I think these blog entries are starting to have something of a theme. However, while I don’t fancy a Pope picture on my wall (see the last entry and the one before last), I also don’t consider myself religious. The truth is, when people say things like, “Oh, I think of myself as spiritual rather than religious,” I have this urge to punch them, so I’m probably not even really so, ugh, spiritual. I am however, vaguely freaked out that right now there is a big, if festive Christmas tree in my living room.
In trying to explain this to Aaron I said that not having a Christmas tree to some Jewish families is what having them is to Christmas-celebrating households: special. I know, I know, a lot of Jews (especially ones from Cincinnati) have Christmas trees and Hanukah bushes as readily as any other red-blooded American. Some even decorate with lights on the outside of their homes. But while my family enjoyed a good Christmas Eve light-seeing trip, we never had lights of our own except for those specific to the festival thereof.
So my anxiety about this tree is not at all a bah humbug whine-fest, but more like, something that doesn’t fit quite right. Of course, Aaron got it all up in his craw that not wanting a Christmas tree could be likened to, say, steeling a Baby Jesus from a Nativity scene. Therefore, I gave in, as long as I could pick it. So I did. And it’s awesome and bushy and the kind with the long pretty needles instead of the short ones. This is a very huggable tree.
I know what you’re thinking, a girl who speaks of her tree so effusively must secretly in her heart have always wanted a Christmas tree of her very own. And I’m not going to lie—I was really excited by the mini-Elvis painting and orange glitter pistol ornaments I scored at Urban Outfitters (my new favorite store since discovering their non-Christian-y and even non-Christmas-sy ornament collection as well as learning last week that they will carry my new book
The Purity Test come February!!). But the truth of the matter is that Aaron and I are trying to share a home, and I have as much of a responsibility as he does to find a way to create holidays that belong to us both.
I think if I’d really put my foot down, Aaron would have accepted a tree-less holiday. But I also think it would have put a damper on our first holiday season as a cohabitating couple. I remember hearing once about an interfaith family whose philosophy is to take all the good things about all the holidays and make them into something new and special that belonged to all of them. I have also heard a very sound piece of advice from another couple merging two religions into one household: It is all about respect. I don’t have to believe in any religious aspect of Christmas to respect it. In fact, I don’t even need to get a Christmas tree. But for the record, the menorah, a bag of Hanukah gelt and a picture of my great-grandfather, Rabbi Morris Furman are right beside it. And believe me, Aaron is respecting the hell out of them all.
(I’d also like to say for the record that I have never stolen a Baby Jesus, tackled a blow up Santa nor have I tried to drunkenly ride an animatronic reindeer. I know the words to almost all the Christmas standards and am willing to sing them in and around school choirs. But despite not hating and even pretty much enjoying Christmas and the time of year in general, I am still raising the dog Jewish. But I have to admit, our home this holiday season is lovely.)
