December. Again. That time when everyone around us seems to be gearing up for the biggest and brightest part of the year. Relatives everywhere are psyching themselves up to put aside their family broiges, readying themselves to talk turkey; eating turkey; go cold turkey on 1st January. Shopping frenzies, panic-buying, terrible alcohol, unhealthy food - I love it all! I always have. You hear exactly the same gripes every November: “Seems to come earlier and earlier every year”, “it’s all become too commercial”, “I can’t believe they’re already playing carols in the shops”, “All this madness just for a day”, “People seem to have forgotten the true meaning of Christmas.” The moans, the fake complaints: they’re all part of the cultural traditions and rituals.
When I was a kid, we never celebrated it at all. Of course not - why would we? My parents were Jews from Israel and Aden who emigrated to the UK in 1960 and Christmas meant nothing to them. That was okay, though, little Misha, wasn’t it? I mean, we had Chanukah! What child needs a pile of presents on Christmas morning when your parents have given you a brand new nightie for Chanukah! Go you! Go Jew!
I wasn’t a total brat - I said thank you for my nightie and I didn’t ever complain, but I’ll confess I was secretly very, very jealous of all the children getting a stocking and a sackful of toys and joy and connection and reindeer and a jolly man in red climbing down the chimney. It seemed every kid in this country, and in the USA - because almost everything on television back then was American - was having the most wonderful time of the year. Except for us. Except for me.
So I’ve done things differently with my children. Without the slightest pretence that it means anything to me in a religious sense, I’ve appropriated all the many marvellous aspects of Christmas: the family cocooning together, a tree, feasting, decorations, feasting, presents, candles, feasting, family games, watching the Queen’s Speech. I love it all and, come to think of it, just swap the tree for a Chanukiah, and it’s all pretty Jew-friendly, no? We share far more than what separates us.
Oh, and you know what? If a non-Jew wants to give their kid a new nightie on Chanukah and eat a load of doughnuts, I won’t mind a bit.
