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The New Years Tree
By Rita Kreynin
I love a New Years Tree. No, not the Christmas fir tree. The New Years fir tree.
What is a New Years Tree you may be wondering? One of my favorite memories from my childhood is that every year, around the middle of December, my parents would get our family a yolka that would be in our living room, adorned with festive lights, decorations, and presents underneath to be opened by my family on the morning of the New Year.
WAIT A SECOND! My family is Jewish, why on earth are we celebrating a holiday that sounds identical to Christmas?
I should clarify. When I was four years old, my family emigrated to the U.S from the former Soviet Union. When I was in the first grade, in an effort to illustrate religious diversity, our teacher split the class up according to which religion was celebrated in the home. Trying to determine where I fit, I explained to the class that my parents were Jewish but that we put up a decorated tree for the holidays. My fellow first graders assured me I must be half Jewish and half Christian because a tree in my house must have meant that I celebrated Christmas.
That day I came home very confused – were my parents keeping something from me? Not according to my mother.  She explained to me that because religious observance was discouraged under communism in the Soviet Union, people didn’t celebrate Hanukkah or Christmas. The New Year was the holiday celebrated by all Soviets and at the heart of the celebration was the decorated yolka, which was introduced to imperial Russia by Peter the Great in the late 17th century. To offer a little history — in 1916 the yolka was first banned by the state church council and thereafter by the Soviet officials, but in 1935 the ban was lifted and New Years became an official state-recognized holiday. From 1935 until 1991, when the Soviet Union crumbled, New Years was one of the most beloved holidays in the land.
My parents stopped putting up a real New Years tree in our house around the time I was eight, when they figured out that, in America, Jews don’t have fir trees in their homes. When I begged really hard, I managed to convince them to assemble a fake tree, but only succeeded in that a few times. These days, the aroma of pine needles coming off of a Christmas tree makes me nostalgic and giddy. If my apartment were big enough, I would probably get a New Years tree this holiday season. It would be lovely right next to my menorah.
Photo by Ed Bierman, licensed under Creative Commons.
Italian-Jewish for the Holidays
By Jake W-M
The beauty of having an Italian father is being born into a giant, very localized, Roman-Catholic family in the New Haven area of Connecticut. Most people think the big fight in New Haven is over which pizza is better – Sally’s or Pepe’s – but local guidos like us know there are a dozen other places to go. Growing up, I spent more time with my father’s side of the family than my mother’s; the fact of the matter is, the Italian side was always larger than the Jewish side, so much so that they easily outnumbered my mother’s family at the bnei-mitzvot of my sister and me.
Having an appreciation for religion, my father’s family has been very supportive of my Jewish observance and background, though perhaps occasionally confused or frustrated by my inconsistent practices and the subsequent complications. To this day, when I visit for Christmas celebrations, they greet me with a “Happy Hanukkah!” even though it is not usually the reason I’m there (and in spite of my insistence that, in the holiday rankings, Christmas is really a few steps higher). My aunt has even taken to making a vegetarian lasagna just for my sister and I (the traditional version is loaded with delicious treif). I kvell every time! And I’ll never forget the Christmas dinner, when after saying grace–in Latin AND English–my Nonni (Grandmother) turned to me and excitedly told me to “Do it in Jewish!” After the initial confusion over what I was being asked to do, I had the presence of mind to say hamotzi in English as best as I could. Perhaps not in the moment, but in retrospect, I realized that it was such a heartfelt gesture that my grandmother, in her own way, wanted to include my Jewish practices in the family celebration.
For years I had made up reasons in my head for why I should play down the Jewish thing, but it just wasn’t necessary. Sure there were bumps in the road, and maybe some baggage that predated my own existence, but really I feel blessed to have a family that accepts and supports me the way they do, especially having heard stories where that’s not the case. Just like mishpocha is mishpocha, famiglia is famiglia, and I wouldn’t trade mine for anything.
Chag Hanukkah Sameach and Buon Natale!
