Ho, Ho, Ho...Not
Growing up, I don't remember much Christmas envy. I'm sure it was there, but I simply don't remember having it, at least not until I was about ten. Before that, we lived in Miami where the schools had teacher work days on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur and the schools made sure that we all learned "Dreidel Dreidel" alongside "Winter Wonderland." My best friend always invited me over on Christmas Eve to help decorate her family's tree, which apparently was enough for me. At ten, we moved to Boulder, Colorado, where Jews in my school were as rare as a Red Sox world series win--we were there, but we weren't easy to come by. But even then, I don't recall caring that much. I'm sure I must have done the token "But why can't we have a Christmas tree?" spiel, but it's not something that scarred me.
So why is it that Christmas feels so much more overwhelming now? Has it always been so in your face and I just didn't realize it? Or has the commercialism
of Christmas gotten worse since the '70s? Because everywhere I turn with Doodles, Christmas seems to attack. At the mall, in late October, long lines for Santa. Christmas music piped into the supermarket. Elderly people walking up to us in the doctor's office waiting room to ask Doodles, "And what is Santa going to bring you this year?" I'm flanked by Christmas.
So the dilemma? How do you tactfully avoid the situation? To the folks who mean well, I say, "Actually, Santa doesn't visit our house." But how do I explain to Doodles, yes, there is no Santa, but shhhhh don't tell the kids who do believe in him. How do you handle those years when all he can see is Christmas everywhere but is too young to actually understand what it's all about and why we don't do it? I don't believe in making Hanukkah into a full-blown affair to try and match Christmas... except that's already what I'm doing. We have a cut-out menorah on our front door. Doodles has three Hanukkah books, a musical dreidel, a soft book of Hanukkah cut-outs, a plush menorah, and the Fisher Price Little People Hanukkah Set. I have eight nights worth of presents. I have Hanukkah music playing on the stereo.
Growing up, being Jewish was the absence of all (okay, most) things Christian. We didn't have a Christmas tree. We didn't visit Santa. We didn't have stockings. Okay, we painted and looked for Easter eggs, but that was the extent of it. Yes, there was a Passover seder, but that involved my father seeing how fast we could get through the Haggadah. On Rosh Hashanah, when we lived in Miami, we went to my grandmother's house. On Yom Kippur, my mother didn't let us go to school (in Colorado) but that just meant we could stay home and watch TV. We lit a menorah. That was Jewish. When we moved back to Miami Beach, Jewish was no longer freakish, but it didn't change our life much.
Once I was an adult, my mother suddenly found Santa. One Christmas Eve she announced, "I'm hanging a stocking by the fireplace. I wonder if Santa will put anything into it." And she took an old sock and taped it up to the fireplace (yes, we had a fireplace. In Miami Beach. Go figure). My sister and I had to drive a ways a way to find an open 7-11 to buy charcoal to put into the stocking. We did write a note: "This is what Jewish people get in their stockings." My mother was furious. I mean furious!! The next year to appease, Tweedles and I got her an actual stocking and filled it with tchotchkes.
And then there's my father. There's just too much there to even begin with my father. Suffice it to say, if my father had his way, there would have been egg nog, a tree, and lots of snow at our Miami Beach house.
So what to do about Doodles? I don't want Judaism to be about what he can't do; I want it to be full of rich traditions and memorable experiences. I want it to be about all the cool things we do as a family. And for eleven (okay, ten and a half; hmm, maybe ten) months out of the year, that's pretty easy to do. But during Christmas season, I long for jingle bells and cute little ornaments that read "Baby's First Christmas" (okay, it would be his second Christmas, but who's counting?).
I thought this wouldn't be a problem for a few years. But it's creeping in this year and I see it as a full-fledged issue next year. What's a nice Jewish mom to do?
So why is it that Christmas feels so much more overwhelming now? Has it always been so in your face and I just didn't realize it? Or has the commercialism
of Christmas gotten worse since the '70s? Because everywhere I turn with Doodles, Christmas seems to attack. At the mall, in late October, long lines for Santa. Christmas music piped into the supermarket. Elderly people walking up to us in the doctor's office waiting room to ask Doodles, "And what is Santa going to bring you this year?" I'm flanked by Christmas.
So the dilemma? How do you tactfully avoid the situation? To the folks who mean well, I say, "Actually, Santa doesn't visit our house." But how do I explain to Doodles, yes, there is no Santa, but shhhhh don't tell the kids who do believe in him. How do you handle those years when all he can see is Christmas everywhere but is too young to actually understand what it's all about and why we don't do it? I don't believe in making Hanukkah into a full-blown affair to try and match Christmas... except that's already what I'm doing. We have a cut-out menorah on our front door. Doodles has three Hanukkah books, a musical dreidel, a soft book of Hanukkah cut-outs, a plush menorah, and the Fisher Price Little People Hanukkah Set. I have eight nights worth of presents. I have Hanukkah music playing on the stereo.
Growing up, being Jewish was the absence of all (okay, most) things Christian. We didn't have a Christmas tree. We didn't visit Santa. We didn't have stockings. Okay, we painted and looked for Easter eggs, but that was the extent of it. Yes, there was a Passover seder, but that involved my father seeing how fast we could get through the Haggadah. On Rosh Hashanah, when we lived in Miami, we went to my grandmother's house. On Yom Kippur, my mother didn't let us go to school (in Colorado) but that just meant we could stay home and watch TV. We lit a menorah. That was Jewish. When we moved back to Miami Beach, Jewish was no longer freakish, but it didn't change our life much.
Once I was an adult, my mother suddenly found Santa. One Christmas Eve she announced, "I'm hanging a stocking by the fireplace. I wonder if Santa will put anything into it." And she took an old sock and taped it up to the fireplace (yes, we had a fireplace. In Miami Beach. Go figure). My sister and I had to drive a ways a way to find an open 7-11 to buy charcoal to put into the stocking. We did write a note: "This is what Jewish people get in their stockings." My mother was furious. I mean furious!! The next year to appease, Tweedles and I got her an actual stocking and filled it with tchotchkes.
And then there's my father. There's just too much there to even begin with my father. Suffice it to say, if my father had his way, there would have been egg nog, a tree, and lots of snow at our Miami Beach house.
So what to do about Doodles? I don't want Judaism to be about what he can't do; I want it to be full of rich traditions and memorable experiences. I want it to be about all the cool things we do as a family. And for eleven (okay, ten and a half; hmm, maybe ten) months out of the year, that's pretty easy to do. But during Christmas season, I long for jingle bells and cute little ornaments that read "Baby's First Christmas" (okay, it would be his second Christmas, but who's counting?).
I thought this wouldn't be a problem for a few years. But it's creeping in this year and I see it as a full-fledged issue next year. What's a nice Jewish mom to do?
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