The Persian winter solstice tradition of Yalda pairs perfectly with Hanukkah

A version of this article was first published on Hey Alma.

By the time we reach the winter, I need all the light I can get.

It’s almost as if my Iranian Jewish ancestors knew the moments we’d find ourselves in and came prepared with a double dose. Alongside the miracle of light from Hanukkah, I grew up celebrating Shab-e Yalda, the ancient Persian winter solstice tradition.

The mystics believed that on the year’s longest and darkest night — usually Dec. 21 — evil spirits reached their peak. To counter this energy, Persians would gather around a fire in the comfort of community and stay up into the night. They’d share the last of their red summer fruits and read the poetry of Hafez, whose words illuminated the darkness until the first light chased the spirits away.

As a host and self-proclaimed balabusta, I’ve always seen these two winter holidays as natural companions, like sour cream and applesauce. Their shared timing, mutual focus on light and inspired foods make them an easy pairing. In much the way that Nowruz, the Persian new year, coincides with Passover, I can no longer imagine celebrating Hanukkah without poetry or Yalda without my fried donuts.

Fortunately, my friend and food writer Tannaz Sassooni saw the synchronicity too. Together, we created Erev Yalda, a project that fuses our Iranian and Jewish traditions into one meaningful celebration. With Reboot Studios, the funding and production arm of the Jewish arts and culture nonprofit Reboot, we produced a short film of a beautiful Erev Yalda celebration featuring actor and producer Michaela Watkins, Black and Persian comedian Tehran and Iranian-Israeli comedian and activist Noam Shuster-Eliassi. We also created a downloadable guide to celebrating Erev Yalda.

In the film, Watkins asks why a series of bad — but not catastrophic — things happened to her. She closes her eyes and shuffles through the pages of Hafez, landing on a poem titled “Of Course Things Like That Can Happen.” We all laughed as it answered her question and perfectly captured the magic and mysticism of the tradition. We sat around the fire, each guest posing a question and landing on a poem that as they read, felt like Hafez was speaking directly to their heart. My doubts about whether our friends would “get it” melted away.

The food added its own poetry to the evening: sufganiyot bursting with tart sour cherry filling, as vibrant as the crimson dawn symbolizing Yalda, and a golden-crusted latke tahdig which shone as brightly as a fully lit menorah.

My Iranian Jewish identity has always been a defining part of my life. I went to Persian class on Saturdays and Hebrew on Sundays. When I married my cute Ashkenazi husband Max this summer, we signed our ketubah on a hand printed Iranian tablecloth adorned with Hebrew text that my grandmother packed with her from Esfehan. My attachment to this culture, both Iranian and Jewish, is a thread woven deeply into who I am.

This is Erev Yalda: a reclamation of two traditions, thousands of years old. Something tells me we weren’t the first to recognize their similarities. Next year, Yalda will fall on the sixth night of Hanukkah, an even more aligned opportunity to celebrate.

Through Erev Yalda, I’ve learned that alongside the light we inherit, we have the power to adapt our traditions, in ways that bring meaning, ease and joy, especially in times when we face many unknowns. My grandmother often reminded us with a Persian proverb: Dar nomidi basi omid ast, pāyān-e šab-e siyah sefid ast — “There is much hope in hopelessness; for at the end of the dark night, there is light.”

This winter, gather your community around the menorah, read a few good poems and remember that we come from many traditions that teach us to be and bring in the light.

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of JTA or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.