The moment Thanksgiving dishes are washed and put away, the world seems to transform. Twinkle lights appear, Santas inflate all over the neighborhood, and “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” blares in stores. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!
As a Jewish child, December often felt isolating. But I also have sweet memories of hanging ornaments on my neighbor’s tree, attending Christmas mass with a peer and wading through waist-high snow on a mountaintop in Vermont to pick out the perfect tree with a friend. Christmas is not and will never be my holiday. But as an adult, I can appreciate its joy while compartmentalizing childhood feelings of exclusion.
Now, I look forward to our own family Christmas traditions. Or, I should say, our Jewish Christmas traditions. On Dec. 24, we will feast on lo mein and egg rolls, snuggle on the couch and stay up late watching movies. Dec. 25 is for pajamas, walks and board games. We don’t have to celebrate Christmas to appreciate the coziness of a day off with no work, no school and nowhere to be but present with our loved ones.
I guess you could say I’m a Jew who loves Christmas. Or at least, a Jew who has come to appreciate it.
And while I can’t bring myself to place blue and white lights outside our home, we do enjoy placing a little menorah in our front window. For many of us who don’t celebrate Christmas, this season still offers opportunities to take part in winter festivities.
And this year is especially unique, as Hanukkah begins the evening of Dec. 25.
Perhaps for you, Dec. 25 will be a completely secular day of rest that is void of trees and Santa, but filled with uninterrupted family time.
Perhaps you are a Jewish person who is part of a non-Jewish family. You might accompany loved ones who celebrate Christmas as a holy day, choosing to support their celebration before lighting your own Hanukkah candles.
Perhaps you are part of an interfaith family that celebrates both Christmas and Hanukkah. Maybe your Chanukiah glows brightly next to your Christmas tree.
The biblical story of Joseph acknowledges the complexity of raising Jewish children in a non-Jewish world. Joseph is the first father in the Torah to raise Jewish children in a non-Jewish world. His children, Ephraim and Menasseh, are raised in Egypt, immersed in its culture.
As their grandfather, Jacob, lies on his deathbed, he blesses them: “May God make you like Ephraim and Menasseh” (Genesis 48:20). To this day, we bless our children with these words, embracing a legacy of being proudly Jewish and part of the world around us. We are Jewish and American, spiritual and secular, traditional and innovative.
We embrace the “and” of our identities. This duality can be a source of strength.
The more Decembers I live through, the more interfaith families and conversion students I see thriving, the more confident I feel in our ability to uphold our Jewish identities while living multi-faceted lives.
Please don’t get me wrong — I am not suggesting that all Jewish families run out and get a tree this week. What I am suggesting is that as Jews make potentially complicated plans for Hanukkah on Dec. 25, we ask ourselves:
• Are we maintaining the blessing of Ephraim and Manasseh?
• Are we establishing family traditions that are strong enough to carry through this generation, and the next?
We can appreciate, participate and perhaps even celebrate while holding fast to our blessing: we are descendants of Jacob. We part of this world, and we are proudly Jewish.
This December, I will bundle my proudly Jewish kids into the back of our minivan. We’ll bring mugs of cocoa, and we’ll drive through the neighborhoods, admiring the lights. We’ll ooh and ahh at the ones that move with the music. We will laugh at the ones that are silly, and solemnly appreciate religious displays.
And when we see the rare house decked out in blue and white, we will squeal with the excitement of the familiar: as if we are Ephraim and they are Manasseh, recognizing one another thousands of years later by the light of an identity that is both deeply Jewish and profoundly joyful in this bright, colorful and complicated world.
Editor’s note: Rabbi Sara Mason-Barkin is rabbi and executive educator of Congregation Beth Israel in Scottsdale. Reader reactions, pro or con, are welcomed at AzOpinions@iniusa.org.
