When I was a kid, we celebrated Hanukkah and Christmas.
My mother really loved it, I think more than Hanukkah, although she called the tree the Hanukkah Bush, perhaps out of guilt.
My father, coming from a more orthodox home, I sensed even then was yet more ambivalent, but he got into the spirit when my sisters and I were little.
I recall most years at Christmas season (sometimes it was during Hanukkah, sometimes not) I would accompany him to Gimbels department store, a place of wonder in those days (1950s), especially for its large stamp department, the biggest in New York.
Annually we would go there to add to our father-son mutual stamp collection that sits on my shelf here in Nashville some 70 years later, its binding moldering.
When we did this, the area around the store—Macy’s, Gimbels, and all the others—was a blaze of spectacular Christmas decorations to my young eyes. I was happy to be alive.
I was also happy we celebrated both holidays because I made out like a bandit, getting presents for both. (I kept this on the down low at school not wanting to seem greedy to my classmates, particularly the ones who weren’t so lucky.)
I haven’t had a tree for many years. We don’t have one in Nashville, although I still love Christmas.
Hanukkah takes precedence for us now. It could be no other way.
What is going on in the world now makes my wife and me more Jewish, not less. Taking a stand for who we are is more necessary for us now than ever.
Hanukkah, what I thought as a boy was a relatively obscure Jewish holiday trumped up to compete with Christmas, I have learned is nothing of the sort.
The light from the menorah has significant meaning in our house, the miracle of those eight days I hope is transferrable to the United States of America, in jeopardy like those ancient Jews.
Every day spiritual matters take on more importance.
That includes Christmas too, of course, very much so, extremely so, and all celebrations of my many Christian friends as well.
We are all part of the same tradition, the one on which this country was founded. We must work to save it together.
One of the great indications of how that country and its culture took a wrong turn several years back—it was a harbinger of worse things to come—was how we were told by those who think they know best not to wish people a “Merry Christmas.”
Saying “Merry Christmas” might offend those of different beliefs.
Can you imagine anything missing the point more?
Wishing someone “Merry Christmas” or “Chag Hanukkah Semeach” (Happy Hanukkah) or “Shush Deepavali” (Happy Diwali in Hindi) or “Ramadan Kareem: (Blessed Ramadan) or “Happy Vesak “(Buddha’s birthday, well that one comes in too many languages to fit here) or “Happy Kwanzaa” are all expressions of friendship, respect, love, and devotion.
Is there something bad about that?
Anyone who gets insulted by such a greeting has a problem.
And that problem, unfortunately, is being replicated throughout our culture on so many levels from the personal to the political almost everywhere we go.
It won’t be easy in the land of the “trigger warnings,” but we must try to end this beginning in 2024.
This morning, when I played in my usual tennis game, several of the mostly evangelical players, who won’t be seeing me for several days and know full well that I am Jewish, have for a long time, on their ways out wished me a “Merry Christmas.”
I said “Merry Christmas” right back, barely giving it a second thought as I wished them well for the holiday.
And nobody should.
