The Jew in me at Christmas time

The time called Christmas is when my Jewish upbringing butts heads with my Quakerism. Every year, without fail.

Growing up in a Jewish household, December 24th and 25th were some of the loneliest times for me as a kid. I was forbidden to call or visit any of my friends. I was told they were celebrating Christmas with their families.

There was nothing good on TV, since most of the Christmas specials were done (Charlie Brown, Rudolph, Frosty, the Grinch...). And the caroling party on December 23 that my friend Sally and her family always hosted--complete with hot chocolate and cookies after a night of singing to neighbors for an hour or two--only fanned the flames of my wanting to be around friends when December 25 came around just two days later.

My mom was glad I was included in Sally's caroling parties--every year since 3rd grade and through my first year in Milwaukee after college, from age 9 to 19. Not bad.

And then came Christmas and my lonely time. Every year, without fail.

This past Sunday, on the 25th, a few of us gathered for worship. I was glad for being with friends who were Friends. The kids were quick to show off some of their new loot--insulated lunch boxes for school and a kid's set of cleaning tools, like a push-broom, dustpan, and mop. "So we can all clean together as a family," Mama explained.

At one point during worship, one of the parents swept up the children and took them upstairs for some storytelling and play-acting. It was easy to eavesdrop, since one of the children is very excited to be part of any story, and she knew this one particularly well. And upstairs isn't that far from downstairs when it comes to eavesdropping on the delightful squeals of the kids.

As I was listening to the older Friend tell the story about Mary and Joseph's search for shelter in the night, up came that familiar pang. This is a story that has led me into great pain as a child: I was different and everyone in my class knew it.

The fact that my mother would invite herself into the classroom to talk about Hanukkah didn't help me blend into the wallpaper, either. And the teachers were all too happy to have Mrs. Opp come by and point out that not every family celebrates Christmas and the story of Jesus' birth.

During worship, I heard the child say to the parent, "Jesus is coming to Earth to keep out the devil." Or something like that. I heard the parent continue the story, asking questions about how to keep the baby Jesus warm; or wasn't that an unusual star in the sky, perhaps we should follow it; or where should the shepherd stand, and did the angel sing?

In my own head, I was replaying the story of my childhood:

Girls from my class coming up to me and telling me I was going to hell because I didn't believe in Jesus.

Not knowing what to say when a store's clerk in town said "Merry Christmas" to me.

Knowing nothing about decorating a tree, and the very first chance I have to do so, with the very first ornament I ever hang, the bright red glass ball falls off the tip of the limb and shatters on the linoleum floor of the school--in front of the 6th-grade Japanese exchange student who is with me, when I had been asked to show him what it meant in the U.S. to decorate a Christmas tree...

But now, hearing the questions that the Friend is asking the children, where should the shepherd stand and does the angel sing?, like the Grinch's conversion experience, my own heart grew that day: I was learning that the story of Jesus's birth was told in play and with great love to the children, rather than being told with hatred or malice against Jews.

The schoolgirls who teased me and the store clerk who wished me a Merry Christmas probably didn't intend to cause me pain or to exclude me, and they probably weren't taught to do so by their parents, either.

Even though the time called Christmas has become a time of supporting those causes in which I believe, I still struggle to remind myself that I am included and connected to others these days; that there is a Light that was shining when the world began, and that it shines in you AND in me.

I would love it if as Quakers we could find symbols and traditions that reflected the universality, indivisibility, and continuity of the Light at this time of year. Maybe a modern-day re-telling of La Befana, in which the message could be lifted up that none of us know who the Christ Child is--it could be you, it could be me, it could be all of us!--or that all of us are the Christ Child, so we must treat one another as the Child of God that we each are.

Blessings,
Liz

P.S. Thanks to Nancy A, her recent post Yule is Cool, and the comments that were made there. Reading that post has opened me....

UPDATE: Kenneth S. of Homefries adds his experience of being with family at this time called Christmas. In his post, he links to a great thread on Live Journal about this topic, which begins with the question "Why should a non-practicing Jew be expected to default to a secular Christmas instead of a secular Channukah?"