Culture Shock #50: Where is the Chanukkah spirit?

I got a text from my dear friend Dakota a couple hours ago, wishing me a happy Chanukkah. My eyes darted to the window, a wall of pitch black. The sun had already set, and I had completely forgotten that Chanukkah started tonight. 

Dismay. How could I have possibly forgotten the first night of Chanukkah? This had never happened to me before. Living in the U.S., it would've been impossible to forget. My family and I would've been making plans to make latkes together weeks in advance, and my college besties and I would drive to the local donut shop to pick up Sufganiyot. I would've dug through my sock drawer to find a Dreidl and stocked up on gelt from the grocery store. I would've already been planning what to buy with the Chanukkah money from my grandparents (thank you grandparents!). 

Frustration. The internal Jewish clock in my body that reminded me to buy Chanukkah candles and take the menorah down from the mantelpiece (or to bug my parents to buy chanukkah candles and take the menorah down from the mantelpiece) betrayed me this year. The truth is, I completely lost track of time and have no Jewish community here to ground me in who I am and where I come from. Does really no one here in Germany know about Chanukkah? How did everyone in my life here fail to wish me a happy Chanukkah, even if they don't celebrate themselves? 

Grief. Of course, it's easier to place the blame on those around me. What hurts the most is that I forgot to wish me a happy Chanukkah. 

I called my parents and they recited the prayers with me as I lit the candles (My Nana and Papa brought me Chanukkah candles when they visited back in October. The menorah I bought for myself back in May. I sent gratitude to my past self, who already had in mind that I would be celebrating the first five days of Chanukkah in Germany without my family.) My grief settled a bit, overcome by the urge to philosophize. How Jewish could one possibly be without a community to be Jewish with? My dad made an excellent point: to be Jewish alone is explicitly forbidden according to Jewish law. You need a Minyan for services to take place. 

Needless to say, I am very much missing my Jewish community right now. Especially living in a Christian country, where everyone's high on tacky lights and cheesy music and Santa Claus for weeks on end. I'm not saying the U.S. is any different - I actually think the U.S. is more unbearable when it comes to Christmas spirit (the cookies are worse). But at least in the U.S. I had community who understood what it felt like to be surrounded by joy and chaos that wasn't ours. A community who had joy and chaos of our own to tend to. Not to mention the occasional house we would pass with strings of blue and white lights draped across bare braches, a menorah in the window. The excited shouting: "Look at that house! To your left! No, other left! Jews!!" 

I can't end this post without acknowledging the shooting in Sydney. As much as I crave community and congregation, as much as we need to gather to keep our traditions alive and stay connected, there is the deeply troubling reality to contend with that antisemitism is on a steady rise. I hope to one day find Jewish community here in Germany, though I'm daunted by how difficult it seems to be. How hidden are the synagogues? How careful must they be about their digital presence? It saddens me, the thought of us not being to be able to find each other as a consequence of merely trying to stay alive. Again, the question. How Jewish can one possibly be, alone?

I haven't texted Dakota back, but I will. I'm grateful that he reached out. I suppose his text is an important reminder for me. Even if no one in my immediate vicinity knew what day it is, I've got a friend abroad who's got my back. And he's not even Jewish! Take notes, Goys.  

Culture Shock #49: There's a tea for that

It's a punishingly grey Saturday, and I woke up this morning feeling more homesick than usual. There are days where, in such a melancholy state of mind and body, I might've reached for my journal or sent a voice message to the family group chat. But this morning, after surrendering into the fact that it would be a sad day, my instincts whispered: tea. 

Growing up, I rarely drank herbal tea. Maybe a milky chamomile when I couldn't sleep or a ginger honey to soothe a throatache, but that was pretty much the extent of it. In college, the closest I got to drinking any kind of tea were the chai and matcha lattes I treated myself to during strenuous days of studying. As there certainly weren't any tea leaves involved in brewing those Starbucks concoctions, I understand if readers are reluctant to count this as tea-drinking. I certainly wasn't drinking herbal tea at age nineteen. In fact, I was generally anti any decaffienated hot beverage, worried that the droopy eyelids and gaping yawns it might induce would hinder my Freshman mission to never miss out on anything ever. 

Since moving to Germany, I have spent many a minute perusing the astounding array of herbal tea mixes in supermarket and drug store aisles. What tickles me the most is how these teas are marketed, which I suppose is a reflection of the function tea-drinking plays in German society. There is an herbal tea mix for everything, and it's safe to assume that every German household has a pantry shelf full of them. 

