Xmas cheer for all

Xmas cheer for all

Anya Cohen

Dashing through the snow, in a one horse open sleigh, o’er the fields we go, laughing all the way, hahaha! You would think that, as a Jew, I would be scoffing at these lyrics while hovering over my menorah for warmth. But, to be honest, the lyrics to this Christmas tune conjure up images for me that are, undeniably, exactly what I want this time of year.

I’m going to start you off with a little disclaimer. I love my Jewish roots. Even though said roots are to blame for the dark brown mess of curls that I have to contend with every morning, and the reason why my skin has never seen a color hue darker than “pasty,” I still think that my Jewish heritage is awesome. I eat bagels and lox like it’s my job, my Jewish grandmother speaks to me in Yiddish while pinching my cheeks, and I most certainly broke it down at my Bat Mitzvah, doing the Horrah. I love being a Jew.

But I hate Hanukah and I absolutely adore Christmas.

Christmas time is perfect. We get presents, play in the snow, laugh, smile, decorate Christmas trees with cute ornaments and bake Christmas cookies. We eat (maybe a little too much), shop, sing Christmas carols and people just seem happier.

When I was a little girl, before my father divorced my mother and remarried a Catholic, we never had a Christmas tree. I would beg and plead and, I kid you not, cry, but it was to absolutely no avail. There would be no Christmas tree in our Jewish household! My longing for a tree had nothing to do with a lack of appreciation for my family’s delicate, golden menorah, but more of a crazy desire for the Christmas magic that always seemed to radiate from decorated trees.

So one year, I put my foot down. The gloves were coming off! If my Jewish mother and father were not going to buy me a tree, then I would acquire a Christmas “tree” myself. A crafty six-year-old, I rummaged through my construction paper until I had enough sheets of brown and green, grabbed some tape from my dad’s office and got to work. About a half an hour later, I stepped back from my masterpiece, a smile plastered on my face. It leaned slightly to the right, and it wasn’t very tall, but it was still beautiful. It was my very own Christmas tree.

I’m going to let you in on a little secret: the “Spirit of Christmas” really does exist. Everything is beautiful and lit up. Even some of the grimiest program houses get their act together enough to decorate. Friends do Secret Santa gift exchanges, and just little gifts can make someone’s day. Arguably, the best pictures of the year come from the “Ugly Sweater” Christmas parties. There is an abundance of apple cider, Christmas cookies and shiny things.

There is no spirit of Hanukah. I never know when it starts or whether there are seven or eight days of it; half of the time we are still in school for it and usually by around the third day of presents the wrapping job leaves more than a little to be desired. One of the two songs about Hanukah that you can find in English is about a spinning top, but there are so many fun Christmas songs!

Here is a flash history lesson about the story of Hanukah. The Greeks and the Jews were fighting, the Greeks wrecked the Holy Temple, the Jews went to clean it up, they found only a tiny bit of oil to burn, thought it would last them only a day but it lasted eight. Super miracle! Now, if you thought that that was a dull story, you’re right, it is. And not only is it dull, it’s a ridiculously insignificant part of Jewish history. I learned as a young Sunday school attendee that Hanukah was a holiday made to give Jews a reason to get presents while their Christian friends got gifts from Santa.

I don’t see why we all can’t celebrate Christmas. The presents, cookies and trees don’t even have roots in the Christian faith. The tradition of presents began with a generous guy named Saint Nick who used to dole out presents to poor kids, the cookies came to be because they are delicious. The tree isn’t even Christian, it’s a pagan ritual. There should be nothing sacrilegious about a Jew like myself celebrating the holiday of Christmas. Sure, the first six letters are C.H.R.I.S.T., but the first three letters of funeral are F.U.N.