Christmas

I grew up celebrating Christmas. I loved it. But when I married Sam, we made the decision to raise our children Jewish, and I took that responsibility seriously. Hosting all the Jewish holidays, the years of schlepping kids to and from Hebrew School…though I never converted, I was all in.

With my side of the family, we also celebrated Christmas. My sister made all of us stockings, and we put up a tree. On Christmas Eve, my mother read “'Twas the Night Before Christmas.” Santa was heavily involved.

At times, though, as a person with a foot in both worlds, it struck me how Christmas was often an unhealthy frenzy. Other parents (almost always moms) were driven temporarily insane in their search for the perfect toy, the perfect cut of tenderloin, making sure every child had exactly the same size mountain of gifts. Maybe it was always this crazy, but as a parent, I didn’t experience it.

So. Do you have a favorite Christmas memory? Is it a gift you got, or the glaze on your grandmother’s glazed ham, or something that was exactly perfect? I bet not. Mine is singing carols around the fireplace after surviving afternoon toboggan rides with my cousins between the trees of their apple orchard. To be so cold and exhilarated/scared, and then so warm, and so safe.

Speaking of carols, one of my favorites is “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” which says, about Christmas, “the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.” Christmas is that stir that overtakes the mundane. Christmas is not this moment sitting on some Amazon truck that you are singlehandedly responsible for. Take a deep breath, deeper, and let it find you.