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I didn’t receive a Jewish education, for example, but I did celebrate my bat mitzvah. I missed out on formally learning Italian, but spent weeks in Bellosguardo, my family’s small mountainous village near the Amalfi Coast. I don’t go to synagogue or church – in fact, religion is completely removed from our practice, which probably makes it easier to celebrate our secular, cultural Chrismukkah than for families who incorporate religious rituals.

What also helped was the effort both sets of grandparents made to learn about the other’s culture, traditions and beliefs. My nonno and nonna would drop in during Chanukah, just like my sapta and saba would come to Christmas lunch.

Upon reflection, there maybe was a hidden rivalry I overlooked as a child, but the fact they were willing to try made our family unit stronger, and embedded a long-lasting precedent about the importance of not only embracing, but celebrating, difference.

Because in reality, their differences weren’t that different. Both of my sets of grandparents experienced considerable losses at early ages. They moved to Australia seeking a better life for their families. They both worked multiple jobs, faced racism and adversity, and found and built their own communities in a foreign land.

It’s just like Chrismukkah – when you strip both holidays back, the differences aren’t so different. When it comes down to it, both traditions are about food, family and the celebration of miracles. Both traditions embrace the values of connection, community and love.

So this year on December 25, I will relish my identities, my worlds, quite literally colliding.

I will have Christmas lunch with my Italian family, as I always do. Instead of prawns or turkey, I will sit down for never-ending courses of Italian fare – antipasto, lasagna, chicken cacciatore and tiramisu. Instead of baking gingerbread, I will make tortanetto and sweet panzerotti. I will play Italian cards and open my Christmas presents with glee.

In the evening, I will celebrate Chanukah with my Jewish family. I will fry homemade latkes until they are golden-brown, my arm stiff from grating kilos of potatoes, and I will stuff my face with ponchkes (doughnuts). I will pocket my Chanukah gelt, win and lose several rounds of dreidel, and eat more chocolate coins than I can handle.

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I will light the first candle of my menorah, and proudly watch it glow next to my sparkling Christmas tree.

That both sides of my family understands and embraces Chrismukkah – in all its unique, nuanced, complicated mess – in a time of deep division in our community is so much more than I could ever ask for.

Ruby Kraner-Tucci is a Melbourne-based writer and journalist.

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