Being Jewish in Romania during December is a very specific kind of adventure. On one hand, you’re trying to light your menorah and eat your sufganiyot in peace. On the other hand, you’re surrounded by a country that has already declared war on November with Christmas lights, carols, and cozonac.

For those unfamiliar, cozonac is a Romanian sweet bread, usually filled with nuts, cocoa, or Turkish delight, basically a dessert in loaf form, everywhere, all the time. Seriously, cozonac is so omnipresent in December that you start to wonder if it’s the national currency.

The problem? Trying to find Hanukkah supplies in Romania is basically a side quest in an RPG. There are no Jewish supermarkets. Candles? Dreidels? Chocolate gelt? Good luck. You might have better odds of finding a unicorn in your local Lidl. By night one, I’m already carrying candles like treasure, navigating confused clerks and muttering, “Yes, I know it’s not Christmas…”

Meanwhile, Romania is in full Christmas overdrive. Malls start playing Mariah Carey before Halloween is even over. Windows are adorned with glowing Santas, streets smell like mulled wine, and every corner has a market selling Christmas cookies, ornaments, and enough lights to rival Times Square. I swear, even the stray cats look festive.

And then there’s me, trying to explain that Hanukkah is not Jewish Christmas. Friends and neighbors are wonderfully kind but hilariously misinformed. “So, do you celebrate Christmas too?” they ask. Sometimes yes, because the cookies are amazing and nobody is stopping me from enjoying cozonac. Sometimes no, because I have eight nights to light candles, spin dreidels, and eat enough fried food to qualify for an Olympic medal in carbs.

Socially, it’s equally entertaining. You’re invited to Christmas dinners you didn’t know existed, asked to help decorate the tree, and sometimes even handed a Santa-shaped chocolate as a tiny, festive bribe. Meanwhile, your menorah sits on the windowsill, quietly glowing, waiting for someone to notice it between the garlands. And yes, people do notice eventually, they admire it, ask questions, maybe even take a photo, and you get to explain Hanukkah for the 394th time that month.

The clash of cuisines is equally intense. Sufganiyot versus cozonac, latkes versus sarmale (stuffed cabbage rolls). By night six, I’m not sure whether I’m celebrating Hanukkah, Christmas, or just survival. And yes, I may have eaten three cozonac slices while lighting my fourth menorah candle… but who’s judging?

Some nights are chaos. Like the time I tried to light the menorah while balancing a sufganiyah in one hand and my phone in the other, it ended with jelly on the windowsill and my phone narrowly escaping disaster. Or the moment when I accidentally grabbed birthday candles instead of Hanukkah candles at the store and wondered why they were so short.

Hanukkah in Romania is basically a combination of a treasure hunt, a food fight, and a light show, all rolled into one. Despite the chaos, there’s a weird kind of beauty in it. The Christmas lights, the festive music, the smell of winter treats, they don’t overshadow Hanukkah; they make it feel like a secret little glow in the middle of a very sparkly world. Every night of candle lighting feels brighter, more personal, and somehow even more magical. Even if the only audience is a cat, which watches judgmentally.

And there’s pride, too. Being visibly Jewish here, in a country where Christmas is everywhere, means representing my traditions in a very public way. It’s not just about candles or donuts, it’s about showing that Hanukkah exists, that Jewish culture is alive, and that it can shine even in a sea of Christmas cheer.

So yes, being Jewish in Romania in December means navigating Christmas markets, lights, and endless cozonac. It means explaining your traditions, defending your donuts, and occasionally admitting that maybe, just maybe, you enjoy a little of the local holiday spirit. Eight nights, a menorah, a couple of dozen donuts, and zero chance of finding a Jewish supermarket later, I can safely say, this is December done right. Even amidst all the Christmas chaos in my neighborhood, Hanukkah has never felt more special… or delicious.