Saying Goodbye to Christmas
The New York Times recently published an op-ed piece in which the author described how and why she was “saying goodbye” to Hanukkah. My head exploded, just a teeny bit, in reaction to that piece and I started this conversation on Twitter. If you’re interested in this theme, it’s worth it to navigate through the different streams on that rich thread to see the diversity of interpretations and opinions. You might get lost — don’t say I didn’t warn you.
One stream in the discussion lamented the NYT’s track-record of writing about Jewish holidays this time of year (see here for more on that). Longer ago, but still infamous, is the op-ed they ran in December 1978, by Anne Roiphe, titled “Christmas Comes to a Jewish Home.” Some participants in this week’s discussion called for alternative storylines to that of “Saying Goodbye to Hanukkah.” Here’s one beautifully written story, aptly titled “Saying Hello to Hanukkah,” in which the author describes a kind of homecoming as a Jew:
“I started learning things I hadn’t known before, that put my memories of my grandfather and my aunts and uncles in a new light. I started figuring out just how joyful and beautiful and rich Jewish life is. I realized how much I’d missed it, and how much I’d been longing for those traditions to ground me and root me in my own life and my life as a father.”
In hopes that others, too, will add in their stories about being Jews in December, here’s mine. For context: unlike many (most??) American Jews, my parents are both Jews. My 4 grandparents were immigrants to the U.S. — two survived the anti-Jewish pogroms in Europe around 1915 and escaped to NYC , the other two (shown below) escaped Europe to Israel (then Palestine) and moved to NYC ~1939. This lineage does NOT make me more of a Jew than anyone else, but it provides context for my story.
Despite my parents’ inter-outer borough romance, they left NYC and moved southwards to the DC suburbs. They enrolled us in a Jewish day school (code for religious school, and also code for some diversity in terms of intra-Jewish denominations) — this meant that my world was comprised nearly exclusively of Jews. Sure, there were social interactions outside of school: there was Jewish camp, Jewish youth group, Jewish synagogue. In that Jewish bubble of a childhood, we called it “Winter break.” We studied history according to a BCE and CE dateline(and not their Christian BC, AD alternatives). We formally ignored Halloween and Valentine’s Day holidays (because of their Christian roots & associations). My grandmother (who must have witnessed terrible violence as a child) warned me to stay inside on Christmas and Easter because those are times are dangerous for Jews. The world, in fact, was divided for me according to a binary of Jews and not Jews.
Somehow, though, my siblings and I convinced my parents to let us watch the so-called holiday TV specials for kids (young people: TV shows were broadcast at a certain time and there was no recording it or watching something else): there was Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Charlie Brown’s Christmas. These specials were aired every year, only in December. Of course, Jews are far from the only ones excluded by the TV content from the 1960s. One could perhaps convincingly argue that these shows aren’t religious in nature, that they’re seasonal and deal with universal themes. For me, as a kid, though, these shows demanded a kind of distancing — I knew it wasn’t about me or for me, but it was the only kid entertainment there was. I didn’t turn away. To me, being an American kid meant watching -and loving — those shows.
The TV show example manifests for me how Christmas and the season enveloping it ultimately defined for me my status as an outsider in the U.S. If you think about it, it — it’s EVERYWHERE, from Thanksgiving until January. The “holiday season,” you know? Except it’s not my holiday season. Attending “holiday music” concerts, with their beautiful Christmas songs usually means having to bear the embarrassment of the insertion of that ridiculous Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel song. It’s supposedly for inclusiveness, but dang, a great example of back-handed inclusiveness. The shame! There are hauntingly beautiful Jewish melodies, but the Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel song is not among them.
Now that I’m a parent, I face the Christmas dilemma, through my children. They look at Christmas and want a piece of it — the tree, the presents, the cookies — it looks fun! Kids want to belong, and I felt pressure as a parent, to yield to that longing and just let them join in the fun. Some Jews adopt elements of Christmas, as Jews, maybe for these reasons? Personally, I’ve been granted a hiatus from this dilemma, because we are now living in Israel. This time of year, the LACK of Christmas is so noticeable to me, almost disorienting, as in” Wait, what month is it?” (Of course, there are Palestinian Christian communities in Israel, in Nazareth for one, but any hint of Christmas takes some seeking out from a perch in Tel Aviv).
All this now explains the point of this essay: here, beginning on the 25th of Kislev, this week on Thursday night, we celebrate Chanukah. Kids are off of school for the week, so there is a bit of emphasis on family outings and stuff for kids. It’s not a gift giving holiday (we have others for that). We gather at sunset, light the candles, eat special doughnuts, and sing. It’s a very sweet time. COVID Chanukah will be a disappointment, for sure. Usually, though, eight nights with family and friends and doughnuts and candles and music is long enough to becomes a routine, and everyone is a bit sad when it is over.
What’s unique about it here, for me, is that we are not celebrating Chanukah RELATIVE TO CHRISTMAS. There simply is no Christmas, formally or otherwise. By being outside of the U.S., this “saying goodbye to Christmas,” has given me more space to do Hanukkah, and enjoy it. It does not involve an accompanying tide of exclusion, feelings of otherness, or pressure about how to negotiate this issue with my kids.
We light the candles, recite the blessings, and sing the traditional songs (not Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel!). The lights, from the candles in our homes, connect us to one another, to our shared pasts, & common future. We sing Ma’oz Tzur: a song that dates to ~13th century, written at time of Crusades, and talks, roughly speaking, about restoring and rebuilding, through our history. We sing about shining our own lights and singing our songs. We sing about miracles, big and small, of various kinds, from oils to battles. In this year, 5781 (or 2020 CE), how can we not focus on the miracle of vaccines? And finally, in a year like this one, I’m going big on the doughnuts, no regrets and no holds barred.
Happy festival of lights, my people. Light it up! And to all of you who celebrate that other holiday, I’ll wish you a merry merry, when the time comes.
