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A Happy Jew on Christmas
I’m not sure what it is that makes it so magical. Perhaps it’s the silence, or even the desolate streets, but being a Jew in the Galut on Christmas is a strange and unexpected blessing.
I do the same thing, every year, and I have it down like clockwork. I take a lengthy morning walk in my cold, abandoned city and cook myself burgers before watching all three Lord of The Rings movies in a row. I know, it may sound like any old Sunday, but I guess that is the point and just what makes it so special.
Just five years ago, I was married to a non-Jew and I lived the life of constant compromise that I had grown up with. The holidays were a time when nobody was truly happy, and the symbol of my weakness was a giant tree in the middle of the living room.
With my return to Judaism came the very difficult decision to leave my marriage to live a fully observant life. Full of fear and fulfillment, I started my walk back home at this time of year, five years ago. Ever since, Christmas in the Galut has been a time of reflection on that journey and my tinsel-free apartment, a point of pride in this candy-cane land.
In my community, the intermarriage rate is in the high 80s. Every day, steps are taken to accommodate this rather than combat it. “Jewish-style” weddings and watered-down rules are all part of a system built on the idea that quantity beats quality and fitting in trumps fixing what’s obviously broken. The interesting thing is that with this adaptation and attempt at belonging comes the unexpected loneliness of being between two worlds, the master of none — a feeling I have felt, as it was very close to home. I thought that my life would be easier if I chose to adapt and try as hard as I could to be more like them, but not only did I fail, but ended up with much less of me and very little belonging.
There’s this mythology surrounding Jews on Christmas, from Chinese food and gift-envy to catchy South Park-songs about tribal woes in a jingle bell-world. The narrative is focused on the idea that we want to be like them, and that Christmas is a lonely time for us that needs to be managed and lamented. To me, it’s a missed opportunity to rejoice in what we are, and even more in what we are not.
I love these empty streets in the early hours of the morning, feeling like an alien in a brave new world. I am proud of my alien status, of not being like them and not taking part in a world that does not belong to me. And because of that, because I am free and I’ve stopped pretending. I can feel joy for the sake of Christians without it tinting mine.
I guess that is what true religious co-existence is. It starts with me saying, “I am not like you, nor do I wish to be.” From there, I can greet you without a hint of fear. As a Jew in the Galut on Christmas I feel proud, because it is a testament to the choices I’ve made and the distance I’ve put between me and the scenes inside those tinsel-adorned windows. As Jews, we shouldn’t try to fit in, but feel proud to stand out, and never entertain the idea of a “kosher-style” Christmas.
I love being a Jew on Christmas, because it reminds me that I used to be a bad version of them, but through hard choices and the help of God became the best version of me, and that my beautifully normal Sunday is an act of return and redemption.
So with that I wish my gentile friends a very Merry Christmas, and to myself another beautifully unordinary Jewish year.
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I think you may be missing the humor of this narrative. I’ve never felt or sensed that. Jewish kids, no matter how observant their parents, adore Christmas trees and lights and presents. My mother once went berserk about the idea of a “Chanukah bush” — that was just too far for her — but my father’s attitude was much less defensive and far more in touch (I think) with the reality: kids like fun things. Nowhere do those tablets say, “Thou shalt not put lights and pretty tinsel on a tree.” (Although it’s pretty clear that the Lord would take a very dim view of worshipping it afterward.)
And eating Chinese food on Christmas is a proud, authentic, American Jewish tradition. It isn’t lonely at all. It’s what we do.
I absolutely don’t disagree with the idea of getting together with friends on Christmas and eating good food (I would LOVE to do that if I had a kosher Chinese place anywhere in my country), the point I was making was that I disagree with the narrative that Jews have Christmas-envy. I do however (and now I am going to be super annoyingly Jewwy) believe that HaShem disagrees with us adopting goyishe traditions, as it is considered Avodah Zarah ve-Chukos ha-Goyim to for example have a hanukkah bush or tinsels, etc.
I personally am careful about using christmas-like decorations for hanukkah, because I am afraid it isn’t in accordance with halacha, but I realize that for American Jewry, for example, these things are often much less “loaded” because of the difference in our circumstances and everyday Jewish life. It has been suggested that European-born Jews like myself are more defensive as we feel more under threat, and I am not at all discarding that theory.
Annika, thank you for this.
I love that Christians have Christmas. But our faiths and practises are different, as they should be. Which means that I don’t find it cute when people adopt religious traditions not their own. I find it sad. It is the symptom of a profound failure.
What an astounding breath of fresh air, Annika!
