The light from the window was not a spongy streetlight, bathed in fog. I knew when I turned to look down our winding city road on the West Side, I would not, for once, look at the river, but at the reindeer lights, the Santa outlined in sparkling bulbs, the prettiest ones strewn like flowers on the branches of trees, sepia evening lit up by the season. And for what I could carefully assume was close to the fortieth time in my life, I would stare at the lights with envy, the Jewish girl with her nose up against the store window decked out in merry glory. And bask in its shiny glow.
As a Jewish kid, I was always jealous of Christmas. Hanukkah is no Christmas contender; it is a far less important holiday. But that’s the adult reasoning in me. I am still the goofy, wistful girl left out of a whole world of “belonging” to Christmas, though as I’ve grown older and realized the best skin colors in the human complexion spectrum are some caramel warm distillation of black and white or Eurasian combination or Mediterranean and Protestant, I have borrowed what I love about Christmas and allowed myself “in” – I go to Midnight Mass, I say “Merry Christmas” as often as possible and attend as many gatherings of comfort and joy as possible.
New York gets a Christmas buzz on; some Jewish people (some of them relatives!) feel as disenfranchised as I do but my armchair psychiatrist allows me to decide that this is their response to coping with being left out of a whole month of celebration to which they are officially uninvited.
To that, I say, blur the lines a little, move your DMZ over a bit, open your heart. It’s sad, almost tragic, that people are kinder, more thoughtful, pleasant and gentle from Thanksgiving through New Year’s Day. “Christmas behavior,” as I have coined it, is simply politeness, the absence of the reflex rude response to a query or nicety, the absence of the slammed door, the stretch of the heart’s mind, our better nature taking over.
January is cold in New York and its residents seem to grow mean-spirited and icy with it. If only there was a way to spread the “feel-good” warmth for eleven other months; to bring out the best in ourselves, turn the other cheek to small slights, try to eliminate judgment, soothe each other with love.
I’ll celebrate the rest of this season, send the rest of the cards I’ve forgotten and sing carols and yup, even go to church. It’s a beautiful time. My family does not approve, but that would not be the first (or only) time…and continue to trade their disapproval for this borrowed joy…my fondest Christmas wish is innocent…to believe in the possibility of peace and the love we all hide inside ourselves to appear in April and August and every random day.
Wishing every one of God’s creatures life, love and happiness.
