To Light or Not to Light

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It’s that time of year again, that holly jolly season of giving and flying reindeer and elves on shelves and overwhelming confusion. You may recall last year’s holiday debacle, when I told Amelia the truth about Santa and instantly turned her into the class liar and then Santa’s most ardent defender. This year might be no better.

It’s no secret that I love to decorate. We decorate for Halloween, Thanksgiving, the Fourth of July, birthdays, alternate Tuesdays, whatever. But December? Never. There’s an unspoken taboo about Jews decorating in December. My sister once asked my parents for a tree when we were kids, and we were promptly signed up for extra Jewish activities. But every year we helped our neighbors decorate their tree. We strung cranberries and popcorn and made ornaments and exchanged gifts and even ate Christmas dinner with them. We also drove all over the state (to be fair, we lived in Rhode Island so this wasn’t as ambitious as it sounds) to look at lights, we went to New York City to see the holiday windows, skate at Rockefeller Center and go to the Christmas show at Radio City Music Hall. Yup, the one with the Rockettes in Santa hats. There may have even been some photos with a shopping mall Santa.

So why no tree? Where is that invisible, slippery line thou shalt not cross?

I still don’t know, but now I have to find and define it for Amelia. She’s surrounded by Christmas. I’m writing this post while waiting in the community theatre lobby, where her theatre class is rehearsing a Christmas performance. She’ll be wearing red and green and from what I can gather she’s an elf. Do I make a big stink and ask them to change an annual tradition for the one Jewish kid in the class? Pull her out of an activity she loves? No, of course not. I’ll be in the audience smiling and clapping for my kid and hoping the script is more Santa than baby Jesus. Just like my parents did.

My parents also did a great job of helping us participate in the season in meaningful ways. We wrapped presents at the mall as a Hadassah fundraiser. We answered phones at the police department on Christmas Eve. We served Christmas dinner at a homeless shelter. Delivered food for Meals on Wheels. And one memorable year I played Mrs. Claus on my father’s radio show, fielding questions about Santa’s big night. It was fun, and kept us involved in the traditions that surround the season. Why not participate in something festive, joyful, helpful and non-religious?

We live in a neighborhood full of beautiful holiday lights, and we detour to see a few favorites almost every day in December. Slowing down and appreciating the twinkling decorations together makes us all happy. And this year it hit me:

Hannukah is the Festival of Lights, so why must our house be dark?

I thought about it for a few days. We love lights, and there is nothing intrinsically religious about them. I’ve always assumed that if we decorated the outside of our house it would confuse our neighbors. That lights would feed the misconception that Hannukah is the “Jewish Christmas” and that the two are equivalent. I’m not sure how I took on the burden of religious education for others, but there it is. And it doesn’t make any real sense.

I asked my husband what he thought about a few lights outside, blue and white of course. His eyes lit up. Like every Jewish kid everywhere, he’s wanted to do this his whole life.

So the next day I approached the holiday lights at the craft store like a teenage boy buying a dirty magazine. I looked around furtively, hoping nobody would see me, and grabbed the first boxes of blue and white lights I saw.

And that’s all. I did not buy into the disturbing commercialization of Hannukah with inflatable dreidels or mensches on benches or anything else. We hung our lights on the porch, where they illuminate paper snowflakes Amelia and I made. It was her idea to make eight snowflakes, to represent the eight nights of Hannukah. We’re going for wintery and festive. Jeff looked out the window and grinned. 

And then I added a Happy Hannukah sign, just to make sure nobody gets confused.

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‘Tis the Season…Or ‘Tis It?

Well, I totally mishandled this whole Santa thing and now Amelia’s the class liar. 

I knew when she started public school that December would be rough. Even in a school that tries extra hard to “celebrate winter holidays” and “embrace the diversity of our community,” Santa Claus is a tough guy to put in a corner.  He’s everywhere – all over newspaper ads, the subject of the catchiest tunes on the radio, he’s standing outside the supermarket ringing a bell, posing for photos at the mall, decorating lawns and chimneys all over the neighborhood, and worked into the storyline of every television show Amelia watches. The big red-suited guy is here to stay.

Of course this was all true last year too. We drove by the same decorations on the way to preschool, and laughed when Amelia called Santa “that Christmas guy.” Because at her Jewish preschool, we knew that she was not making Santa hats or singing about good boys and girls getting toys. We knew that she would not feel left out, because at preschool she was not different. But this year there are only a smattering of Jewish students at Amelia’s school, and the season is chock full of Santa-appeal. And confusion.

Sharing our favorite lights with a buddy

So what to do? You can’t ignore Christmas, or deny all the fun and beauty that comes with it. We love holiday lights, so we drive around each year and check out our favorites, making special trips to a few over-the-top, set-to-music extravaganzas. Amelia’s friends are all anxiously awaiting Santa and the treasures he’ll bring. They talk about Santa on the bus, and compare notes on the whereabouts of their elves on shelves. We have no elf or tree, and we’ll probably eat Chinese food and go to the movies on Christmas. I’ve tried to convey that Christmas isn’t one of our holidays but it is beautiful and special for our friends who celebrate. And I thought we could leave it at that, at least for this year. 

But then there's Santa. We were watching Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer on television last week – maybe we shouldn’t have watched but it’s fun and I loved it as a kid and turned out relatively fine and still Jewish. Instead of watching the television I watched Amelia. Watched her little brow furrow as the reindeer and the elves talked about the big guy bringing toys to all the good little girls and boys. Listened as Amelia explained to me how she thinks the reindeer fly even without wings, due to the magic powers of the fairy dust that Santa sprinkles on them. All of a sudden, it hit me: she believes. Just like she believes in the tooth fairy and the Disney princesses, she believes in Santa. And she’s good yet she knows he’s not coming.

No wonder her brow was furrowed. The injustice!

So I told her. I wanted her to know she isn’t being left out. I said, “Amelia, you know Santa isn’t real, right?” Oh, crap. I knew even as I said it that this was just too big a secret for a kindergartener to keep. So I tried to cover, with explanations of how Santa is such a nice idea and a good character, like in a story, that kids who celebrate Christmas believe in. The more I yammered the deeper I dug my own hole. Finally she said, “So Santa is just the daddies in a costume?” Right, I said, and the most important message – don’t ruin it for the kids who celebrate Christmas. Let them believe in Santa.

Except of course she couldn’t do that. The next day, when the whole naughty and nice and lists of toys conversation came up over snack, she spilled the beans. And it seems Santa has ardent defenders in kindergarten, because the other kids were quick to call my girl a liar. And I’m sure there were more colorful names for me from their parents once Amelia’s classmates were tucked into bed and the dancing sugarplums started. I’m still surprised I haven’t gotten any phone calls.

So to all the believers: I’m sorry. I do love the Santa idea. It’s just a little bit all-consuming and I haven’t figured out how to let Amelia enjoy it but keep it in perspective and avoid disappointment and confusion. So I told the truth and made her a liar.

I’m sorry. Is it New Year’s yet?

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