Acknowledging, celebrating and non-apologetically following your faith is its own reward, apparently. “Diversity” is bandied about incessantly, but you are living the true version. Please enjoy your holidays and thanks for wishing us Christians the same.
At the very least, we have our love of LOTR in common.
I am happy to hear you have found yourself so well.
Come on — the tree, the lights? A pagan tradition. Winter solstice. Everyone borrowed it, including Christians.
Why? Most Christmas traditions come from somewhere else. And many are just modern.
Like … ?
Sorry, Claire, but you are dead wrong here.
Judaism is basically the anti-pagan religion. Chanukah happens not at the solstice, but at the darkest time of the year (when you count the moon phases), and is about seeing that light (and all that comes with it) can grow again in the world.
And no,
They don’t. I didn’t. My kids don’t. It is a reminder to us that we are strangers in a strange land. Are you aware that there is a custom in Judaism to not learn Torah on Christmas, in light of all the history?
As the Torah puts it, “Do not do as they do.”
I am not in any position to criticize Christians. My comment above was really directed at Jews – but couched so as to be more gentle. But since you called me on it, so be it: when Jews adopt other religious practices, I see it as a weakness in a chain that stretches back millennia. And I feel responsible for it, which is why I will risk the ire of many by posting these comments, in the hopes that Jews will read and consider.
I remain, as well, in agreement with Mark Steyn that civilizations that do not have confidence in themselves will fail. That confidence includes having children, having both national and religious pride, etc. So the French and Germans need to be proud – and so do Americans. Or something much more strident and dangerous will come to replace the world we knew.
Oh, come on. How does this sentiment differ from people getting worked up because yoga is “cultural appropriation?”
Reminds me of a story. When I was last in India, I stayed with friends in a largely a Hindu household. Wasn’t an entirely Hindu household, mind you. Alma the cook told me she was a Christian, although what precisely this meant to her was unclear to me: The language obstacle was too great. I asked her about it and I figured out through sign language and pictograms that we were dealing with one or perhaps three Gods. I’m sure she believes something along these lines.
But this didn’t prevent her from doing the needful on Diwali, presumably on “Yes, but it’s such fun” grounds. (I’m no expert on the deeper meaning of Diwali, but I offer a superficial explanation based on the Annals of Bewildering Delhi Street Signs: “WORLD’S BIGGEST FIREWORKS! Standard Size.”)
Anyway, Alma — despite her pyrotechnic enthusiasms — claimed to be “the German kind” of Christian. I figured this meant something was going on with her and Martin Luther, and was confirmed in this when I pantomimed nailing the theses — bingo, vigorous nodding. Though I’m still not sure.
So, my hostess was half-Hindu and half Sikh, for her not a day went by without a visit to the temple or the gurdwara, whichever was closer. And she was right. It was always really relaxing and a great break from the frantic pace of Delhi — if I could get past my uneasy sense that my God would not approve of putting all these other Gods anywhere near him, and not even if only in a when-in-Rome way.
I finally figured that Hashem knows full well that going along with the fun doesn’t mean I’m confusing Him with a statue of an elephant with four arms.
(As for my God, quite a number of people there were surprised and curious to learn there was yet another monotheism. But they weren’t at all hostile, just surprised. No bad memories. The general sense was that the monotheisms they knew about were … not so good. But they were very willing to be tolerant — so long as neither of them ever tried invading and colonizing them again.)
Were the Jewish kids you knew fully observant?
This is not even a remotely slippery slope. “Going along with the fun” in India is pure idol worship, whether you “mean” it or not. It is one of the few things for which an observant Jew will choose death if it is the only alternative.
Besides our beliefs and practices (what we think and what we do), what else is there?
About many of the Christmas festivities having their origins in pagan solstice festivals? Nope, I’m right.
There’s a bit more to it than that, but I agree.
Chanukah is not a hugely significant holiday on the Jewish calendar. Whether we measure the darkest time of year by the sun or the moon, it’s unsurprising that in northern climes, people enjoy celebrating with lights.
Well, anecdotal evidence — your experience was different from mine. But I never felt I was a stranger in a strange land in America. It’s my country.
Too late. We do what they do: We’re Americans. It would be literally impossible for me not be an American (with all of its inheritance from Christianity).
Except that I didn’t worship the idols.
I grew up in a barely Jewish household. One year my folks let us have a Christmas tree. It was awkward. My mother said, you have to choose. Either the Hanukah candles or a tree, not both. I think there was wisdom in that, but it hardly came out of devotion to God. I have grown, over the years, to enjoy the holiday lights and celebrations. But not in my house. And Annika, I so love your courage in going back to being a fully observant Jew. I married a non-Jew over 40 years ago, and he is a wonderful, loving man. In my case, since I’ve never really committed to Judaism, it didn’t create a conflict: he didn’t observe anything personally and has always been happy to support whatever I’ve brought into our home. But I’m beginning to realize it’s not a Jewish home, either.