Sure, you've got the basic herbal tea mixes, marketed towards your everyday pains and aches. Throatache? Yep. Stomachache? Yep. Immunity strengthening? Easy. 

Then, there are teas meant for more specific physical ailments beyond the average cold symptom. Need a tea to relieve irritation caused by inflammation of the mucus membranes in the upper respiratory tract? No problem. What about a tea to remedy declining cardiac performance and feelings of tightness in the chest area? Coming right up! Looking for a tea to support organic breastfeeding by balancing fluid levels and promoting a soothing and harmonious breastfeeding relationship? Aisle four! 

German herbal teas go far beyond the realm of physical ailments. There are also teas marketed for specific times of day or year. Some of them might sound familiar to you, others not so much. Christmas tea? Sure, we've probably got that. Winter tea? Obviously, for all the other winter days besides Christmas. Night time tea? Of course, the tea I avoided in college. Work break tea? Right, for all the breaks we take at work...

Beyond specific times of day or year, there are German herbal teas designed to offer teleportative experiences, for those who wish they were somewhere else, or perhaps for those who want to intensify the experience of being where they are. Teas called "Breathing deeply in the woods" (Can't see the forest for the trees? Then it's time for a break! A cup of blackberry leaves, cowslips, and spruce needles will send your thoughts on a walk through the forest) or "Cozy evening around the fire" (This romatic herbal tea combines warming lime blossom with honeybush. Rounded off with ginger, cardamom, and star anise, this powerful tea pampers both body and soul. Perfect for cozy evenings with the whole family) are not hard to find in your average German grocery store. 

You've also got the teas that are meant to target specific psychological ailments or states. Tea to soothe nervous restlessness or irritation? Not a problem. Woman Power tea? Whatever that means, it exists! (This is not to say that being a woman is a psychological ailment. I suppose I could argue that womanhood is a psychological state, though I prefer not to engage in discourse online. I do find it fascinating that I've never seen "Man power" tea. I have yet to decide if that's a good thing or not. You'll be hearing from me if I ever find a "Gender nonconforming power" tea.) Or maybe you're on the lookout for Happiness tea, that is delicately tart, cheerful, and uplifting? Ideal for anyone who believes in happiness? Together with other herbs and spices, cinnamon, hops, and orange peel lovingly tickle the palate and soul? The delicately tart and slightly spicy taste of this atmospheric blend will bring a smile to your lips? Name your price! (No really, I've seen wild price ranges on German Happiness Tea. How much would you pay to feel happy?) 

So obviously a part of me wants to riff off of the ridiculous assortment of German herbal teas. Like, excuse me, pharmacist? One Monday Springtime Post-White Collar Workday Constipation Tea please! Excuse me, pharmacist? One Tu Bishvat Itchy Left Nostril Tea please! Excuse me, pharmacist? One Late Autumn Moroccan Camel Ride for Seniors Tea please! (Shoutout to my grandparents for the inspiration). God this is too fun, I could go on for days. 

There is another part of me though, becoming more present the longer I live here, that really embraces the tea-drinking culture in Germany. The idea that, whatever you've got going on in your mind~body~spirit, there's a tea for that. I find it soothing, the ritual of reaching for the tea leaves, of filling up the water kettle, of carefully selecting a mug from the cupboard, especially in moments where I'm feeling lost or helpless. So today, I am drinking homesick tea, a mason jar of loose tea leaves lovingly mixed by my partner (not in crime. I state for the record that they had nothing to do with the Great Goose Thievery of December 5th 2025). 

Culture Shock #48: If you give a goose a shower

Have you ever found yourself in the shower with a goose for work?

Guess I can check that off my bucket list.

Oh, you want proof? I've got proof. 

What? I didn't say it was a real goose. 

I feel your burning questions. It would be an honor to answer them. 

Are you familiar with the concept of a "white elephant?". They happen a lot around Christmas time (I say "Christmas" deliberately, as I've only ever taken part in white elephants with Christian friends. Jews don't engage in the practice of random gift-giving. It's too much uncertainty. We've been through enough.). The idea is, you show up to the function with a wrapped gift for no one in particular. Everyone sits in a circle with their gift in their lap and, through invigorating rounds of dice-rolling, the gifts are exchanged at random until the time is up. Whatever gift is in your lap when the timer rings is the gift you take home with you. I have absolutely no idea why it's called "white elephant." I hope to god it's not because someone once brought a white elephant to a gift exchange like this. I imagine white elephants are difficult to wrap, let alone set in your lap, as they are rather large and heavy. Plus, they don't exist.

