Yom Christmas

Joan Holtzman —

Not all Jews hate Christmas. Some of us like parts of it very much. I, for one, enjoy seeing houses seasonally adorned with strings of bright lights and otherwise dreary downtowns lined with fanciful ornaments. Winter nights are transformed.

I am not offended in the presence of a lavishly decorated tree standing tall in the center of a town plaza. Nor do I feel marginalized when I encounter images of snowmen and santas and elves and reindeers popping up seasonally in public places.

I see nothing objectionable or exclusionary in the repetition of traditional cultural fare either: ”It’s a Wonderful Life”, “A Christmas Carol” and “The Nutcracker” carry messages that seem to me to be broadly humane with touches of beauty and silliness thrown in. I get a sense of general bonhomie and charitableness not present during the rest of the year.

Of course, like most sensible people I can and do deplore the extended length and crass commercialism of the Christmas season. But shopping long and lavishly suggests the intrusion and dominance of capitalism, not the dominating influence of the Christian religion. Moreover, many of the iconic images on display during the holidays are not associated with the birth of Jesus but rather comprise a medley drawn form many cultures and pagan rituals of Yule in observance of the winter solstice.

Be that as it may, for some Jews, people like me who come from an assimilated German/Jewish background, celebrating Christmas (especially Christmas Eve) is a happily remembered tradition, full of joy and excitement – but also more than a little fraught. I wrote a short reminiscence about my experiences a few years ago; a slightly revised version appears below.

When I was growing up the mood at my house in December was unusually upbeat. Christmas and Hanukkah were both a-cumin in, though not with the same level of enthusiasm. Hanukkah almost always came first – with multiple lightings of the Menorah, the singing of songs and the spinning of dreidels. And, yes, there was the exchange of small gifts. But clearly receiving Hanukkah gelt (whether of the chocolate or silver dollar variety) did not hold a candle – or even eight candles – to the excitement that surrounded the family’s annual Hanukkah bush.

First, there was the thrill of shopping for the tree early and storing it on the fire-escape for a week. Then there was the ritual of making new decorations which were added to the old decorations (including a tree-topping, all-leather Magen David). And finally, of course, the day it all came together – when the recumbent evergreen was moved to standing position near the piano and dusty boxes emerged from storage. Decorating began silently when shiny red, silver and gold balls, chains of paper and popcorn, and sometimes unidentifiable handmade creations, were removed from the boxes and carefully placed on waiting branches. Lastly, when all the objects were placed to everyone’s satisfaction it was time to add the tinsel icicles and rows of blinking lights. This was the day before Christmas. In the evening, there were added pleasures: heaps of beautifully wrapped presents under the tree, a party with favorite foods, relatives, friends in attendance, live music, AND … a visit from Santa.

For a very brief period of time I assumed all Jews celebrated this way. But as soon as I entered kindergarten, I was disabused: it was pointed out in a most neighborly Washington Heights fashion that real Jews didn’t do this stuff. (Vhat? A Christmas tree?) Naturally, the accusation that what went on in our home was not kosher, prompted questions which my parents did their best to answer. They explained that before there was Christmas, there was a more ancient, and pagan, winter holiday; it was that festive event that the family was celebrating. Good as far as it went – but it did not quite explain the live visit from Santa who cheerfully doled out presents and hugs and ho-ho-hos with an unmistakable German accent. Hmmm … and he actually smelled a little like Opa – the very same Opa who went to synagogue most Friday nights.

When I got older and married and had children, I decided to relieve my kids of that certain sense of identity confusion and/or opprobrium associated with being a Christmas-tree-bearing Jew. But I also punted. Not wanting to totally deprive my children of the holiday pleasures I had enjoyed, Christmas Eve was spent at my parents’ home where the old traditions still prevailed.

Now my children are grown and have children of their own; currently, within our family, there are no explicit references to Christmas. Instead, Hanukkah has taken on a more central role. I make latkes every year and usually have a party. Candles are lit a few nights. My grandkids are the recipients of multiple gifts that go far beyond the small tokens I received. Still, there is something about the traditions I observed as a child that I would miss if they were totally absent from my life.

Happily, I am invited to spend Christmas Eve with friends who celebrate full bore – complete with a big tree decked out with tinsel and homemade decorations. There will be lots of food and gifts and soft traditional music playing in the background. And Joy.