Christmas is Dangerous?
I was about ten years old when I went over to a friend’s house and first saw a real Christmas tree in someone’s home. It was the very first time that I was able to witness Christmas in person. Before that moment, I had only seen Christmas in the movies or on television. Now, here in the foyer of my friend’s very non-Jewish house was a gigantic Christmas tree covered in shining bejeweled ornaments. Underneath that tree were piles of beautifully wrapped Christmas presents – all ready to be opened on one magical morning, a morning I would never get to experience.
I remember coming back home after seeing that Christmas tree only to find a small collection of wrapped Chanukah presents sitting by our fireplace – from the way they were wrapped, it was clear that half of the presents were socks.
And so, I was jealous. I wanted to celebrate Christmas. I wanted to wake up, run downstairs, tear through bright wrapping paper covered in bows and play all day with new toys. I wanted to sit by a fire with roasting chestnuts and listen to Burl Ives and Nat King Cole. I wanted to dream of Santa skipping around my house, eating my cookies and dropping gifts under my tree.
For many of my generation, Christmas was considered the ultimate non-Jewish event – a day that was declared dangerous because of its magical allure. Since Christmas tempted us to imagine ourselves as non-Jews, we were taught that it was a decadent waste – a day that we needed to avoid – a day that was the very antithesis of being a Jew. As our non-Jewish friends got lost in the ‘moral baseness’ of the Christmas season, we were taught to be grateful for our new slacks, our lo mein noodles and our empty movie theatres.
It was only later that I learned how the very Christmas that I envied was largely the creation of Jewish immigrants. The music, the movies, the television specials – much of the Christmas culture that I knew about was written, directed, produced and put together by Jews who sought acceptance in the United States. For these immigrants, Christmas became an American emblem of togetherness and hope – a holiday that was all about their new nation’s positivity.
Today, many Jews have Christmas trees in their homes. Many others have adopted Christmas rituals such as the placing of blue stockings by the fireplace for Chanukah. Many have sought ways to enjoy the Christmas season by taking tours of homes with Christmas lights or watching television specials as a family. Whatever it may be—the danger of the Christmas season is no longer present. We seem to have finally accepted this holiday as a part of our American culture without feeling so threated by it.
For me personally, this time of year is full of warmth. After finishing our own Jewish holiday of miracles, our attention turns towards gathering together and taking a pause from our work. This is a time of year in which we seem to think more about one another, engage in community service and acts of goodwill. As Christmas and New Year’s Eve are fast approaching, there is a sense of hope that the entire world could readily use.
As Jews, we need not isolate ourselves from the rhythm of our secular year. While Christmas may not be a Jewish holiday and New Year’s Eve may not be our new year, let us recognize that we are a part of two worlds – one that is our Judaism and one that is our American nationality. While these two identities sometimes need their separation, at other times, we should seek to embrace their mutual values.
May this winter season be one of joy, renewal and hope for each and every one of you.
Shabbat Shalom
Rabbi Leiken