Being Jewish at Christmas
“What are we doing for Christmas this year?”
I allowed myself to roll my eyes, given that this was a simple phone call with my daughter, not Facetime, where she’d be able to see me and inevitably call me on my gesture. I then replied as calmly as possible, “We don’t have any plans.” Then, I added as a reminder, in case she’d forgotten, “We’re Jewish.”
This can be an awkward time of year for Members of the Tribe (MOT). Granted, we’ve taken Hanukkah, a minor holiday in the Jewish calendar, and plumped it up into a major gift-giving event. We light eight candles to represent the eight nights that a small amount of oil miraculously burned in the eternal lamp and somehow translated it into giving our kids a gift eight nights in a row. Usually it begins with a substantial present, with the value and enthusiasm lessening each night. So, now we have a holiday of our own and our children don’t have to look at their Christian friends with envy.
I guess if we’re being honest here, the tables do get turned when non-Jewish kids see their friends cleaning up at their Bar or Bat Mitzvah. Thirteen is now a major milestone regardless of one’s religious background.
There are additional challenges to being Jewish in December. The decorating of the tree, for instance. No one wants to be left out of such a popular ritual. I remember when I was growing up in Florida, I would yank a branch off of the huge pine tree in front of our house. I’d lean it against a wall in my room, make some blue and white paper decorations to hang on it and call it a ‘Hanukkah Bush.’ One year, my brother wanted Santa to bring him a broom. He was able to verbalize this clearly to Santa at the mall, because, of course, our parents took us to see Santa at the mall every year. I have the pictures to prove it. My mother refused to put up a Christmas tree, but she did gift wrap a little broom and put it under the decorative tree we had in our living room. Christmas morning, my brother was so happy to find a broom under that fake tree, he was out sweeping the sidewalk in front of our house for hours! But, as Jews, there are many questions we ask ourselves on Christmas Day.
“How do we spend the day?”
“Who do we spend the day with?”
And, most importantly, “Where do we eat?”
I’ve spent many a Christmas hiding inside my house like the hermit I am not, peeking through the window as one neighbor after another takes long, leisurely walks around the block with extended family members who’ve come to eat, drink and be merry. Even their dogs look happy.
For as long as I can remember, there have always been two solid options open to Jews on Christmas… Movies and Chinese Food.
When I lived in New York in my twenties, we always went to see a Woody Allen film at one of the local art houses. The lines would literally be around the block. Jews were clamoring to get in. One year, the famous director, Paul Mazursky was standing in line, just like the rest of us. We stood there waiting for what seemed an eternity. Fed up, my husband shouted, “Let My People In!” Everyone laughed, including Mr. Mazursky!
Several years ago, my husband, two young daughters and myself flew back from visiting family on Christmas Day. Flights were cheaper that day, so why not? It wasn’t like we were rushing back to anything. But, I’d made the serious flaw of not having food in the freezer to heat up upon our arrival home. It was about 6pm and the kids were hungry. We drove by our local Chinese place and could tell immediately that it was total chaos inside.
“What about a deli?” My husband’s suggestion seemed like a good one to me. We drove by the deli closest to our house. I ran out of the car to see what the wait would be. An hour, at least! We drove on. The kids were getting cranky. They’d just come off a cross country flight and now their stomachs were empty. They were not happy campers. My husband and I were in freak out mode. Nothing was open. The main drag of our town was dead. Nothing, and I mean, nothing was open!
Finally, after driving around and around looking for a lit ‘Open’ sign, we saw something on the second story of a local strip mall. We parked the car easily, since the lot was mostly empty. We made our way up the stairs since the escalator was off. We walked past one dark shop after another. Finally, we arrived at the space where we’d seen the Open sign. It was possible someone had just forgotten to turn the light off after work the day before. I held my breath as I pulled the door handle. It moved! We’d found a restaurant that was open. Hallelujah, praise the… Anyway, it wasn’t a place we frequented much. There was no kids menu. They had a very limited holiday selection. But, we ate. And our children ate. Then, we went home, exhausted, knowing that when we woke up in the morning. Christmas would be over and everyone would be on the same playing field again. Not Jews, not Christians, just people.
Oh, and by the way, my daughter has been invited to spend Christmas in Providence, Rhode Island with a college friend this year. The rest of us will probably go see a movie. I’ll stock the fridge so we don’t have to worry about where to eat. After 58 years, I’ve learned a thing or two about being Jewish on Christmas.