Photo by Maggie Hoffman, licensed under Creative Commons.
The Jew Who Loved Christmas
By Briana Goldman
In the words of Andy Williams, “it’s the most wonderful time of the year.” Each year as the air turns crisp, the leaves change color, and the light throw-blankets turn into heavy duvet covers, I turn into a Jew obsessed. A Jew obsessed with Christmas, that is. I become fixated on roasting chestnuts and ice skating–I even recently downloaded the Elf soundtrack. This may seem a bit at odds with my Jewish background, my fellowship at a Jewish organization, and my amazing ability to consume gelt in large quantities. However, I’ve never embraced Chanukah as fully as I’ve embraced Christmas. Chanukah has never had the same universal appeal to me. Hardly anyone knows the complete lyrics to “I had a little dreidel,” and Judah “the Hammer” Maccabi sounds like the name of a pro-wrestler. Needless to say, our marketing has never spoken to me in the same way that nutcrackers and sugarplum fairies have.
My friends constantly question my enthusiasm for candy canes and stockings, with askance ranging from, “do you even celebrate Christmas,” to “do I have to buy you a present?” My parents think I’m misguided and wonder if they could have served me more latkes growing up, or shipped me off to an Orthodox boarding school. By way of explanation, I now offer this: it truly is the most wonderful time of the year, no matter what religion you practice or what holiday you choose to celebrate. I celebrate the parts of the season that echo the core tenets of Jewish spirit.
To me, the season means not just celebrating Christmas or Chanukah, but celebrating the holidays (or the pieces of each holiday) that bring families closer together, volunteering at your local soup kitchen, or hanging out with the elderly (even if that just means Grandma and Grandpa). The best part about the holidays is that the time when you normally come home, throw your jacket on the ground, shove some food in your mouth, and then go to bed, gets put into slow motion. During the holidays you can come home, hug or kiss whomever may be waiting, sit down and talk with them over a hot meal, sing, laugh, and tell stories about winters past. You go to bed with a smile on your face. This is the stuff that the holidays, and Jewish culture, are built from and made of.
Judaism is built on celebrations with your friends and family. From the fun to somber (Chanukah to Yom Kippur), we gather everywhere from our living rooms to the synagogue to worship as a group, and the holiday season embodies this celebratory reunion. By trying to convince my parents to watch Miracle on 34th Street, making a fruitcake for Grandma, or serving soup on Christmas day, I am celebrating Christmas. But, by embracing the traditions of Christmas as fully as the rest of my family has embraced Chanukah, I’m embracing the foundations of Judaism.
Photo by Laurenatclemson, licensed under Creative Commons.
Tangled up in Bad
By Richard Skeen
Jews doing Christmas music is hardly new. We have, after all, contributed everything from Irving Berlin’s “White Christmas” to “Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer,” testament to both the vast appeal of the holiday to Americans and the ability of Jewish immigrants to become a part of the American mosaic. Jewish contributions to the Season’s music is so prevalent that over the weekend, “Prairie Home Companion” host Garrison Keillor suggested we stay out of the Christmas music business.
In the nick of time, Bob Dylan has just released “Christmas in the Heart,” an album offering his take on the Christmas classics that is something both unique and peculiar, and may solve the hub-bub in one listen.
The Jewish people have claimed Bob Dylan since his beginning. Dylan’s history, lyrics, and discography have been passed from father to son and knowing boyfriend to girlfriend for decades. Such a Jewish story: young Robert Zimmerman from humble Minnesota (yes, the same place as the very non-Jewish Garrison Keillor) emerges in the coffee houses of Greenwich Village, and unleashes a barrage of brilliant folk music of protest, winning fans and critics alike. Jews (and millions of others) have loved his songs demanding justice, were electrified when he defiantly plugged in, and were amazed as his lyrics danced between Biblical allusion and profane love with such ease and profundity.
