I read this column about a Jew enjoying Christmas music, and could not help but be reminded of the many Christmases of my youth. We were not a Jewish family who ignored Christmas; we were a family who celebrated 24 hours of that merry holiday.
Ours was not a religious observance. Nevertheless, our family and friends' get together surely feted the spirit of the season. We would start out by trekking over to my dad's sister's home in nearby suburban Wilmette, outside of Chicago, on Christmas Eve day. Laden with gifts that Dad had spent literally hours upon hours wrapping exquisitely, we'd arrange them around Aunty Phyllis' Christmas tree. Then, as more guests arrived, a long evening of visiting and massive amounts of food, followed by hours of the Christmas music Michael Rosen so loves ensued.
My family would have a "sleep over" at Aunty Phyllis and Uncle Jerry's home, along with "Gagee and Heff", my dad's mom and dad respectively. Falling asleep was never easy, pumped up with adrenaline from sugary treats and anticipation about the bounty of gifts waiting downstairs. I also contemplated sneaking downstairs in the middle of the night. Was Santa "real"? Could I catch him as he slithered down the chimney? (Of course, that was why spending Christmas in Wilmette was a necessity. Our house didn't have the requisite fireplace!)
Christmas morning, Heff officiated as Santa - a role that Dad took over as time passed. Every gift was ooohed and aaahed over. My cousins' family, being more "challenged" than ours in the gift wrapping department, weighed decorations, to see if they were worth recycling one more year for future gifts. After the scores of presents were finally unwrapped and admired, Aunty Phyllis delivered an enormous Christmas Day brunch.
One day, the inevitable happened. We all grew up. Children scattered to different cities and married. Our grandparents died.
This Christmas, my day will start with a visit to the family of dear friends, then a movie and Chinese food with another. Giant meals, scads of presents - and an evening of Christmas carols - are now but part of my distant past.
Still, the memories are clear, strong and beautiful. I well remember the bountiful dinners, alive and warm with Dad's entire family and many friends. I can see the glowing fire, leaping higher as tissue paper was tossed upon the logs. I can hear the music of Christmas Eve; a Mozart minuet by Karen, sonorous tones on the cello from Arnie, and exquisite Chopin sonatas from Tony. Then, Phyllis would pound on the piano, as we all gathered 'round. Silent Night, Oh Come, All Ye Faithful, Deck the Halls - and many more.
We were Jews. Christmas was not a religious holiday for us. But a spiritual one - one filled with camraderie, giving, love and friendship? That it was.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.