Is It OK for a Jew to Want a Christmas Tree This Year?

I know this year feels different in many ways from the past. With the memory of the horror in Pittsburgh still a fresh, open wound, with anti-semitism on the rise around the globe and attacks in this country dramatically increasing, it is a time of grave concern for Jews.

So, at the risk of sounding foolish, unsympathetic, or even worse, I ask this simple but increasingly complicated question. Is it ok for a Jew to want a Christmas tree this year?

I did not grow up in a household where religion was a centerpiece of our universe. Hebrew school was a Sunday morning activity that preceded bowling. Temple was that place where I was compelled to sit several times a year for seemingly interminable periods, attempting to stifle the laugh that would inevitably surface at exactly the most inopportune moment. This is not meant to castigate or denigrate my upbringing, or the place of reform Judaism in the hierarchy of religious practice. It is merely intended to act as explanation for why I considered Christmas to be a secular experience, not antithetical to my beliefs, but more like bowling in a different context.

Christmas was, to me, merely a time of great joy and happiness, one where wishes did come true. It was not, in my mind, something that belonged exclusively to one people. Not intended as a day of exclusion but inclusion. Santa was not a man of  limited bounty but one who would spread goodwill, near and far, to all those who deserved good cheer, who had suffered indignities or hardships throughout the year and were entitled to a moment of respite, no matter his or her station or color, no matter what temple, church or mosque he or she prayed in, no matter if they believed in your God, their God or no God at all.

And so, I was envious of the one Jewish friend of mine in town who grew up with a Christmas tree in his house. I did not know, care or understand if both of his parents were Jewish (they were). I merely comprehended, without need for clarification, this was not something that would ever happen in our house. And it didn't.

When I married, and as our children were growing, Chanukah became a time when we lit candles and exchanged gifts. It was, so I now understood, part of our inherited tradition, central to our being, even though our own attachment to the other aspects of religion was tenuous. And remains so to this day.

We are in a very difficult time in our society, in our world, where it seems that at any moment one half of the universe is in pitched battle with the other. It appears we are always drawing lines, always finding reasons to separate one from the other, forever being reminded that what makes us different is far more important than what brings us together. And Christmas is no different, a holiday reserved for some and not for others. 

I have never grown distant from my love of what unites family, what brings smiles to our collective being and warmth to our hearts. And so I wish that in this year, maybe more than any other, that Christmas was open to every Jew, every Muslim, every person who was in need of the concept intended by this holiday. I know far too little of the teachings of Jesus to speak at all to what Christmas really means. But for me, I think he would be more than happy to share this day with everyone, everywhere in need of solace, comfort and a moment of happiness.

I want to believe that, this year and in those that lay ahead, I am able to have a Christmas tree, literal as well as figurative. Without this making me a heretic. Without forgetting what it means to be a Jew in this often cruel and heartless world.

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