Being an immigrant is a lot like being an absentminded baker who can’t keep tabs on his sourdough starter: it’s easy to lose track of your culture.

As an immigrant myself, I knew that moving to Israel from the United States would come with some serious challenges. One that I didn’t anticipate was the need to shoulder the responsibility of keeping certain traditions alive that my new home doesn’t have a framework for.

That’s why I take special care each November to organize a party for a certain holiday you’ve probably heard about and may already celebrate yourself: Piethanks.

Wait… what is Piethanks?

Piethanks, taking place on the last Saturday night of November every year, is a sanctified time for friends and family to get together, sharing their appreciation for one another and — more importantly — their love for pie. 

Celebrants are encouraged to contribute to a delicious potluck meal with one simple catch: everything they bring must be in the form of a pie.

Sweet pies, tart pies, savory pies — really, any kind of pie is fine (though there’s an ongoing debate about the validity of pizza as a pie. The current understanding is that only deep-dish pizza is a kosher Piethanks offering).

Now I know what you’re thinking: “Piethanks isn’t a real holiday. You made it up.” 

Okay, yes, I made it up. But I have a good reason for that. Let me explain.

New spin on an old holiday

When I moved to Israel, I found myself missing the holidays. That’s not to say there aren’t holidays in Israel — perhaps too many of them — but year after year I mourned the lack of widespread hype for the non-religious, cultural holidays that I had grown up with.

I was willing to part easily with lower-tier holidays like St. Patrick’s Day and even Halloween (mostly because Purim scratches that itch for me just fine); but the lack of a yearly Thanksgiving feast with my family and friends was really bumming me out.

I expressed this bummed-out feeling to my wife; I told her that, while I didn’t really miss retelling the dusty old story of the pilgrims and smoothing over a pretty rough history of the colonization of North America, I certainly did miss the nostalgic foods and the feeling of togetherness that Thanksgiving represented for me. 

Most of all, I missed the yearly obligation to chow down on pumpkin, pecan and cranberry pies.

After a short conversation, we realized that we might have been granted a golden opportunity: without the cultural expectation of having Thanksgiving here in Israel, we were free to make up our own version of the holiday — something that satisfies the desire for a yearly autumnal food-and-family celebration, while reinventing the holiday to better suit our own values.

It would be like hosting a Friendsgiving party, but without any affiliation to a holiday that tries to whitewash smallpox blankets.  (Plus, as vegetarians, we’d get the bonus of sidestepping any conversations about why there’s not a turkey on the table.)

This new holiday would also serve as a celebration of the people I’ve met here who have become so close I consider them family. 

This is especially valuable to me considering that I’m the only person in my entire family who lives in Israel. I’ve had to foster a brand new support system for myself from the ground up, and I’m grateful that it’s working out really well (especially with my wife’s nuclear family being here).

Lastly — and arguably most importantly — this new holiday could be an opportunity to eat pie. Pies of every flavor and filling would be welcome to the communal banquet table, showcasing the versatility and variety that God granted to his favorite pastry.

And so, every year, my wife and I invite the members of our ever-growing found family in Israel to our home to say thanks, and — most importantly — to eat pies.

How to celebrate Piethanks

A Piethanks celebration is as simple as it is delicious: you show up with a pie, you eat some pie, you enjoy being with your family and loved ones, you politely nod when my wife and I tell you about our recommended charities to donate to this year (and in some cases you even donate with us), you have a little more pie and then you leave.

Of course, Piethanks isn’t ONLY about food. Just like Christmas has its jingly music, fat red man and plaster dioramas; or the 4th of July has explosions, styrofoam plates and the worst country music you’ve ever heard, Piethanks has its own aesthetic code that makes it feel unique and special.

That aesthetic code manifests in cozy sweaters (just in time for the Israeli rainy season), listening to soft indie funk music (that’s my favorite genre of music, so shut up and don’t touch the Bluetooth speaker), and tracing the outline of your fist onto a piece of paper and then decorating it with crayon to look like a pie.

This year marks our fourth annual celebration of Piethanks, and I’m excited to say that it will be the first year that our daughters will be old enough to stay up late enough join the festivities.

It may seem silly, but because of the way that Piethanks exactly fits my values and interests, the idea of passing it down to the next generation feels really special. I honestly figure it’s a 50/50 coin flip whether or not my daughters actually pick up the tradition and run with it once they have their own families, but that’s not even really the point for me. I’m mostly just glad that every year I’ll have a special opportunity to tangibly show my kids what’s important to their dad: finding family, helping others and eating a lot (a LOT) of pie. I love pie.

’Tis the season

And so, as a gentle dolly shot brings the camera out the window and slowly into the rainy sky, and silhouettes of pie-eating friends amble playfully across the curtain-drawn windows, I leave you to ponder your own traditions — and I encourage you to consider making some of your own. In the worst-case scenario, you just eat a little too much pie.

Happy Piethanks, everyone!