As it so happens, Germans are also well-versed in the tradition of random gift giving around the holiday season. Their version of "white elephant" is called "Wichtel." Have fun pronouncing that. 

It also turns out, Germans have a funny bone or two, wiggled loose by Christmas spirit or copious amounts of mulled wine or both. Meaning, Germans not only have "Wichtel", they also have "Schrottwichtel." The word "Schrottwichtel" roughly translates to "bring something you have at home that is objectively useless junk in the hopes that you will bring home slightly more useful junk." 

My workplace has a long-standing tradition of cooking a Christmas dinner together on the first Friday in December to celebrate the end of the year and the holiday season. After the dinner comes the sacred ritual of Schrottwichtel. I started my current job on December 1 2024, meaning my first Friday on the job ended with this Christmas dinner and Schrottwichtel. I remember being completely overwhelmed, sitting at a large table with a bunch of strangers, some old utensils wrapped in newspaper hugged between my knees, wondering if I could log these hours as work ones. It was torture! I had no connection to Christmas, had barely a clue what Schrottwichtel was, and found it strange to be drinking with coworkers I barely knew. I left after nearly four hours, at 10pm, which was all I could handle. On the following Monday, my coworkers reported that they continued drinking and chatting into the wee hours of the morning, and it was a shame I left so early.  

Now, exactly one year later, I am determined to have a difference experience. No, I don't give a shit about Christmas. But I do like free food, and my coworkers are pretty okay. We know each other a lot better now, at least. And this time, I'm bringing a goose. 

The goose and I have a fairly unromantic meet-cute. More like a stumble-upon. I found the goose in the basement of my building while looking for my bike pump. I remember thinking, "wow, this goose looks like it's been here for 10 years," and then continuing about my day. This morning, when my Reminders app alerted me to the reality of Schrottwichtel this evening, the image of this dusty old goose in my building's basement popped into my head. I knew what I had to do. 

The shower was inevitable. You can't show up to a Schrottwichtel with dirty junk, that would be bad etiquette, and I wasn't raised by wolves. I need to bring a clean goose. 

Now all I'm hoping is that no one in my building trundles down to the basement looking for their dusty old goose. If so, this blog post is serious incriminating evidence of goose-thievery on my part. Well, at least you are all forewarned. If one day, you notice my blog skips from "Culture Shock #47" to "Culture Shock #49", you'll know someone went a-huntin' for their goose, and I had to protect myself. 

Wish me luck tonight!

Culture Shock #47: If there's no email confirmation...

 ...did you actually make the appointment? Will it actually take place on the day and at the time that you requested? 

Turns out, the answers to these questions depends on where you live.

If you are in the U.S. and you make an appointment and you receive no email confirmation OR email reminder the day beforehand, the appointment will not happen. You probably didn't successfully make it in the first place, you just thought you did. Even if the appointment miraculously does happen, lord knows you won't be there, because you were relying on the email to remind you when and where it was. 

If you are in Germany and you make an appointment and you receive an email confirmation and/or an email reminder the day before, congratulations! You have found one of the three institutions that decided digitalizating their system wouldn't also summon the devil on the premises. No but actually, when you call (yes, CALL) the hairdresser or doctor or dentist or restaurant to make an appointment or reservation, you better write the time and date and address down, because chances are, you will not hear from that establishment again. You will hang up the call and feel the essence of the conversation float into the ether, with no email in your inbox a couple minutes later to confirm that you were indeed brave enough to call in the first place. 

So the context behind this post is I'm becoming infamous at my eye doctor. Growing up in an email confirmation culture makes me feel like I've got the memory of a goldfish. In the span of a month, I called my eye doctor three times to order contacts, forgetting that I'd already called and ordered them. Look, if I'm not getting emails every couple days confirming that I called, that my order is processing, that it'll be ready any day now, thank you very much for remaining a loyal customer, have you considered getting new frames by the way?, 5 Signs You Might Have Eye Cancer...how do I know that I called in the first place??

Culture Shock #46: Where is the peppermint?

Starting to worry that my favorite winter flavor doesn't speak German. 

I have yet to encounter a single package of candy canes, and it is December 4th. Meanwhile, I know those iconic red and white stripes have been branding U.S. American retinas since the day after Thanksgiving. My hot cocoas are suffering from boredom without their sticky sweet minty companions! 

I fear candy canes contain a variety of chemical ingredients long-banned in the European Union. But because I'd like to protect my peace, I'm going to decide that I live in a candy caneless country because peppermint is too spicy for Germans.