(Originally published as my Mombian newspaper column.) It was holiday prep weekend here at my house, our annual festive mash-up of traditions. My spouse Helen is Christian (though minimally observant) and I’m Jewish, so I often joke that I want to arrange nine trees into a giant menorah on our lawn. We always settle on just one, however—a pine tree taken from our backyard. It’s not as full or dense as the fir trees we could buy, but we have numerous small pines on our property that we need to cull anyway. Harvesting our own feels useful, frugal, and environmentally sound (thinning the woods so other things will grow better). It always looks a bit like Charlie Brown’s tree, scrawny and uneven, but some of that fades as we decorate, and we like the homespun quality.
Thus part two of our festivities, bringing down the boxes from our attic that contain all of our accumulated ornaments. There are wooden ones that Helen’s grandfather carved for her, and ones from fabric and glue that she made herself as a child. There are a few from my childhood as well. We were one of only a few Jewish families in our town, and my parents knew my brother and I would hear from classmates that Santa only gives presents to good kids, not bad. They didn’t want us to feel that being Jewish meant we were bad, so they always got us a small tree (which we dubbed our “Hanukkah Bush”). We got presents from Santa on Christmas morning, in addition to gifts on Hanukkah. (Our total haul was in line with our peers, however—our parents managed to spread things out pretty well.)
Now, too, our family hangs ornaments our own son made in elementary school. We also have ones we’ve added to reflect our own interests and travels as a family, including a tiny camping tent with a light inside and a Hogwarts Express locomotive from the Harry Potter series. We have a Red Sox 2004 World Series ornament, given to us by my parents—not only was my dad was a big Sox fan, but the ornament was sold as a fundraiser for Dana Farber Cancer Center in Boston, where he fought the disease for many years. He died from cancer six years ago, and we always pause as we hang up the ornament in his honor.
Three years ago, my mom, too, died from cancer, after being diagnosed near the end of December and being gone by the start of February. I cannot help but think of her at this time of year—but I know she would not want us to make this an occasion of sadness. Instead, I try to honor her creative instincts and love of crafts through creativity in our decorations, favoring the handmade over the store bought.
Out of our holiday boxes, too, come our menorah and dreidels. They remind me of my parents as well, for Hanukkah was the only Jewish holiday we celebrated in our very secular family. Now, our son joins me in saying the prayer for lighting the candles; he had his bar mitzvah a year and a half ago as a way of connecting with his heritage on my side of the family. This year, I think we’ll also take some extra time to reflect on the holiday’s theme of resistance to oppression, a message that still resonates after more than 2000 years.
My spouse and I have also developed a few traditions of our own: I always make cinnamon rolls on Christmas morning and they bake as we unwrap presents. We always get our cat a new toy (in addition to the used wrapping paper and boxes, which she claims as her own). A bowl of red and green mint M&M’s stays on the counter between tree trimming and New Year’s (often mixed in with chocolate Hanukkah gelt coins), despite our junk food limits during the rest of the year. We go to our temple’s Hanukkah service and to the Christmas service of a church down the street. We have a video call with Helen’s family across the country on Christmas Day. Mostly, though, we enjoy the week off we all have at the end of the month, a time to rest and be together, to read and play games, to make pots of soup and bake cookies and enjoy the physical and emotional warmth of the season.
We’re pretty casual about it all—sometimes our tree goes up the weekend after Thanksgiving; other times, not until mid-December. Sometimes we’re motivated because we need to bring down the boxes of decorations to find the Hanukkah paraphernalia, since Hanukkah usually starts first. Holiday cards may go out any time between Thanksgiving and New Year’s. Still, our holiday observances feel right for our family—a good balance of planning and making it up as we go along. That’s sort of our parenting in a nutshell right there.
However you and your family celebrate, and however you define the family you celebrate with, may the season be joyous and full of love.