of grease that makes your cardiologist raise an eyebrow. And yes, I love them so much that early in my relationship with Mazi, I did what any smart man would do: I sent her to apprentice under him.
A Two-Year Potato Internship
Mazi wasn’t just a casual observer in Zaide’s kitchen. For two Chanukahs she apprenticed under his watchful eye. Latke perfection, as it turns out, doesn’t come easily. My Zaide taught her the secrets: how to get the shreds of potato just thin enough, how to balance the onion without overpowering the flavor, and the all-important lesson of flipping at just the right moment.
Was it a little over-the-top to enroll my wife-to-be in a latke boot camp? Maybe. But let’s face it—if you’ve ever tasted a latke so good it feels like a spiritual experience, you’d understand. These days, her latkes rival Zaide’s, and honestly, it’s like winning the lottery every Chanukah.
The Beauty of the Mess
But here’s the thing about making latkes—it’s messy. Oil splatters, potato bits end up in places you didn’t think potatoes could reach, and everyone has their own (loud) opinion about what counts as “golden brown.” Growing up, I used to think this chaos was a flaw. Why couldn’t we be like those Instagram-perfect families with spotless kitchens and curated holiday traditions?
But now, as a dad to two incredible (and delightfully messy) daughters, Yael and Diana, I get it. Life isn’t neat. Parenting definitely isn’t. It’s about embracing the imperfections, just like making latkes. You’re going to burn a few, spill some oil, and probably argue with someone about whether applesauce, sour cream, sugar, or ketchup is superior. (For the record, I’m team ketchup. Fight me.)
A Parenting Philosophy, Latke Style
Watching Mazi and Zaide side by side, frying latkes while chaos swirled around them, taught me something profound: the best things in life come out of the mess. It wasn’t just about perfecting the crispiness or getting the seasoning just right (although, for the record, she absolutely nailed it). It was about leaning into the process, mistakes and all. There’s something inherently Jewish about that mindset—finding holiness not in perfection but in the effort, the joy, and the community we build along the way. Whether it’s parenting, relationships, or even work, perfection is overrated. It’s in the trial-and-error moments, the spilled milk (or oil), and the laughter that real magic happens.
With Yael running around and Diana running around and pulling stuff off shelves, our house is often in a state of delightful disarray. And you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way. Sure, it’s not picture-perfect, but it’s real. And in those real moments—whether it’s frying latkes or wrangling a toddler—I’m reminded what the Talmud says:
“Whoever adds joy, adds life.” (Taanit 22a) And what better way to find joy than in the middle of a kitchen that looks like it lost a battle to a deep fryer, surrounded by laughter, silly arguments, and the warm glow of family?
Greasy Lessons That Stick
Every year, as we light the menorah and gather around the table, I’m struck by how much these latkes represent. They’re a symbol of tradition, love, and yes, imperfection. The grease stains on my shirt, the flour on Yael’s hands, the slightly overcooked latke someone tries to sneak onto the plate—they’re all part of the story.
And as I watch Mazi serve up a plate of latkes that could make Zaide shed a proud tear, I realize how lucky I am. Lucky to have a family that embraces the chaos, a wife who indulged my slightly ridiculous latke obsession. Lucky that my kids are growing up surrounded by the same laughter and love I did.
And in those moments, I remember that the best parts of life aren’t neat or curated. They’re greasy and loud, full of missteps and laughter. They remind us that life isn’t about getting it perfect—it’s about showing up. They’re the latkes that burn a little too much on one side, the oil splatters on your favorite shirt, and the way your toddler grins when she bites into something that’s not quite perfect but made with love.
So this Chanukah, fry up those latkes. Let the oil fly. Make a mess. And remember, as the Talmud teaches, joy is life. And what could bring more joy than a little chaos, a lot of love, and a perfectly imperfect latke?
