Let me just get this out of the way…I’m a Jew. I’m a Jewish girl born into a Jewish family. Both my parents are Jewish. All four of my grandparents were Jewish. All eight of my great-grandparents were Jewish. We’re Jewish as far back as I can trace my family’s roots. I’m so Jewish, I’ve got no relatives in Europe. They either left or were killed in the Holocaust, and no one has ever gone back. Though I’m not religious at this point in my life, I do observe some of the holidays out of a sense of tradition, continuity, and family. It helps me remain connected to the past and loved ones who are no longer with me. It gives me the opportunity to enjoy and appreciate family members who are present today. Nowadays, being Jewish isn’t something I think about most of the year.

When I was child, the only Jews I knew were my family. There were no Jewish families where I lived or Jewish kids at school. In fact, there still is no synagogue in the city where I grew up. You want to go to services, you drive one town over. On the High Holidays, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, I would go to services with my family instead of going to school. Then I would have to argue with the front office about being marked truant. The woman in charge of attendance didn’t find Jewish holidays to be an acceptable absence, note from parents or not. It never failed. I’d bring in my note; I’d get a truancy. I’d argue and get nowhere. My mom or dad would get angry and call the school. Eventually I stopped telling them. After all, I got so few truancies and it didn’t seem worth it to upset them so much. My friends thought it was pretty cool I got to miss school to go to “church”. Being Jewish always made me different in some way, but I felt it especially during the holiday season.

Christmas was everywhere. School was all about Christmas songs, Christmas break, Secret Santas. Stores were full of Christmas decorations and Christmas cards, but could I find Channukah cards for my family? Not a chance. I didn’t care so much that I was different from my friends, but the pity and questions made me uncomfortable. The other kids either felt sorry for me or mercilessly teased me. The adults treated me as a curiosity and would ask all sorts of questions. They didn’t understand our strange customs and silly stories. Oil that lasted for eight days? What the heck is a dreidel? It was made very clear to me that Christmas was not my holiday. However, I knew who I was and I never wanted to change. I just wanted to be treated as though I were normal.

Things changed when I went to college back East at a school with a very large Jewish population. For the first time I wasn’t the strange weirdo kid who was different. I fit in with everyone else. Not only was it acceptable to miss class for the holidays, professors cancelled class half the time because not enough students would be there. It was a breath of fresh air, especially around the Channukah and Christmas. There were Channukah celebrations and decorations. No one treated me like a bug under a microscope. I felt free. Then I went home for winter break. I walked into house and saw a huge Christmas tree. My mom and younger sister had decided to celebrate Christmas.

I was shocked. Christmas? In my mom’s house?? I knew she loved the smell of fresh pine, who doesn’t? I knew she thought all the decorations were pretty. Still…all those years of being different, being teased, feeling uncomfortable had a cumulative effect. I now actually disliked Christmas. I was furious with my mom and sister. What was worse, they insisted I celebrate Christmas too. They wanted the entire Christmas morning experience. I refused. I would not put my gifts under the tree or wrap anything in Christmas paper. I was as rigid in my beliefs as the woman in Attendance who marked me truant was in hers.

Year after year it was a battle between mom and me. Neither of us being willing to bend, both of us feeling the other should understand and accommodate. Eventually we each began to compromise. I would open gifts on Christmas morning as long as they weren’t under the tree. Mom would wrap all my gifts in Channukah paper. As time went on I lost some of my religious zeal and came to understand why mom really wanted to celebrate Christmas. It wasn’t about giving in and fitting in with everyone else. It had nothing to do with religion. It wasn’t a betrayal. It was about family. With me 3000 miles away most of the year and my sister spending less and less time at home, mom wanted to make sure we had family time to celebrate the holidays. With the ever-changing dates of Channukah, some years I wasn’t home at all on the right dates. Poor mom, all the grief I put her through.

So what does it mean to be a Jewish girl at this time of year for me now? It means I get to celebrate whatever and however I want. Over time, I’ve learned that the holiday season is not about religion. It’s about family. It’s about giving and sharing with those we love, and those we don’t even know. It’s a time to be thankful for what we have and a time to give to others who have less than we do. It’s a time for reflection. Time to look back at how we’ve been treated and how we’ve treated others, and to make changes in our life. Being a Jewish girl around Christmas means I can be different and still fit in. After all Christmas is my holiday too!