Being a Jew on Christmas is not very much fun.
I don’t decorate an artificial tree with ornaments and strings of popcorn. I don’t send out Christmas cards. I don’t manage to overdraft my bank account on gifts for loved ones. Throughout the years, I have observed each Christmas come and go, feeling utterly left out.
The pangs of jealousy really took hold in 1996, with the popularization of Tickle-Me-Elmo. Thereafter, each year I grew more resentful of both my Christian friends for their seasonal wealth and myself for my disbelief in Jesus Christ. Did my own birthright really negate the possibility of an embroidered stocking in my future?
Yet, after years of desensitizing myself to the holiday season, I am acquiescent to my non-participatory role. I understand that I am to steer clear of shopping malls after Thanksgiving. I expect to be bombarded by repetitious Christmas songs and images of Santa on Coke cans. I acknowledge that all of my purchases, up to my own dental floss, will yield the option of gift-wrap. I am OK with it because I am a minority in a predominantly Christian country, and I don’t expect to be catered to. It would be self-righteous of me to expect others to acknowledge my own sensitivities at the detriment of the masses.
And although it has taken a while, I have even come to terms with the fact that Hanukkah is my only alternative. Granted, Hanukkah is a relatively minor holiday that easily pales in comparison to the materialistic orgy that is Christmas. But I can appreciate the fact my own, distinguished holiday can set me apart from the rest. I feel good about lighting my menorah and commemorating a triumphant event in Jewish history, even if there are no gift cards involved.
Now, perhaps as a product of a country awash in PC-nonsense, Christmas turns into Winterval, aiming to encompass all holidays within the month of December. “Merry Christmas” is discarded for a more neutral “Seasons Greetings,” and Hanukkah and Christmas become married, leading most to believe that both holidays are equally as substantial. Apparently placing a menorah next to a Holiday Tree offers even me, a non-believer, the chance to be a part of the commercialized glory. Finally, I can race to the mall, awash in consumerist fervor, in order to outspend my Christian counterparts.
I appreciate the sentiment. It’s nice to feel recognized and included during the holiday season, but why are others willing to cater to me based on my rejection of Christmas? Why is Hanukkah, a holiday meant to commemorate a victory in battle, being held up to compete with the birth of Christianity’s most influential figure?
Now, it occurs to me that modern Christmas observance is no longer about Jesus. Neutralizing the holiday season allows everyone to be a part of the festivities and after witnessing the evolution of a presently secularized Christmas stripped of all religious significance, why would I want my own holiday to remain unaffected?
When a major manufacturer of trained Santas decided to do away with its traditional belly laugh “ho ho ho” for fear of being derogatory toward women, I was relieved at the necessary steps taken to protect prostitution. I sleep better at night knowing that I will never again encounter a nativity scene or caroling children. I think it’s great that my own holiday can receive so much ill-deserved recognition while fostering an excuse to exchange gifts. With the emergence of the Holiday Tree, I am elated to know that I can finally associate my own holiday with a conifer.
So thank you, PC America, for accommodating me at the expense of almost everyone else in this country. Next year, when Dec. 25 comes around, perhaps we can keep all of my favorite stores open as well.
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