As his cannon grew, we applied a Talmudic search for meaning within his mystical and elusive lyrics. And like the wicked son of our Haggadah, we indulged Dylan’s flirtation with Christianity (and the abysmally bad music of that era) and forgave his Victoria’s Secret commercial as well as the numerous dud concerts and occasional dud record. But Dylan’s dreadful new “Christmas of the Heart” album is either unforgivable, or a bad joke. Or both.
From the get go, Dylan singing Christmas classics seemed doomed. Many Jewish fans were perplexed, and I suspect Christmas traditionalists were concerned (xenophobic, sure, but Garrison Keillor has a point). His sandpaper-gruff, wavering voice, isn’t exactly egg-nog smooth or Mel Torme cool (yep, Mel’s one of us too), but now that we’ve listened to his offering, it is clear Dylan has taken a bad idea and turned into an absolute “Polar Express” train wreck. “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” manages to be creepy and shrill, kind of like dating Sarah Silverman when she’s 70. “I’ll be Home for Christmas” feels like a menacing threat from a rehabing Uncle, while most of the other tracks seem better suited as a soundtrack for DrunkHistory than something you’d listen to while hanging those cute felt stockings. Even Dylan’s original “Must be Santa” is so bad – albeit kind of funny – I am tempted to out the Santa-secret to a bus full of second graders to get even.
Or is getting even the point? For 45 years, Dylan has provoked, trail-blazed, and surprised everyone in his path. His most recent albums have explored our nation’s rich and diverse musical heritage and shed brilliant new light on American roots music. It is quite possible that by offering his take on traditional Christmas fare, Dylan is both playing a wickedly funny joke on a fan base that has always tried to own him and offering commentary on what is, and isn’t, good Holiday music. “Christmas of the Heart” is so wildly unpleasant and off, it may just be the perfect gift for those fretting about the Red & Green Holiday not being “Christian enough.” Finally a secular, Jewish American artist gets the Holiday wrong….and if Garrison Keillor is right, not a day too soon.
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Richard admits his crush on Jewish songtress Regina Spektor in Issue #1: Old Country.
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Photos by Badosa, Cliff1066TM, Duncanh1, and dwhartwig, licensed under Creative Commons.
'Tis the Season
By Stephanie Silberstein
As a child, I was fortunate enough to encounter only covert anti-Semitism, most of which was probably unintentional. Of course there were the Christmas concerts and the assumption that Santa visited my house too. But I never encountered people who no longer wanted to be my friends when they found out I believed Jesus was a man and not an object of worship.
Nevertheless, I was lonely growing up, especially around Christmas time when everyone else had this holiday that I didn’t share. I never wanted Christmas lights or a tree, but I wanted to belong. I wanted to look forward to getting gifts on Christmas morning and I wanted to believe those gifts came from Santa. At the same time, I was afraid that G-d would be angry at me for these thoughts. My childhood understanding was that Christmas was only for non-Jewish people, and that any Jewish person who paid any attention to it at all would be punished for having incorrect beliefs. I thought that I was like the Wicked Son in the Passover Hagaddah, who would not be redeemed because he didn’t care about Passover’s significance.
The word “holy” means “separate,” and in theory the Jewish people (the “chosen” people) are supposed to be separate from all others in the way they show their allegiance to G-d. Unfortunately, in modern America this translates to being left out of Christmas celebrations and other widespread traditions. It means being unable to worship as easily as those who belong to the more dominant religious tradition and it sometimes means being looked down upon, pitied, or hated for having a different religious belief.
It is really a shame that the holidays which are supposed to be fun for children, can be a time of such division between Jewish and non-Jewish children. Just as Christmas has become secularized and commercialized, Chanukah is being treated by many Jewish families as an equally secular holiday. As a result, many Jewish children grow up feeling like they are missing something instead of taking pride in the historical and cultural meanings of their holiday.
Stephanie Silberstein is the author of the Chanukah-themed novel Winter’s Silence.
Photo by Michel Filion, licensed under Creative Commons.
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