A quick poll of Jewish friends reveals a diverse range of plans for the festive season, starting with: “Going to Limmud”.

“Having kosher turkey at home with too many roast potatoes and too many relatives” (cooking style for latter unspecified).

“Eating anything but turkey.”

“Closing the curtains and pretending it doesn’t exist.”

“We’re having a Christmas tree but keeping it in the smaller sitting-room we don’t use much — and please don’t tell anyone.”

“Turkey, mince pies, pud, crackers, the whole lot — bring it on!”

The pagan roots of Christmas are well known, a way of staving off the darkness of winter and reminding ourselves to keep hope alive for spring will come again. Although people often complain about the commercialisation of Christmas as if it’s a sign of the depravity of modern life, it’s actually a complaint that has been around for more than 350 years. The Puritans regarded Christmas as essentially frivolous and irreligious because, by the 17th century, it had become rather an excuse for wild carousing. Oliver Cromwell passed laws banning its celebration as a festival, rather than as a time for contemplation and prayer.

I accept that Christians regard it as the marking of Christ’s birth, but I don’t see why I have to view it that way any more than I have to believe that presents are given to me by a complete stranger who’s flown specially from the North Pole on a reindeer-powered vehicle without charging for delivery.

One Rosh Hashanah, our rabbi gave a very good sermon about the importance of finding some personal meaning for going to synagogue on the High Holy Days — if it were just a box-ticking exercise: “I’m a good Jew because I always go to shul on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur” — then what’s the point?

I took it very much to heart. Was I being just a big fat fraud showing up as if I were a proper devout Jew when I know I’m not? In short, was I just Faking It?

Since then, every time I go to shul, I always take a few moments to consider silently why I am there. Sometimes, it’s because I love feeling that warm sense of belonging, one little tile in the rich mosaic that is our community. Sometimes, on a Friday night after a busy, stressful week, the feeling of peace coupled with a sort of frisson of excitement settles palpably on my shoulders like a comforting shawl. Sometimes, it’s the music I love most. I am not a good singer myself but nothing makes me feel more uplifted — dare I say even spiritual? — than hearing voices united in song. Sometimes, it’s just the simple pleasure of seeing so many familiar faces, people who unequivocally accept me as part of the tribe, no matter how many doubts I may have about myself.

And it struck me that exactly the same thing is true about Christmas — whether you are Jewish, atheist, agnostic, lapsed Christian, Muslim or Hindu. You can find your own reasons for joining in if you choose to.

What, you might wonder, am I celebrating if I don’t believe in the divinity of the infant Jesus?

For me, there are many facets. I am proud to be Jewish/half-Jewish (depending on your point of view) but, as the descendant of diaspora Jews, I am also quietly, deeply appreciative of being British — of living in a country where the vast majority of people are actually kind, decent, compassionate, and tolerant, a land of people so quick to offer charity to others, yet equally ready to take the piss out of themselves. Just as, at Pesach, I feel a profound sense of gratitude towards my grandparents for being brave enough to leave their respective inhospitable countries to come to a country where they didn’t speak the language and had to build new lives from scratch, so too at Christmas I am honestly happy and eager to mark this shared festival, this celebration not of religion but of tradition, community, family, and joy.

I love the thought that, all across this wonderful, under-appreciated land, people are sitting down together to eat, talk, laugh, play charades and probably argue. They are taking time away from work, away from all the other distractions, to spend precious time with each other.

This year, I will sit down with The Husband’s family. Yes, we will have roast turkey (organic rather than kosher), braised red cabbage (for our Lithuanian-Polish-Ukrainian-German roots), roast potatoes cooked in goose fat (The Husband’s culinary triumph — definitely better than mine. He will probably cut this bit out and stick it up on the fridge). There will be presents for the children. There will be smoked salmon (of course!). There will be crackers. Charades. Laughing. The Teen’s now legendary quiz. Then, on Boxing Day, we will head to South London and do it all over again with my sister’s family.

Family, good food, unhurried time together: my favourite trinity. I wish you all a peaceful festival, marked in whatever way suits you best.

Zelda Leon is half-Jewish by birth then did half a conversion course as an adult (half-measures in all things…) to affirm her Jewish status before a rabbinical board. She is a member of a Reform synagogue.