Christmas brings happiness and good cheer to everyone, right? Well, not for this Jewish girl
Winter wonderland, London’s annual Christmas festival in Hyde Park, opened a couple of weeks ago. German sausage and fake snow abounded. The smells of candy-floss and mulled mead and the dulcet tones of cheesy Christmas ballads permeated the crisp air. There were charming stalls selling elf-shaped knickknacks and whimsical wooden ornaments that beckoned to people to come check out their wares. While I could obviously enjoy my frankfurter (Have you tried those things? Dang), I could not fully enjoy myself and immerse myself in my jolly surroundings. I kept wracking my brain, trying to suss out what felt weird.
Then it dawned on me. I didn’t belong. All of this is not for me.
I don’t get to do Christmas. I don’t get to receive mountains of gifts in shiny boxes wrapped in ribbon that taper off into curls, and nor do I get to leave milk and cookies for Santa. I don’t get that sock which cannot fit on any human foot with my name emblazoned neatly on it, hanging on the fireplace. Nor do I get the carol singing, the homemade eggnog, or the tree with the decorative balls atop which sits an angel or star. Maybe I get Dominos pizza with my parents, but this year they’re going to be on vacation together somewhere lined with palm trees. Therein lies my disenchantment with Christmas.
As a Jewish person, I guess I get Hannukah? People think this is our version of Christmas. It so is not. It’s eight days long, sure, but many Jews don’t even celebrate it. My family especially included. You might get presents if you’re lucky, but usually they consist of horribly useless things like a pen that also functions as a clock. There’s also our supposed other alternatives to Christmas, Purim and Passover, which come in the Spring. Those ones are shitty too. Purim is basically the poor man’s Halloween, and on Passover we’re not allowed to eat bread, or cake, or pasta! These foods are pretty much my reasons for existing on this planet. So no, Passover doesn’t count, either.
There’s also that whole, “What are you doing for Christmas?” question I have been getting incessantly for the past few weeks. To this I respond, “Uh, nothing?” This usually results in a few jaws hanging from their hinges. As Willow Rosenberg, the sole Jewish character in Buffy The Vampire Slayer astutely remarked in season two, “We don’t all worship Santa.”
I see my friends freaking out about getting people the ‘right’ presents and spending the ‘correct’ amount of money. This gift-giving ritual has seemingly lost its wholesome motivation and devolved into a capitalist trap. This does not make any sense to me as an outside observer of this holiday that purports to be about family togetherness and love.
It seems that each year, Christmas tinsel is drizzled all over town earlier and earlier. In fact, I’m pretty sure that, immediately come 1st November, hungover Halloween celebrators merely remove the pumpkins from their front step and their slutty cat makeup only to instantly replace one holiday décor for another.
If we keep extending the length we as a society celebrate Christmas, the magic will wear off. Holidays should remain special occasions, and not merely act as themes of the month that compel people to buy things. For example, September and October is reserved for Halloween, November and December is Christmas. Don’t even get me started on Valentine’s day, where heart-shaped paraphernalia and cupid-shaped chocolates are hauled out of stores nearly two months in advance of the holiday, just long enough to shame singles for being single and put exhaustive pressure on people in relationships to have a meaningful evening together.
It’s cool that people want to celebrate Christmas. It’s a pretty holiday. That tree with the star and the shiny baubles looks pretty sparkly. I’m unafraid to attest to my love of sparkle. Yet, why must Christmas be pushed on everybody? Intentional or not, its unavoidable presence in London life, be it through the Regent’s street decorations, Waterstones’s Christmas-themed book sections (that’s plural, there are multiple sections), or the thousands of Christmas lighting ceremonies and markets that have been popping up, while ostensibly jolly, is entirely exclusionary. Department stores could throw in one song about dreidels, is all I’m saying.
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