Growing up Jewish in the sixties and seventies, our family walked a fine line between trying to fit in with our Christian neighbors while still connecting with our Jewish roots. When I was four, my mom took me to the mall to sit on Santa’s lap and have my picture taken with him. The whole way there, I sang the “I have a little dreidel” song. (Yeah, you could say I was confused.) I waited in line with all the other little girls and boys and when it was my quality thirty-second turn with Santa, he asked me, “And what do you want for Christmas, little girl?” “Nothing, thank you, I’m Jewish,” I said very politely. I don’t remember what he said, but I remember that he looked confused too.
I still walk that line between wanting to fit in and following my Jewish traditions every “holiday” season. I still struggle when someone wishes me a Merry Christmas. I know they’re saying it from a well-meaning place, but it’s like wishing someone good luck in a race she’s not running. Instead of taking it in the spirit intended, it reminds me that I’m different. I have several responses to the Merry Christmas greeting, depending on my mood:
a) You too.
b) Thank you. I don’t celebrate Christmas, but I hope you have a happy holiday.
c) Okay, and a Happy Chanukkah to you.
d) Actually, there are many people who don’t celebrate Christmas and I’m one of them.
e) Oh.
See, I was the kid in the high school chorus who loved to sing Christmas carols but left out all the religious words, because it wasn’t my holiday. I was the kid that went with my family to a Chinese restaurant on Christmas day, because that’s what Jews do. I was the kid who loved to decorate my friends’ Christmas trees, but I drew the line at setting up the cresh with the baby Jesus and all the animals. There is no Jewish law that I know of that specifically prohibits these activities. It was more a matter of my comfort zone. I mean after all, the whole point of Chanukkah is that we fought for our right not to assimilate into the dominant culture of the time.
