Dear Santa, The Kids Are About to Find Out You’re A Fake
The day my kids learnt that Christmas is more than the reaping of rewards from a letter to Santa
The idea of a “traditional” Christmas is a bit of a farce in my house.
I was brought up Jewish and never had a Christmas tree or a Christmas roast on Christmas Day, unless we went to spend it with relatives. Though all brought up Jewish too, my father’s siblings always celebrated Christmas with a tree, lots of presents, and a big, sit-down Christmas lunch.
But in my childhood home, we didn’t do these things. Our main gifts were given to us during the eight days of Hanukkah. Santa filled a pillowcase each for my sister and me on Christmas Eve, and that was the height of our Christmas.
After emptying our pillowcases on Christmas morning, we would turn on the TV to watch a Christmas movie or two. The world was silent and we hung out in our dressing gowns for hours, only getting dressed in time for a simple lunch — usually pitta and houmous — after which we always went for a walk together as a family.
By the time we returned to our village, the pub had opened for the afternoon and evening and we would stop in for a drink and a bit of banter with the locals.