No. I am not remotely ungrateful for all the good that mankind has achieved and shared. Indeed, Jews generally pull our weight in the “new technology” and “scientific discovery” departments, which includes all sorts of nationalities and faiths (though some faiths seem to be more connected with innovation than others).
I am making a distinction about religious beliefs and practices.
From a huge range, when we lived in New York. When we moved to Seattle, I was one of only two Jews in my class. From memory, the JCC and my Jewish summer camp were being obviously reform or conservative, not orthodox. My stepbrother and his family (who live in Seattle) are orthodox.
That’s not a compelling response to Torah and Talmud. It’s surprising you think it is.
“We do what we do” is repeatedly and explicitly rejected by those books as inadequate (to say the least).
OK. You seem to know one fully observant family. The other kids you mentioned were more or less assimilated, being reform or conservative, so it’s not surprising they would like Christmas lights.
I always admired the fact that in many communities it became something of a tradition for Jews employed in essential services like medicine to take shifts for their Christian colleagues on Christmas. (The cynical among you can snark about holiday pay but I will not abide it.)
The holiday has become commercialized and too much it has become a festival of excess, but it is also one of the few days where family is paramount. In that sense it is vital even among the weakest of believers.
Besides, if Jews didn’t have a kinship with us, where the hell would we get all of our Christmas music?
Not my point. I’m saying that it would be impossible for me to follow the injunction, “Do not do as they do.” I’m a native English speaker who grew up in America, a country steeped in Christian customs and the inheritor of a European culture that was predominantly Christian for a millennium and a half. What part am I supposed to “not do” — Newton? Lincoln?
I am not arguing about this. I don’t go there, though, because of respect for those who believe otherwise.
I was arguing that Judaism tries hard not to adopt those customs.
I cannot tell if you are being puckish, or whether you actually miss the point.
I am American. I love America. I do American things. I respect the fact that America is basically a Christian country.
But I do NOT do things that are part of a non-Jewish religion. And frankly, I do not like it when Christians do things that do not belong to their religion either.
Trees, tinsels and Xmas presents are Christian things. Good on them. Jews and Christians can be, and should be, different.
The answer to your (very good) question is to learn Torah and Talmud and thereby discover the purpose and scope of the injunction.
I don’t just know them, I’m related to them. They’re my family. But I’d contest the conflation of “observant” and “orthodox.”
You “joined in the fun”. How do you know what counts as worship? In some cultures, worship can include a funky dance or defecation, or merely setting a plate of food down in front of a picture prior to eating it.
I’d consider “joining in the fun” the Indian analog to American kids being taught the shahadah as a matter of interfaith bridge-building.
Do they have tinsel?
The Christmas tree honors “the living God” Who is the Light of all. Those are originally Jewish concepts.
Pagan religions posed good and evil as equal forces. God revealed Himself to the Jews as the source of all good and revealed evil to be merely the deprivation or distortion of goodness. As darkness cannot resist the light, so evil is powerless before God.
The supposed pagan origins of the Christmas tree tradition are overblown, like so many anti-Christian and anti-orthodox histories. Christianity does incorporate as much as possible from humanity’s wonderful variety of customs and expressions. But we adapt those acceptable customs to sound theology. Like iWe teaches in regard to Jewish theology, we are called to purify and glorify the world as God’s hands on Earth; not to abandon it to corruption and darkness.
Here’s a Christmas tree history that will probably surprise you. It involves a Christian saint and actions that would horrify modern sensibilities. Basically, the tree tradition began with the destruction of a pagan people’s sacred tree. It ends with restoration of that people’s heritage in new alignment with the one benevolent God of Christians and Jews.
Because of its association with Christ, I can understand Jews not adorning their own trees. But because it represents God as light and life, a belief Christians and Jews share, I hope that Jews will feel welcome by our trees… even as we honor the glorious birth of a Jew.
We absolutely have a kinship! No denying it. Indeed, Jews have written much better songs for Christmas than we ever managed for Chanukah. Which I guess makes sense – there is better trade in the former, anyway.
But there is a line, and it is at religious practices.
Claire – If you decide to learn more (even five minutes a day), I recommend Rabbi Samson Hirsch’s commentary on the Torah as well as his essays. As you may already know, RabbiHirsch knew quite a lot about non-Jewish things, having received a classical education in early-19th-century Germany. I think you would appreciate his insights as well as his elegant style.